Finding Joy, Peace and Gratitude In the Darkest Chapters of Our Life

 
It's become somewhat of an annual tradition to visit Grafton Lakes State Park in late summer to search for mushrooms...not the eating kind.  For the average person, that exploration might involve walking through the forest but my M.O. is capturing photos from the passenger seat of our car.  That not only eliminates the fear of ticks, but increases the challenge of the catch by a landslide.  

With the exceptionally wet summer we had, we were pretty confident we'd be successful, but I couldn't believe how many we found. I didn't realize mushrooms came in so many varieties. Did you know....

Fungi are critical to the health of the forest, decomposing woody debris and helping trees obtain required nutrients. Fungi are neither plant nor animal, and biologists place them in their own kingdom.     -NorthernWoodlands.org

Our annual hunt for mushrooms is a little like a toddler's version of a scavenger hunt.  Each discovery evokes a tap on the brake, sometimes a short drive in reverse, a squeal of joy (from me, not John), and a photo capture for posterity.  By the end of our visit, I'd captured a bumper crop of fungi, some varieties I'd never seen before.  I imagine my excitement and sense of accomplishment may be a little like what my dad must have felt after a good day of fishing.

This annual tradition has become a somewhat philosophical exercise, reminding me of the challenges of life.  Specifically, it reminds me that in times of darkness, when it's hard to find hope, when the light at the end of the tunnel seems too far away to discern, when we're in that dark place, we are called upon to not dwell in the darkness, but instead to look hard for the bright spots.  Just like when in a dark forest, we must turn our eyes to the rays of sun to guide us out.  We must focus on our blessings, on the things we are grateful for to help us overcome the darkness.  I've written about this idea more than once here on the blog, but today that concept of focusing on the light is inspired by a person - a person who is facing what most of us would consider the worst kind of darkness....only she isn't consumed by that darkness.  She is focused on the light.

Last week I had the privilege of visiting a dear friend who is nearing the end of her earthly journey.  I was apprehensive about seeing her in this state, worried that I wouldn't have the right words - or any words - worried that I'd not be strong for her and break down.  I feared that I would be weak when I should be a comfort to her.  I spent about 30 minutes with her, and all of my fears faded quickly, not because "I" was strong, but because SHE was.  In those 30 minutes, my friend talked about her wonderful family, about the great care they are giving her.  She shared the kindness of her neighbors and of the friends who had sent her cards - over 100.  Every word was of gratitude, joy, love and faith!  There was no fear, no anger, no resentment over her limited time.  All she seemed to feel was immense love and gratitude and peace.  How?  How does one reach the last days of their life and have a heart so full of grace and peace?  What an inspiration!   I didn't have to worry about what to say, she filled the conversation with ease and I suspect it's because she understands how difficult it is for her friends and family.  I believe it's also because her faith has replaced fear and she knows where she'll be when she leaves this earthly place.  

Too often we become entrenched in life's small struggles, in the daily frustrations, the things that don't go as planned, the things we wish we had in life, the have nots instead of our blessings.   It's just how we humans sometimes operate in this world of convenience and instant gratification.   My exercise in treasure hunting colorful mushrooms in the forest is an exercise we all need to practice in our everyday lives.  Not for mushrooms, but for finding the little joys around us and feeling gratitude for them instead of wishing things were different than they are.  We need to stop dreaming of what might be and find the jewels all around us.  We are called to live with gratitude and grace.  Finding all these mushroom was challenging, just like fighting to focus on the light when all we see is darkness is challenging.  Just like the mushroom are critical to the health of the forest, the dark times in our lives serve to teach us to appreciate the bright spots, the blessings if you will.  If my friend can do that as she faces saying goodbye to her large, loving family and many friends, certainly we all can do better in our own lives.  Instead of mourning that she's writing her final chapter, she's celebrating that chapter and writing it with the same strength, grace and faith she lived her life.  She's not just focusing on the light, she is the light that is enabling her family and friends to walk this difficult walk. 

