Pixel Dance

I hadn’t had a mint Tic-Tac in years. I’m not really a mint person (I’m actually addicted to gum, which is weird). But one day last summer, my husband and I decided to pick up a little plastic box of the nostalgic mints. They sat in the drawer for a few weeks, seemingly unimportant, sharing the drawer with extra keys and rubber bands, and a few expired coupons. There they stayed, dormant, unnoticed.

One day, who knows why, I opened the drawer, saw them, and thought, “what the heck.” Deep into a conversation with my husband, I hardly noticed popping the white, smooth oval into my mouth. Until — it hit me. The sensation of the cool mint pressed into my tongue, and suddenly I was no longer in the dining room. I was in an old VW van in small town Wyoming, with my Papaw driving down the two-lane road. I could see his icy white hair, feel the caramel-colored upholstery of the old van, ride with the jerking of that long stick shift. I was a child again.

I grabbed Darryl’s arm, and he looked at me, confused and a bit stunned. What had just happened? What had happened was a taste of my former life. My grandfather was a Baptist preacher, and because he had to talk to so many people, he constantly carried mint Tic-Tacs. The only time I ever had them was when I was with him. And so the sensation of that mint on my tongue enveloped me with the presence of my wonderful grandfather.

He was a great man in everyone’s opinion. A wonderful speaker, kind man, funny and giving. I adored his visits, when he would take us for long walks to old-fashioned soda fountains and baseball games in the park. He would sing us nonsensical stories and make up words like heck-ty-copter and caughphy (coffee). And when he came up the stairs in the morning, he would moan like a spooky ghost, and we would giggle with glee. He would hold my hand on walks in the woods, and we would sing about five little ducks and wonderful West Virginia. And I loved every minute of it.

The beauty of life is that one aroma, a single taste, the color of the sky at a certain time of day, all of these things can connect you to the people you love. No one is really ever gone. No memory ever too far away. On sad days, lonely days, or days when I just don’t feel like anyone sees who I am, all I have to do is taste the truth I know — that life is made up of moments, memories and meaning. Life is people who matter — who stop to show you love, agree with who you are, and bring meaning to the smallest of things.

I long to see my Papaw again, and I look forward to sharing a mint or two with him in heaven. Until then, I can find him any time I need him in that drawer. I guess there was more stored in there than I realized.

I hope you can remember places, fragrances, music, food — things that are yours. I’d love to hear about them.

Talent has many colors, and sometimes no color at all. For Chuck Asay, black ink and a mind full of connection and possibility are all that’s needed to create political art. Chuck is a long-time political cartoonist, and happens to live in my neck of the woods. So I asked him to share his artistic journey with us. Here’s what he has to say:

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I’ve been drawing cartoons since grade school. It was the thing I could do which set me apart from others my age. My family all drew pictures, so I figured everyone drew pictures. When I got to school, I found I was average at adding and spelling, but my drawings got noticed. Another thing my family gave me was a thick skin. I grew up believing everyone was entitled to my opinion. We used to argue a lot about the issues of the day but when the argument was over, we still loved one another. I thought everyone could separate peoples’ ideas from their personalities. I known now that some people can’t. Some people seem to hate my guts. They can’t see me as a person who just has a different worldview. They should like me, they don’t have to agree with my ideas.

My eighth grade teacher saw one of my cartoons one day that I did about China and Russia. She must have been impressed and called a stringer from The Pueblo Chieftain to do a story about me. I became famous (in my mind) so I decided to give my life to editorial cartooning.

After many years of being the class clown/artist, spending some time in the Army as an illustrator, getting a college degree in art, teaching in the public schools and knocking on many doors, trying to break into the cartooning field, I became discouraged. My big break came after I met Christ. After a few years of following Him, I was reading the scriptures and came across a word that I didn’t know the meaning of. The word was “seditious”. Christians were not supposed to be seditious. As I was reaching for the dictionary to look up the word, it occurred to me that whatever it was, that would be me. Sedition is to be against authorities that God puts over us.

So, I had to make a decision. Was I going to follow Christ or was I going to continue to be seditious? I decided to give up my dream of becoming a cartoonist and follow Christ. A year or so later, the brother who led me to the Lord convinced me I could be a cartoonist…I just shouldn’t be seditious. It was then the cartooning door opened up to me.

I found through all of this, families matter. My family equipped me to do this job. I found that teachers matter. My eighth grade teacher and my spiritual brother opened up opportunities for me. I found that sacrifice matters. I believe we should all examine ourselves and be willing to offer up the things we deem precious to the Lord and allow Him to take it away or give it back to us…kinda like Abraham offered up Isaac.

