The Helper

AKA, the Paraclete

There are 12 butterflies hidden in this picture!  See if you can find them all.  Click the title link to see it larger on Flickr.

Mother's Day Surprise

Motherhood: the gift that keeps on giving! 

Princess Banquet

You never know who you might be entertaining. . .

Floating Flower

I wish you the joy that comes from knowing your true identity.

Euphonia

I heard her serenade as a young child, and I followed her into the land of Music.

"Euphonia" is a photo composite using my photos and some licensed images from Dreamstime.com See title link for credits.

By Karen Gladys Henry © 2009. All rights reserved.

Meet Me In The Garden At Midnight

Just a little hint for someone. . . you know who you are!

Cloud 9

I finally discovered where Cloud 9 is! It's where your "head" and your "heart" agree!

Emily's Mountain (a short story)

Emily woke up early as she usually did, before the sun had even considered rising. She swallowed the pills she kept by her bedside, the ones that helped her joints. She lay there in the dark, thinking of things she would like to do, mostly things she couldn’t do anymore. She thought of her grandchildren, all in highschool now, all beautiful and strong and talented. She missed them. She prayed for grace to make the best of her day.

Emily couldn’t lay there very long without having to get up and do something. She got up slowly, enjoying the few moments of relative comfort before she had to deal with the pain of moving around. She put on the bunny slippers she had bought when the youngest grandkids were still toddlers. The slippers made her smile. They were showing the signs of age, just as she was, only they didn’t care. Their ears flopped down crazily instead of standing straight up as they once did.

Emily couldn’t help chuckling to herself as she got up and began to shuffle to the kitchen. "Do your ears hang low" was running through her head. It had been a long time since she’d thought of it. She put on a pot of coffee, not that she would drink more than a cup of it, but she enjoyed the aroma so much. It was part of her morning ritual, along with feeding the cat– who was making figure eights around her feet already– and turning on the computer.

As her coffee gurgled and sputtered in the coffee maker, Emily brushed her long silver hair. It went down to the middle of her back and was still thick and wavy. She had never missed a day of brushing it since her mother started her doing it when she was five. She was glad she could still manage it, though she wished it didn’t take her so long now. She hoped she never had to get it cut. Her long hair was the only thing that made her feel still beautiful.

Emily got up and poured herself a cup of coffee, adding extra cream to her cup, as she was feeling positive that the day would bring her something special. She smiled as she read a few verses from her worn Bible. Then she started a grocery list for her oldest son to refer to when he did her weekly shopping. She fixed some toast and carefully carried the toast and coffee over to the computer that her youngest son had set up for her. She was grateful that she had it, as it was her main connection to the world.

The sun was just beginning to peek through the trees as the computer whirred to a start. The coffee tasted especially good, and Emily’s feeling of anticipation grew. She opened her email, as she did every morning, and wrote a short message to each of her ten grandchildren. It felt good to have such a special relationship with each of them. She didn’t want to miss any opportunity of staying connected with them. There was something so gratifying to think she could impart some of her hard-earned wisdom to a younger generation, wisdom she felt she had been lacking when she was a young mother.

Emily chatted with a few online friends as she always did, doing her best to be an encouragement to those she had some contact with. She spent some time praying for them, and about some troubling items in the news too, and of course, for her family. It helped her not to fret about things, and she knew she had some impact in the world this way, even though no one else would know about it. She had never been an ambitious person, but now that her husband was gone, she needed to have a purpose for living.

Having accomplished these things, Emily now felt she could take a bit of time for herself. She went to her favorite place on the internet, an art gallery. Emily’s youngest son, the computer tech, had showed her how to set up her own radio program, and she turned on some classical music to accompany her browsing.

Emily loved to look at the different kinds of paintings– some were reproductions of classics and some were contemporary originals. She liked so many different styles! She wished she had learned to paint, but she hadn’t. Even though her children often encouraged her to try, she felt that with the arthritis, it just wasn’t worth the struggle. So she soaked in the artworks others had made, and she knew that being an art appreciator was just as important as being an artist.