Life is not always as we planned or imagined.  Some days it feels hopeless and we are forced to walk miles in the darkness and face unimaginable challenges and impossible goodbyes.  I think we are called to be like my friend and rise above those challenges, celebrate the small victories and have faith that tomorrow will be a little brighter. These little jewels of the forest remind me of that and of the special people who have stood quietly at the edge of the darkness in my life, cheering me on, holding my hand, reminding me how very much I have to be thankful for.  I'm so blessed to have so many of these people in my life and I hope that one day when I'm writing my final chapter, I'll be as joyful and grateful, and that my light might shine on after I'm gone.  Thank you, my friend, for being the light that helps others see.

 Matthew 5:16 says, "Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven".  Godspeed my friend!  The world has been brighter for having you in it and your light will live on in all the people you've touched.  Carol, may the road to heaven be as beautiful as the life you created.

Post Script: 

When I finished writing this post, this memory from 2013 popped up on my Facebook page.  It's what I refer to as a God wink - not a coincidence, but a wink from God whose Hands are in everything we do.

Post Script:  My friend went home to her Lord on September 26th.  RIP Carol.

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Remembering and Paying Tribute To A Special Man - Ronald D. Dixson

 A life that touches others goes on forever.

-Author Unknown

Next month my blog will be nine years old.  I've been thinking about that fact for the past few days, the circumstances surrounding its inception, the 557 posts I've written since April of 2014, and mostly the people I've met through the stories I've written.  I've been feeling particularly blessed this week as I remembered that group of people, people whose paths I'd never have crossed had it not been for the exact purpose of sharing their business, their farms, their history here on the blog.  Along with the joy and privilege it is to make these friendships comes the deep sense of loss I experience when I lose them.  I experienced that heart-piercing pain today when I learned of the passing of Ron Dixson.

I met Ron back in December of 2022.  I wrote about him on the blog back then: "Through the years I've met several of Easton's fine residents and this trip was no exception.  Our last task on this particular ride was to find a barn that we discovered for the first time last summer.  After three 'wrong roads', we finally found the 'right road'.  As we turned the car around to put me on the right side of the road to capture the back of the barn, we noticed a gentleman standing at his mailbox.  Embarrassed to be caught red-handed photographing his barn, we pulled up the hill and stopped alongside him to say hello and express how beautiful his barn is, something I wish we were able to do more often when out taking photos.  Well, despite the leftover snow and slush covering the road in the shade where the mailbox stood, Mr. Barn Owner, cane in hand, came across the road and with the warmest and friendliest demeanor leaned against our car as we humbly shared how much we loved his barn.  Not bothered by the winter chill or precarious conditions underfoot, this wonderful man, Mr. Dixson, chatted for about 15 minutes sharing history - his and his barn's.  It didn't matter that we were total strangers.  Maybe it was our mutual love for the majestic red structure that was at this moment cast in the most glorious golden sunlight, but the friendly conversation offered by this perfect stranger was a reminder that there is still so much good in this otherwise crazy world."

I couldn't get Ron Dixson out of my mind after that brief encounter.  Something about his demeanor, his gentle disposition, his hospitality, just drew me in and over the next several days he crossed my mind over and over again.  I decided to make him an Easton calendar, one that included a few photos of his barns along with other Easton locations.  I thought that being an Easton native, he'd enjoy having his family farm featured in print.  It was a few days after Christmas when John and I drove to Easton to deliver Ron's calendar.  I stayed in the car and sent John to the door, hoping Ron would be home willing to open the door to accept this small token of our friendship.  Sure enough, Ron was home but he insisted John fetch me from the car and come in for a visit.  

Of course I couldn't say 'no'.  Well, that visit lasted about an hour and during that time we learned so much about Ron.  He was one of 12 children raised on a dairy farm in Easton - the same farm I was photographing.  That farm that has been in his family for 200 years.  We learned about his beloved wife, Helen who he was married to for 63 years, his two daughters and so much more.  It was evident that his love for his wife was as strong as it was when they were high school sweethearts.  In fact, he was going to bring the calendar to her in the nursing home so she could enjoy seeing her hometown through the year.  There was just something about this man....his trusting hospitality to welcome strangers into his home, his generosity in sharing Easton history with us, his humble pride in sharing the story of his life.....I was just drawn to him and couldn't help but feel a strong admiration and respect, as well as regret fearing that our friendship may be short.