What do I do best? I think I’m gifted as an encourager. My job description, I believe if found in 1 Thessalonians 5:14…”warn the idle, encourage the timid, help the weak, be patient with everyone.” In warning people to not depend on the government of men (or anything else) to save us, I am encouraging others to cling to the Truth who gives us life and freedom. I’m not speaking against government authorities. I’m warning people not to believe government can save us. God made them servants to punish evil. They are not God. I believe many in America are no different than the people of Israel in the Old Testament who wanted a king to rule over them. We need to encourage the timid to speak out. We need to encourage them to help the weak rather than to depend on the Government to help them. The Government is limited to a sword (law). It can’t love people. We have to do that.

And we have to be patient. God will bring His kingdom about in His own time. We just have to trust and obey.

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I love Chuck’s point about separating a person from his/her worldview. And I don’t want to be seditious either. Great word, in more ways than one. Thank you, Chuck.

You can follow his work online at www.creators.com/editorialcartoons/chuck-asay.html?comicname=ca. Chuck is also available for speaking engagements. He’s delightful, and as you can see from his work, always full of insight.

The forecast for our area had freezing fog last night. What that means to the photographers salivating over the forecast is that in the morning, at the earliest breath of dawn, every tree and plant will be coated with an other-worldly layer of icy frosting. So I was up very early, hoping to beat the sun to some great photos. And I am pleased with the crop. Many a twig and rosehip gave me just what I was looking for. But this photo I didn’t expect. A perfectly frosted spider web.

I’ve always thought spider webs are one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And it impresses me how God knows how to make things which are both beautiful and useful. To a spider, that web is useful — to me, it’s incredibly beautiful. Then, add a frosty morning, and look at how much more intricate and lovely the design is. Bravo, little spider. And bravo, God. I’m glad I got up early.

What is it about the basic things of the earth that bring out the joy in us? Consider the two feet of snow that has just fallen outside. Ask anyone, artist or not, and two feet of snow will create all sorts of wonder. Some will play in it. Some will exercise in it. Some will stare at it. But it is creating life experience in some way or another for virtually everyone.

Snow. Raindrops. Warm breezes. High alpine mountains. Oceans. Sunsets. Dew. They are beautiful. They seem to affect us more than just in their outward beauty. Whatever it is, it gets into us. Moves us. Speaks to us. Calls to us. It separates us from the minutia of life, and draws us to a higher place.

I often think it’s one reason why faith in God used to be more prevalent — people who lived in the middle of nowhere, and connected with the land, the weather, the elements — saw themselves in much better perspective than we do now. They were well aware of how small they were, yet also how vastly miraculous. It seems we’ve disconnected from both ideas.

We are so small. One mountain lion and we’re toast. One cold night in the open and it’s over. The elements remind of us that we are but dust. And they develop a sense of awe, a knowledge of our submission to that which is grander, uncontrollable; master over us. We get to share in its awesomeness, partake of its goodness. Connect with it in our place — insignificant, yet elemental. Part of the beautiful miracle of it all.

And we see in the world a reflection of our beautiful and perfect design. We see the birds fly and the fish swim upstream. We see the trees grow and the rivers meet the sea. We see the balance of the delicate web that is life. And we see our own selves. Our skin, perhaps one of the most brilliant substances ever made — soft, regenerative, sturdy. Our hearts pump a vibrant red liquid full of vitality through our motion-filled bodies. Our vocal chords form the sounds of our thoughts from synapses of energy in our brain. We see. We love. We change. Amazing. Miraculous.

It snows. We breathe. Life goes about living. The earth rotates, spinning through the universe at breakneck speed, but we look around as if nothing’s moving. And we create, as if this isn’t a wondrous event. As if everything in the universe has the ability to create. But other than us, only One creates. Everything else exists within that created realm. We are small. And we are miraculous.

I thought it was about time I introduced you to me. You’ve seen some of my photography, read a little of my writing, and some of you know I make my living as a graphic designer. So here’s my artistic journey.

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I’ve always been the verbal, high-strung, sing-songy friend some of you know. It feels like I’ve got a fireworks stand in my head, and I’m always either singing, writing on scraps of paper and sides of cups, or just trying to find an ear to listen and join my little escapade. To say I’m energized by the thought of creating is an understatement.

My first real creative experience was probably writing the song “Take the Money and Run” in the third grade. Lyrics like “I don’t want a fancy divorce/I don’t want a fancy separation/I don’t want any of your money/All I want is for you to be gone, so…” showed I was definitely not writing from experience, had some good ability to empathize, could unbalance a lyric, and maybe skipped childhood altogether. But I felt compelled from that point on to create. Just create.