Emily was studying her favorite painting when she heard a rumble outside. At first she didn’t notice it, but then she heard truck doors slamming. Soon there was a knock on her back door. Emily was startled, but gathering her courage, she went to see who it was. Opening the door, she saw the bright sun outlining the figures of two delivery men holding a very large cardboard package. It was taller than they were.

"Please sign here, ma’am," one of the men said as he held out a pen to her. She signed, shaking with excitement. Watching her slowly write, one of the men decided she needed help, so they offered to bring the package into the house. Emily nodded, showed them where to put it, and then closed the door behind them. Slightly bewildered, Emily sat down on the recliner to think about this new development. She remembered the feeling of expectation she’d had earlier that morning, and smiled to herself.

Opening the box was quite a challenge for Emily. She found a utility knife and put on some gloves to protect her delicate hands. Then she began hacking away at the cardboard and strapping tape. In her excitement, she hadn’t thought to look at the mailing label. It didn’t matter much to her where it had come from, as to Emily, it was a gift from God.

After some strenuous effort, Emily had the contents of the box out where she could see it. She could hardly believe her eyes! Before her, larger than she had imagined it, was the very painting she had just been admiring in the online gallery. It was her very favorite, and it was the original!

The painting was as tall as she was, and Emily just stood there, breathless, staring at it. She still couldn’t take in the reality that this was the painting she had been visiting over and over for months, and here it was in her living room. It was hers! Suddenly, she sank into the chair and burst into tears. Emily sobbed and sobbed until all the tears in her were cried out. Then, blowing her nose, she got up and went into the kitchen. All the excitement and crying had made her hungry.

Emily ate a salad and drank a big glass of water. She felt she had regained some of her strength and composure, although she had to take an extra pill to ease the strain on her joints. She knew she would have to wait for someone to come hang the painting for her, but in the meantime, she wanted to put it where she could sit and enjoy it comfortably. How happy she was! She scooted the big canvas across the carpet and with a little difficulty, got it up on the couch. Then she sat down to contemplate the beauty in all of its big, bright, overwhelming reality.

The painting was done with acrylics in a surreal style. It was picture of a mountaintop in bright, early morning sunshine. Growing on top of the mountain was a tree– a pear tree, which was blossoming and fruiting at the same time. It was very magical looking, as you wouldn’t find a pear tree on top of a mountain, and anyway, it wasn’t your usual kind of pear tree. In another part of the picture, there was a waterfall. This also was unexpected, of course, especially since the waterfall seemed to come out of the sky! On the left side of the painting was a little white lamb. He seemed to be looking out at the viewer, beckoning.

The painting had always grabbed Emily, and even though she knew the artist had other works in the gallery, this was the one that had always called to her. She loved the title too, as it had meaning plus a little humor: "The Prayer Tree" it was named. Now "The Prayer Tree" was hers and Emily was beside herself with joy! Tears sprang to her eyes again, and she lifted up a prayer of thanks. Propping up her feet in the comfy recliner, she cupped her hands around the mug of tea she’d brought in from the kitchen. Contentedly she gazed at the painting, feeling her life would always be better now she had it as her own.

As she relaxed, Emily began to hear the birds chirping outside. They sounded so close! She could hear the fountain in the next room, and the trickling sounded as good to her as a mountain stream. Emily felt a cool breeze blow across her face. There was a sweet scent in the breeze. She recognized that scent– what was it? Suddenly she realized she was on the mountaintop. She was in the painting! Or else she was in the same scene as the painting. . . but wherever she was, she was no longer at home.

At first Emily thought she was dreaming, but then she realized that her joints were still stiff and achy, and she knew if she were having a dream that she would have made certain she felt perfectly fine in it. Then she realized she was also still holding her mug of tea! She decided to drink it while it was still hot, so she sat down on a rock and looked around her. The rock was rather cold, but she was so astounded to be in that place that it didn’t matter at all.

Emily had sat down near the Pear Tree, which was even more wonderful when experienced in real life. It was very tall and leafy, with new spring-green leaves popping out all over it. It was also covered in pretty white blossoms that were impossibly large. The fragrance they were exuding into the early morning mountain air was sweet, fresh, and invigorating. She took a deep breath. How glorious this place was! Emily had always loved the painting, but this was real and clear and vibrantly alive. The colors were brilliant and everything was perfect. She was totally enraptured.