Today I got the sad news that Ron passed away yesterday.  So many emotions came over me when I heard the news.  Tears flowed and sadness rushed through me, so much grief over a man I barely knew.  But during that overwhelming grief, I was filled with gratitude for having had the privilege of our brief acquaintance.  However brief that time was, Mr. Dixson left a lasting impression on both John and I, especially for his open heart and hospitality.  I'm sure he touched many lives, especially in his tax and finance business, many who have had the pleasure of long friendships and relationships over the years, but I'll never forget the moments when our paths crossed and will always be grateful for that.  

We never know when life-changing events may happen in our lives, or when someone may step into our path and we might be forever changed. It's important that we take the time to savor and appreciate those magic moments and special people like Ron Dixson. He was one in a million - I could tell that in our short time together - and heaven is a little bit better for having him there.

Ron Dixson's Obituary

To read more blog stories about special people I've shared here on the blog, check out my Directory under the category - Intriguing People

https://www.lifeasiseeitphotography.net/p/directory.html

 

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Goin' Fishing - Channeling My Dad's Favorite Hobby

 "I go fishing not to find myself but to lose myself." 

-Joseph Monninger  

Anyone who loves fishing can probably relate to this quote. I know that if my father was still here, he would. My dad was a lifelong fisherman. Fishing was many things for him. It was an escape, a challenge, a sport shared with friends and my mom, a date with nature. He enjoyed fishing from the time he was a boy until just a few years before his death at age 78.

Like most of his interests, Dad was an 'all in' kind of guy when it came to fishing. He had the necessary equipment, in fact he had 'all' the equipment, far above and beyond the 'necessary' stuff. Rods and reels, lures, depth finders, nets, waders, boats, filet knives, etc... He could have opened a small fishing shop with all the 'necessities' he'd acquired over his lifetime.  When I was a kid after a rainy day he'd send me outside after dark to pick night crawlers.   Night crawlers in our basement refrigerator was a pretty normal thing.

 Of course in order to fish, one needs a place to fish.  He had that too.  Though he fished at various lakes in his younger days, his favorite fishing hole was Saratoga Lake - the lake he fished as a boy and where he owned a home the last 41 years of his life.  Even before buying property on the lake, he spent weekends and summers there.  He didn't just fish in the warm weather, he loved ice fishing too and he and my mom enjoyed fishing on Lake George in their retirement, even though he had his own lake just outside his front door.

fishing - A form of meditation, some form of communion with levels of yourself that are deeper than the ordinary self.  -Ted Hughes

Every Saturday morning Dad collected his gear and traipsed down the driveway, across Route 9P, and loaded up his boat, ready to enjoy a morning of his favorite sport.  Dad had fishing buddies who joined him, sometimes in his boat, some he met up with out on the lake, and often his partner in crime was my mom.  She shared the thrill of the catch as much as he did.  Though some hobbies we acquire as adults, the photo history I've inherited clearly shows that Dad's love of the hobby started young.  And that love never waned, although his enthusiasm dampened in later years when his fishing hole became overpopulated with speed boats and jet skis, ruining the serenity he was accustomed to. 

A man's 'one last cast' is like a woman's "I'll be ready in 5 min.

Dad would come in from a morning on the lake, unload his gear, carry it back across the road, up the driveway and put it all back in its organized space and then settle down for what always came next....cleaning the catch.  Dad didn't just fish for the fun of the catch, he ate his catch and often shared his catch with neighbors and friends, but not before he pristinely filleted each and every walleye, blue gill, perch or sun fish.  This was quite a job and though he was skilled from many years of experience, he had a faithful assistant who not only supervised his work, but happily ate any scraps Dad threw his way.

These two were quite a team.  Mom would then take the filets and divide them up into Ziploc bags for the freezer.  She was a pro at cooking the fresh catch. 

My grandfather (l), my dad and my Uncle Ray (r)

My Aunt Twin (l), my grandmother, and Dad (r)

I never quite understood or shared Dad's passion for the sport of fishing.  Sitting in a boat for hours waiting for a fish to bite my worm was something I didn't have the patience for when I was young, but I I always knew it was something that brought my Dad immense joy, on many levels.   This week something struck me that made me finally get it.  I now understand.

I love taking photos.  Everyone who knows me knows that, but hardly anyone really understands why.  My family, my closest friends, or anyone other than a fellow photographer pretty much just doesn't get it.  I've never been able to really explain it and until now have really simply felt it was just something that no one who didn't share the hobby would ever really 'get'.  But thinking about my Dad's love of fishing made me see the parallel between the two hobbies.

