Peter and the Flying Turtle

While Max’s party was going on in the dining hall, Peter sneaked away from the noisy crowd and through the kitchen. His bare feet on the red tile floor barely made a sound. No one even saw him leave.

This was his moment. It was now or never. Just a few more steps and he would be free.

Peter grasped the brass knob and pushed open the heavy wooden door with one hand and squeezed Simon tightly in his other hand. They peeked out the door together.

The garden was dark and quiet except for the soft hum of tree frogs. The grass shined green and wet in the light from the doorway and he could just make out the live oak across the pond.

“This is it,” he whispered to Simon. “One more step and there’s no turning back.”

(from Peter and the Flying Turtle)

This is a small excerpt from a children's book I've been writing. The artwork is a little sketchy right now and far from final, but this small piece might give you an idea of the general direction of the book.

Dear Baby Girl

Dear Baby Girl:

On this day one year ago, our lives changed forever. We waited so long for you, we almost gave up hope. The last few years were the hardest. The disappointments were almost too much for us to bear. There were so many nights we spent crying out to God to hear our prayers. And then you came home to us.

From the moment we met you on October 11, 2011, we knew you and you knew us. You reached for us in those first moments, your big brown eyes searching, and we were overcome. You laughed and played and sang with us. The few hours we spent with you that day changed everything. All those years, all those prayers came crashing back like waves on a shore, the anguished words now a peaceful hush. How do you prepare for answered prayers?

On this day one year ago, we waited for your arrival. The day was warm and bright, the leaves turning golden- red despite the stifling heat of early fall in Georgia. The ticking of the clock was never so loud.

And then you were here, clinging to us, our arms around your tiny body, your arms around our necks, our hearts so full. You cried out for Tristan and hugged him, loving him instantly. He warmed up eventually. You both fell asleep in Daddy’s arms. Suddenly, all the pieces came together.

What a year! What an adventure! You are so smart, so kind, so sweet, so funny, and so fiercely independent. You are a beautiful girl with a beautiful soul. You bring us happiness like we’ve never known. We are overjoyed and humbled we get to be your Mama and Daddy. We are so thankful. We are so blessed.

On this day one year ago, we became a family.

You were worth the wait.

We love you baby girl,

Mama and Daddy

Still Standing

Another creation using the Paper by 53 app for the iPad. Here's a shout-out to Ben Bonner for another great message on Sunday about miracles and being a miracle maker in a our everyday lives. Ben is the assistant pastor at Christ Fellowship Church: http://www.christ-fellowship.com/. He is teaching most Sundays as our Senior Pastor, Marc Limbaugh, recovers at the Shepherd Center in Atlanta following a bad accident two weeks ago.

As I listened to Ben bring another message of hope yesterday, I opened my iPad and begin to compose this simple watercolor/ink piece. Sketching and doodling have always helped me focus on listening close to a speaker (notes are great but art is better!). 

Marc Limbaugh is also my father-in-law and as we wait for positive signs and reports each day of his recovery, my imagination composes pictures. I think of how Marc and I both are in awe of creation and all its wonders. I think of how Marc loves the mountains and rivers and streams. I think of how Marc once told a story of how he woke his four sons up on a trip out west to see a sunrise in a national park and how they watched it in awe together and how he treasured that shared moment. As Ben spoke, my heart turned to a sunset over mountains and a forest, the last glow before the night comes sweeping in with a blanket of stars. The end of another day fading into darkness.

By faith, I hold on to hope. In the morning, the sun will rise again. There will be mountains to climb, but we will find our path and sure footing. 

And we will stand in awe.

Coming Home

Another sketch using the Harmonious app on the iPad. Inspired by a photo I saw of captured German soldiers in WWII.

The toll of war is heart wrenching. You can see it in the eyes of those coming home after their service has ended. I had a friend tell me once he killed enemies and saw friends die when he served in Iraq.

"Sometimes," he said, "I think I died with them."

"That's terrible," I said after a few moments.

He took a long drag on a cigarette and exhaled slowly, nodding, and then rubbing his hands together against the cold of an early winter in Georgia.I remembered when were both younger, just reckless youths, he confessed to me how he heard ghosts moving around in the rented row house his family lived in at the time. I told him the creaks and groans he heard were probably the result of an old house settling at night. He said no. I was wrong. They whispered to him.

His eyes were hollow then.

"I'm pretty sure your buddies would want you to live your life. You know...survive."

He stretched his arms wide against the blistered sky and shivered. A mockingbird flew across the parking lot and over trees and out of sight.

"I wasn't talking about my buddies. I meant the ones I took."

He ground his cigarette out with his boot heel. They were construction boots for his new job, his new life - sturdy and dark with steel toes. He dressed the part.

"Come on. Let's go inside. It's getting cold out here." He clapped me on the back and turned to go. "My nipples are so hard, I think I could dial a rotary phone with them." And then he laughed. Just like old times.

I couldn't see his eyes.