As she finished her tea, which seemed dull by comparison, a flapping of wings and a cooing sound next to her made her start, and then she saw the pure white dove. It was perched beside her with a very large ripe pear in its beak! Very carefully, the dove placed the pear on the rock and flew up into the tree. She waved in thanks and bit into the pear– it was as luscious as the scent it gave off, and extremely juicy. The pear was obviously very nourishing, for she felt better than she had in some time.

The fragrance of the pears and the blooms together seemed to be a sort of music in this place, and the song of it got into her molecules and made them vibrate with joy. Emily realized that she had been so caught up in the wonder of being on the top of this mountain that she hadn’t really noticed the water falling all around. It seemed to fall from the Pear Tree itself, rushing into a chasm nearby. It seemed to fall from the clouds, from the sky and from some high, distant rocks that were almost invisible to her. The sound of the waterfalls was like a great music that mingled with the fragrant music coming from the pears and flowers. Even though there was water cascading all around, it didn’t get her wet; she could however feel a light mist in the air, a mist that shimmered with light.

Light shone from the rising sun that was lighting up the fluffy clouds in the morning sky, tinting them with opalescent pinks, corals and greens. Light emanated from the Pear Tree too. It seemed more alive to her than an ordinary tree. She wanted to touch it, but hesitated, not knowing what would happen if she did. As she thought about this she began to hear a voice in the fragrant music, a voice that said "Touch me, taste me, know me. . . I am for you." It became a song in Emily’s mind, that wound in upon itself, creating harmonies and counter-melodies that were ingenious and exquisitely lovely. She was enthralled.

Emily decided at last to get up and walk around. There was much more to this scenery than what was captured in the painting. She walked slowly around the tree, taking in its glory. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that there were other people there on the mountain top. They paid her no attention, so she left them alone to enjoy the morning.

She walked towards an outcropping of rock and sat down on a large boulder, not too close to the edge. Looking out over the valley, Emily could see a town in the distance, and she thought how lovely it must be to live there. Then she realized that she could see her own town, and even her own house, even though she lived nowhere near the mountains. Her eyes adjusted to focusing on the distances, and she realized she could see many different places she knew, even foreign places.

Emily meditated on this for a while, completely unaware of any time passing. It was dawning on her where she was, and that she had been here before. She simply hadn’t been able to see it until now. She was getting a little warm in the sunshine, and not wanting to get a sunburn, Emily got up and started to wander back to the Pear Tree. If she’d had any thought of how she would get home, it had not disturbed her. She was at perfect peace.

The tree still seemed to be singing, and now she could hear it calling her name, and her name mingled into the song and became part of it. She went down to the tree, having to climb some rocks in order to get to it. That took her a while, and she was careful not to fall. When at last she was near the tree, she felt a strange warmth and vibration, almost like an electrical charge or magnetic field, but with none of the unpleasant characteristics of those. It was power, though, and it occurred to her that it was love.

Feeling braver now, Emily leaned against the tree, placing her palms against its rough bark. She was sure now that the tree had personality, and she heard not only one voice, but a mingling of a multitude of voices all singing the same intricately woven melodies. It was breathtaking and compelling, but she felt she could not take much more of it without weeping again. She felt such a part of the song that she thought she might join in, but she didn’t understand the words.

Emily wasn’t used to standing for long at a time. She was glad she hadn’t had to hike up this mountain. Sitting down on the rock she had first chosen, she rested and began then to wonder how she had been so lucky to come to this place, and how she would get home. "Don’t worry about that," a kind voice said. It was very close to her right ear. She turned towards it and saw the lamb. It looked much larger to her than it did in the painting, but she barely noticed that as she was caught up into a conversation with her new acquaintance.

"Is this your mountain?" Emily asked.

"It is as much mine as it is yours," the lamb replied.

The lamb led Emily over to a soft patch of grass, and they made themselves comfortable on the warming earth. Emily and the lamb talked and talked, discussing many personal things. She was not surprised at all that the lamb seemed to know her intimately. He was full of wisdom and was glad to share it with her. The sun was high in the sky before the lamb rose and stretched its legs, looking at Emily in a way that made her realize she would soon be going back.