When we go out on the road for a drive, most of the time it's with the hope and intent of finding that perfect photo - the 'money shot' as I call it.  Like with fishing, weather conditions have to be just right. For me there needs to be some sun, some blue sky, maybe some fluffy clouds or dark, angry clouds, etc...  As with fishing, I never know what I'm going to catch.  Some days we come home with only a few good shots, some days with many 'keepers' and some days we come home with the payload.  Every time out is an adventure, not knowing what lies around the next bend.

Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they're after.     -Henry David Thoreau

Also like fishing, our photo seeking trips take us out of the chaos to a quieter, more serene place where the only thing we hear are the sounds of nature.  We are alone in our own sacred space where we can unwind and reflect and focus on the things that calm our minds and slow our anxious nerves.  Like fishing, every expedition is new and different, and filled with excitement and uncertainty.  When we come home, I anxiously upload and sometimes 'clean' my 'catch' and ready them for sharing.   Dad shared his catch and I share mine.  Just as Dad caught thousands of walleyes and perch over the years, each one was exciting as he reeled them in.  I have so many photos of the same barns, seasons after seasons, yet each new capture is exciting.   When the flag on Dad's ice fishing tip-ups would pop up, he and my mom would run to that hole to see what was on the end of the line.  It never got old.  I don't think catching a perfect sunset or finding a new dirt road will ever get old for me.

Fishing is not an escape from life but often a deeper immersion into it.

 - Harry Middleton

Dad and I may never have shared his passion for fishing, but I can finally say that now I understand it. We may have been trolling for a different prize, but the joy, the satisfaction, the thrill are very much the same.  My Dad was a pretty special guy and I'll never stop missing him but am so thankful for the memories and the photos I cherish.

Me and Dad

Me and Dad

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My Father's Love - The Marquetry of Ed Lantzer

 It's easy to get caught up in the daily humdrum of life and become unfazed, unimpressed and perhaps a little bored with our little portion of the planet.  Easy, that is, until something comes along that wakes us up, sparks our flame and causes us to proclaim an enthusiastic, WOW.  That's what My Father's Love exhibit did today.  

Ed Lantzer was born in 1931 in Kalkaska, MI, and was raised in a chicken coop. When he was five years old he contracted scarlet fever and became brain damaged, losing his ability to write or draw.  He survived, but his baby brother, his grandmother and grandfather all died.  His mother, so angry, blamed Ed for his brother's death and told Ed he'd never love or be loved, words that would haunt Ed and become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Ed's father taught him woodworking and at the age of 7, Ed went to work in a lumber mill.  His father taught him marquetry, the art of creating designs by laying small pieces of wood side-by-side - mostly decorative boxes and game tables.  His father utilized 90 and 45 degree angles in his wood pieces and when Ed was 15, his dad told him it was time for him to come up with his own angle.  After much contemplation, Ed settled on 30 and 60 degree diamonds.

Ed spend three years apprenticing at Disney in Florida perfecting his woodworking skills.  While Ed was reading C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, he was inspired to create wooden panels depicting the story of Jesus.  Ed's life was not an easy one, scarred by the blame and words of his mother, Ed concealed his feelings for his wife and children, abandoning them for a life of homelessness while he searched for his purpose.  While living in an abandoned school building, Ed began building his vision - 4' x 8' panels made of a base of plywood with a support structure below.  Any money Ed earned he used for wood, some he found in dumpsters.  His design began with two 1/2" diamonds set together at the center of the board, with no design drawn, no pattern, no guide, just a vision in his own mind that would materialize with each piece he added.  

Each piece, glued down with simple Elmer's Wood Glue, told a story, sometimes clearly and sometimes hidden only for keen eyes to spot.  This process - Ed's panels - began when Ed was 53 years old and continued for 20 years.  Each panel took about a year to complete - with Ed working on the floor atop the panel which would be designed one dinner plate sized circle at a time from the center of the panel to each corner.  

The color differences in the images are not achieved with dye or paint or stain, but with the use of 150 different kinds of wood, laid in different directions in order to achieve the color variation. His first panel, titled "My Father's Love" depicted Jesus at the last supper. The very first piece he laid was at the throat of Jesus, almost where his voice box might be, possibly to indicate spreading the word of Jesus.