In the seventh grade, I won a writing contest, and the prize was 6 sessions with a college writing professor. Oh, I thought I had won the world’s most abundant lottery. And I didn’t even mind that all we did was talk about Edgar Allen Poe (although later on I would lament it). My roots in story grew deeper with the intricacies of Poe and Agatha Christie. I loved plot, loved story. My English teacher gave me a journal at the end of the year, with a note that encouraged me to keep writing. Immediately I began an extensive plot development of a castle and many dinner guests and murrrddddeeerrr. I’m still mulling it over at times, actually.

But writing wasn’t the only passion developing. In junior high, I fell in love with the darkroom and photography. My Pentax K1000 is still one of the joys of my life. Understanding focal point, the rule of thirds, flow, story in a photograph, and then in a layout. Whew. Dude. I love that stuff.

I plunged myself into the junior high yearbook, then the high school paper, and then one of the the crowning moments of my life, winning the national competition for yearbook copy and caption writing my senior year. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I could write cutlines like no other. But it was my love for the dominant photo accompanied by just the right caption that did it for me. That same yearbook won first place in the nation.

That was it. My heart was absolutely set on this stuff. I jumped into journalism in college. I designed the school’s magazine, and got a job laying out tehnical papers for the school’s IT department (on Pagemaker Ice Age, with a rock for a mouse). I gravitated towards advertising and graphic design as my emphasis, where I was going to be the next great ad creator of the world. That 1984 Apple ad had me entranced, and that’s what I wanted to do. The way ad copy sizzles, takes you on a 2-minutes journey. The way a dressed-up photo or 30-second spot makes you decide then and there that you are going to be “that kind of a person.” I am still fascinated.

For my internship, I worked with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship on their Urbana 90 convention. Any of you who were there might remember the big world map and magenta “Urbana” that was the stage backdrop; or the cyan, magenta and black posters that blanketed the stadium with the words “Jesus Christ, Lord of the Universe, Hope of the World” in 6 or 7 languages. That was my handiwork. And I will never forget walking out into the arena the first night, with 20,000 people looking at that backdrop, those posters. And no one knew it was me. That sense of anonymous accomplishment is very important to me, and I got addicted that night.

After college, I ended up getting a job at a home plan design company. I worked on magazines and catalogs, and learned all there is to know about print production. And I worked with my (still) dear friend, Bruce, on advertising. We wrote such epic ads as “Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch (or the 1-story . . .).” We would break into pun contests on the fly, and even now have a long, nonsensical greeting full of story and meaning. Good creative stuff.

After a few years there, I went on to run the art department of a fundraising company, designing 40 brochures a year. And I ran a freelance business on the side, where I liked to do graphic design for causes I care about, like the Crisis Pregnancy Center, and Omaha for Decency — and anti-pornography group. Then, wonder of all wonders, I was plucked from obscurity to move to heaven, and design Citizen. It was a dream come true, and married all of my passions. I felt like I was made for it. And I was able to write and design renewal ads for the magazine for several years.

Now I design much more than I write, so I’ve been working on fiction (back to the old Poe days) and songwriting, to keep my brain from popping open. And I also sell some stock photography on the side. And I blog. Therefore I am.

My advice is just keep doing it, whatever it is. I spit out a lot of stuff that no one ever sees. But it makes me more of who I am, it teaches me something I didn’t know, and it motivates me to continue. Create, and release the outcome. Risk being good or bad, known or unknown. Soon you will see a path forming behind you, and it will be clear what was in you all along.

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Thanks for listening. I hope this makes you want to create in some way. We’ve all got creative corners. Let’s dust them off.

Anyone who loves college football probably knows about Lou Holtz. He’s the former coach of places like Notre Dame and South Carolina, and we watch him on the weekends with Mark May and Reece Davis on ESPN. During the Virginia Tech-Miami game on a recent Thursday night, Coach Holtz told of a pre-game dinner prayer the Notre Dame players would say. It was so great, I thought I would repeat it here. I don’t have an original author, and forgive me if all the words aren’t correct. But this is the gist:

This is the beginning of a new day
God has given me this day to use as I will
I can waste it or use it for good
What I do today is important because
I’m exchanging a day out of my life for it
When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever
Leaving in its place that which I have traded
I want it to be gain, not loss
Good, not evil
Success, not failure
In order that I should not regret the price I paid for it
Because the future is just a whole string of nows

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May we all enjoy the value of today, and choose accordingly. Have a great day.