"Come, listen to the tree again," called the lamb to her in its friendly way. Emily did so, and to her delight, she could now understand more of the words that the voices were singing. She began to sing with them, thrilled with the way the song carried her along in an ecstasy of oneness. Then she stopped. She heard something else far away and she wanted to listen. What was it?

Suddenly, Emily realized it was the phone ringing and that she was back in her recliner in her living room. The painting was still there, looking even more vibrant and delightful than before. She reached over and picked up the receiver:

"Mom, hi!" she heard on the other side. "Did you get a big package delivery yet? I just wanted to check."

"Hi, Gracie!" Emily answered enthusiastically. "I sure did! Did you send that?"

"Yes, we all pitched in together to get the painting for you. Happy Mother’s Day!"

"Mother’s Day? Oh, my! I didn’t realize that was today! You snuck up on me!"

"It’s not today, Mom, it’s Sunday, but this is as close as we could get with the delivery people. So, do you like it?"

"Like it! It. . . it’s astonishing! How on Earth did you know to get that one? It’s my very favorite one in that art gallery I love to peruse. Well, now I guess it’s not there any more, is it? It’s right here!" Emily was so excited again that she jumped up out of her chair and hopped over to the painting so she could look at it closely again and describe it to Gracie.

"It’s more than amazing, Gracie! It’s. . . it’s. . ."and then she began to wonder if she wanted to tell her daughter about actually being in the painting. What if it had only been a dream? She really couldn’t tell. . . but, it had been so real. . .

"Mom, are you OK?" asked a concerned voice on the other end.

"Oh, yes, Gracie, I’m fine, I’m just. . . how did you know?"

"A little birdie told us, Mom, a little birdie! But you do like it– I’m so glad! Hey, Mom, I was wondering if we could take you out for Mother’s Day. Do you want to?"

Emily had realized, while she had been talking to Gracie, that she was thirsty, very thirsty. She had gone into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, guzzling it down. Then she had gone into the hall and looked into the mirror. Her face was quite a bit sunburned! Then, with a gasp, she realized she had been walking and moving about with ease, quickly, and without a bit of stiffness.

Emily dropped the phone and began to run up and down the hallway. Gracie could hear whooping noises through the receiver, and was about to call 911 when Emily remembered her and picked up the phone again. "I’m healed, I’m healed, Gracie! I went into the painting and I’m healed!"

Gracie began to wonder if her mother was delirious or had overdosed on her pills. "Mom, what did you say? Are you alright?"

"Gracie, I’m healed! I’ve had a spiritual experience, or something, with that painting. I met Jesus I think, as the Lamb. The arthritis is gone. . . completely, praise the good Lord!" Emily wanted to sing and dance– she couldn’t contain her joy.

"I’m coming right over! Mom. . . I love you! And, well. . . Happy Mother’s Day!"

The End

"Emily’s Mountain" is a work of fiction by Karen Gladys Henry ©2009.
"The Prayer Tree" is a composite artwork by Karen Gladys Henry ©2008. See title link. All Rights Reserved.

Spirea Falls

Irish Blessing:

May the blessing of the rain be on you—

the soft sweet rain.

May it fall upon your spirit

so that all the little flowers may spring up,

and shed their sweetness on the air.

May the blessing of the great rains be on you,

may they beat upon your spirit

and wash it fair and clean,

and leave there many a shining pool

where the blue of heaven shines,

and sometimes a star.

http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/Blessings/Bless.html

The Sands of Time

Art frees us from the confines of dimensional space. We can look up and down at the same time, or in and out. In that way, it helps us see that there is more to existence than meets the physical eye.

Sunrise Tea

A lovely sunrise and some strong tea are a nice way to start the day. I'm having Irish Breakfast today! Hope your day is glorious!!

Bouquet Globe

I like those fancy glass paper weights, but they're too expensive. So I made one out of pixels instead. I guess that's a little more practical for me, since I don't write or draw on paper anymore! Word processors and graphics software rock! Pixel flowers, however, do not beat the real ones.