  Each panel illustrates the men at the Last Supper with symbols of each of their stories.  Words, names, symbols are subtly incorporated, many only visible from certain angles and light.  The entire Last Supper consists of 7 panels, 8' x 20' long weighing over 3000 lbs.  Here's the three center panels .....

LaShelle VanHouten, an art teacher for at-risk students would see Ed riding past her school on his bicycle.  People in town were all familiar with Ed.  One day in 2005, LaShelle went to the abandoned school house where she knew Ed lived and what she saw when she went inside amazed her and before long she convinced Ed to teach her students the art of woodworking.  While at the school working with the students, Ed completed his last two panels - AdamEve (no space because Ed believed they were not the same but like each other and are 'one').  

Ed’s artistic signature is 6-22-34 and he has signed many of the panels this way.
6: is for the 6th book of the Bible—Joshua
22: is for Joshua chapter 22
34: is for the verse: “The children of Reuben and Gad called the altar, “Ed” for it shall be a witness between us that the Lord is God.” Ed’s artwork is a witness of his love for the Lord

 The whole collection of My Father's Love debuted at a C.S. Lewis festival in Petosky. Ed died in 2009 at the age of 77.  His father never got to see his work and neither have his children from whom he was still estranged.  In an interview, Ed said 'he was sad that his father would never know what he had taught him and realize what he did for me'.  He was immensely grateful to his father.

The collection has been 'homeless' at times, like Ed spent much of his life.  My Father’s Love Foundation was established for the purpose of housing and protecting Ed Lantzer’s wood mosaic panels as well as for coordinating and displaying the panels for the world to see. Ed made the Foundation promise to never charge people to see the collection.   Today, the Foundation welcomes opportunities to display the collection which consists of 30 4' x 8' panels weighing 400 lbs each with over two million tiny wooden pieces.... not exactly an easy thing to transport or display.  Not only does a collection of this size require a large space, but a team of experts able to carefully move these works of art without destroying them.

We visited My Father's Love at its current home at St. Edward the Confessor Church in Clifton Park, NY.  We had two amazing docents this morning, Mary and Diane, both of whom were well read and brought Ed's panels to life telling the stories crafted in wood and pointing out many hidden symbols and hints that Ed so painstakingly incorporated in his elaborate designs.  Later in the day, we returned for a second tour, this time with our granddaughters.  Kirsten O'Brien (Diane's daughter) was our docent for this tour.  Kirsten was instrumental in getting the exhibit to St. Edward's.  It seems Kirsten's cousin happened to be on a plane when she was 'divinely' seated next to LaShelle VanHouten.  Well, LaShelle shared Ed's story, and as you can imagine she could not get the story off her mind.  Later in a family zoom call she shared LaShelle's story with Kirsten and the rest, as they say, is history.  

The exhibit is scheduled to remain at St. Edward's until at least January and if it's still homeless by then, it may be extended.  The Foundation would love Ed's panels be seen and appreciated by people everywhere.  Ed's life was not a charmed one, but he overcame the toughest of obstacles and used his faith to create something amazing, all to share his love of God whom he called Daddy.  In the end, all Ed wants, in his own words, "Is to sit down with God one day and hear the words, WELL DONE".  I'm pretty sure he did and hopefully he hears it each and every time someone witnesses the story of My Father's Love.

For more information about Ed Lantzer's story, http://myfatherslove.info/   On that link you can view two very riveting videos of interviews with Ed and LaShelle and members of the Foundation.  If you're local and want to see the collection in person, which I highly recommend, you can catch a tour on Thursdays at St. Edward the Confessor Church on 569 Clifton Park Center Road in Clifton Park.  Tour times are at 11:30, 1:00, 2:30, 4:00 and 6:30.  Visits are also welcome during church hours but I highly recommend a tour to get a deeper understanding of each panel.  You can also contact the church to arrange for a private tour or check church hours at:  https://www.stedwardsny.org/   518-371-7372   You can find LaShelle VanHouten's book, The Mural Writer, on Amazon or from the Church Office.  

Some text and narrative for this blog was gratefully borrowed from the Foundation website linked above.

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