Sheba's Room

My cat, Sheba, lives outside mostly, but if she lived in the Matrix, this would be a projection of her residual self-image: princess-diva!

The Garden of Rest

One day, a bright and sunny one, a young man was taking his daily walk. He tried to do this every day, in spite of his busy schedule, so he could stay in shape. It was part of his orderly lifestyle, which he considered exemplary. He walked briskly, taking deep steady breaths, mulling over a business problem as he went, so as not to waste time.

After a while, he looked around and realized he was in a place he was not familiar with. I must have been lost in my calculations, he thought to himself, slightly disconcerted. He found he was walking along a high, ivy covered wall he'd never seen before. Slowing, he noticed he had come to what appeared to be the entrance of a garden. It wasn't gated, and it certainly looked inviting!

The young man had to admit to himself that he was unusually tired and sweaty, and desiring to sit down and regain his composure, he stood in the archway hesitating to enter someone's private property. He looked around to see if he could find the owner's name anywhere. Above the arched entry, nestled in the ivy, was a terracotta plaque. On it was impressed, simply, the word "Rest".

As he stood there, wondering, a friendly looking man appeared, smiling, and waved him in. "Hello, there! Come on in and take a load off!" The man said cheerily. He was dressed in jeans and a loosely woven shirt rolled up to the elbows. He was tan and had on leather work gloves and an apron with some gardening tools in it. He must be the gardener, thought the young man to himself. I wonder who this garden belongs to? But before he got a chance to ask, the man said. "Take a look around. Stay as long as you like. There's a fountain over there, and some fruit trees. Help yourself! I'll be around if you need anything." He smiled again, and then walked away.

The young man, not wanting to seem rude, decided to get a drink of water and then take off. I'm going to be really late if I don't get out of here and find my way back home, he said to himself. He could hear the fountain trickling, so he walked in the general direction of the sound. There was a nice path and shade trees, and multitudinous birds calling back and forth. He noticed that it was a lot cooler inside the garden than it had been on his walk.

On his right, he saw a huge spider web hanging between two large trees. He stopped and studied it because it was glittering with dewdrops and glowed like gold in the sunlight. Many flies had been trapped in the web. I wonder where that spider is? he thought. As if the spider had heard him, it came out onto the web and began to wrap the flies up and cut them out of the web. On its bulbous black back was a bright red marking. The young man looked closer and saw that it was a cross. The spider carried one of the wrapped flies back to its home somewhere in the big tree.

After a few minutes of watching the spider, the young man realized he was standing right next to the fountain. The clear water bubbled up from the shiny stone basin and ran down over the side and into a metal grate in the slab he was standing on. There was an aged metal plaque on the ground that read, "Rivers of Living Water." That's odd, the young man thought as bent down to drink. The water was cold, pure and refreshing. My goodness, I was thirsty!

The young man stood up and turned to see where the exit was, and suddenly tears began to flow, unbidden. They seemed to come from deep within him. He was momentarily overtaken with feelings he was not familiar with, so he sat down on a stone bench. As he wept, he thought of things he'd neglected in his life. In his mind, he could see wilted things being revived and flourishing.

The tears stopped as suddenly as they had begun. The young man felt more refreshed than he had in a long time. Next to him, on the stone bench, he noticed a large black book with gold letters. On the front, it said, "Speak." Curious, the young man picked up the book. The leather felt soft and smooth, like it had been handled many times. He opened it somewhere in the middle, and began to read.

When he closed the book, he had the urge to open his mouth and try to say something. He stood up, slowly, an odd feeling of expansion coming over him. He began to speak, but rather than hearing words, he saw golden eagles coming out from inside of him, flying right out of his mouth. They took off flying somewhere he could not see. That was rather satisfying, the young man thought. And he hadn't had that thought ever in his life!

Looking up, the young man saw that the tree he was standing under was a pear tree. He realized then that he'd been enjoying the fruity scent the whole time he'd been at that bench. The gardener did say I could help myself, he thought, and he reached up and picked a ripe pear. It was large and lovely, with a rosy blush and a heavenly smell. Biting in hungrily, he had to laugh at how the juice was running all down his chin. He didn't care. It was delicious!

He began to think of a friend he hadn't spoken to in many years, whose face was clear in his mind. He realized, his memory having been jogged, that he had been holding a grudge against that friend. Waves of compassion flooded over him, and he forgave him immediately. I'll call him as soon as I get home, the young man decided. He looked down at his watch and saw that it had stopped at the same hour he had left his house. He had no idea what time it was!

The young man was used to knowing the time, and didn't like losing track. So he set out to find out what time it was as soon as he could. Maybe the gardener can tell me, he thought, and he started walking toward a sound in the garden. In a few steps, he came to a little plaza with a sundial in the middle. It was surrounded by many colorful flowers, arranged thoughtfully and with artistic flair.

He went up to the sundial to see what time it was, and was very puzzled to see that there was no shadow! In fact, looking around the garden, the young man was surprised to see that there were no shadows at all, in spite of all the trees. The light seemed to come from everywhere, and yet, the garden seemed cool and shady. This is a pretty strange place! he thought wryly.

"I'm glad you like my garden!" the man in jeans said joyfully, walking up to the young man, taking off his dirty gloves and grinning. "You're welcome to come in anytime, and stay as long as you like. I do have one request, though. I always give my guests a little something to do to help out when they're here. Nothing much, you know, just a little something." With that, the friendly gardener handed the young man a couple of large knitting needles attached to two balls of yarn, one blue and one red.

"Oh, don't worry about not knowing how to knit! It'll come to you," the gardener chuckled.

So the young man, not being able to think of what else to do, sat down on an Adirondack style chair under a lovely tree and began to knit. That's amazing! thought the young man. He was so taken with watching what the knitting was turning into, that he hardly noticed doing it at all. It wasn't long before he had knitted an entire sweater, with beautiful intarsia designs. The blue and red had come together in some places and had made a gorgeous purple. "Wear it if you want," the voice of the gardener called from somewhere not too far away. "Take it home if you'd like!"

The young man pulled the sweater on over his head. It was soft and warm, and fit him just right. Even the sleeves were just the right length for his extra long arms. He had to chuckle to himself, it was so uncanny. Feeling better than he had in a very long time, he stretched out his arms and began to sing. What a song came floating out of his very heart! He didn't remember ever having been able to sing like that before. But he didn't care. He just sang and sang.

After a while, the young man remembered again that he had no idea what time it was, and that he surely needed to get to work. He could see the archway from where he was, so he started towards it. Oh, I guess I should thank the gardener for letting me stay in here for so long, he thought, not really wanting to stop and talk.

The gardener had anticipated him, however, and was standing there waiting for him. "I wanted to give you this before you left," the gardener said. "Just a souvenir. But maybe it will remind you. Please come back anytime. I'll be looking for you!"

The young man felt shy then, and went out of the garden with only a whispered "Goodbye". It wasn't until he'd walked a couple of blocks that he looked to see what it was that the gardener had given him. In his hand was a little clay stone, impressed, simply, with the word "Rest".

by Karen Gladys Henry © 2007

"Fountains Bubbles" is a collaboration: photo by Kim Bomberger and photo manipulation by Karen Gladys Henry © 2008

Plein Air

This was really fun to make! The pieces of the collage are all photos I took of things around my house. The painting in the background is in the Cummer Museum of Art in Jacksonville, FL. I'll have to go back there soon and get the title and artist's name. I love going there!

Flowers Say "I Love You"

I always wanted to be an interior designer. When I finally finished decorating my house, I started making up imaginary rooms. It's a lot cheaper than redoing my house. ;)

The rose topiary in the reflection is real; i.e., it's a photograph of a real silk flower topiary about 4' high~ one of four I made for my daughter's wedding. They used so many faux roses that I cleaned out every craft shop in the area! It was a "fairy tale wedding". Lucky for me, I still have the topiaries in my house.

Chihuly Water Garden Fantasy #3

Why should a lovely swan soup tureen stay cooped up in a stuffy museum? Now he has a pond as fantastical as he is!

Sheba's Magical Garden

My tiny little fairy-cat. . .she loves gardening ;)

A Portal Opens Up In The Blazing Sky

Ask, Seek, Knock. . .and it shall be opened

Irish Medley

Happy St. Patrick's Day!