The Blank Canvas

 

The Blank Canvas

By John W. Vander Velden

 

I awake each day and find a blank canvas. Over my life I have been given all the brushes and colors I need. As the hours pass, I cover that canvas with lines shapes and blocks of color, as I alone choose. If I do the task well, I will cover every square inch before my night’s rest.

You see it is God that provides that blank space. God provides the pigments…the bright colors…the subtle shades. God has given the tools I needed. But it is up to me to take those colors, use those tools to create my own artwork. To cover each blank canvas as I will.

So each morning, I face the new day…a blank canvas. I must do what I can with that slice of my life in a way that is best for me and those around me. I accept the gift, the time, the tools, and the bit of wisdom I have acquired to make my artwork worthy of the giver, knowing that, in truth, I am unable to fully satisfy the value of the gifts given.

But the Giver does not keep a tally of costs and rewards, and only hopes I use the gifts I have been given the best I am able. To take each day and use it to make some sort of difference. Positive acts, even the miniscule nearly invisible things matter. For you see, when today’s canvas is completed, God will add it to the others. That each canvas is but a part of the mosaic of my life. Every brushstroke matters in that collection of my days.

But that group of canvases never was meant to stand alone. The mosaic of mine is but a part of a much larger work. A portion of the grand work of billions of hands and hearts. A portion of God’s greatness…revealed.

And that knowledge has led me to recognize the grandest color I can use, the color that should be the foundation of each daily artwork…is love. Love of others…love for myself…and love of God.

So I am grateful for today’s blank canvas, and all those yet to be. I am grateful each day’s failings and successes are but a part of my artwork. The proof of my human strengths and weaknesses. I am grateful that I am not judged, for good or bad, by any particular brushstroke. For if I try…truly try to do my best…then I need not fear, for my artwork, the canvas given and covered, will be found acceptable.

I awake each morning and find a blank canvas.

What will you do with yours?

(446 Words) 12-1-2024

Page by Page

 

Page by Page

By John W. Vander Velden

 

There have been several things going on in my life these last months. It has been difficult to carve out the time needed to work on my writing project. But I do my best to attack the second editorial revisions of When Light Comes Unexpected the fourth book of the Misty Creek Series. For I know readers of the series await the next instalment, and I continue, page by page, to work on the near final draft.

I am handling this book differently than the three before it. Perhaps because writing these books has, for me, been a learning curve. So on this draft I will sift through these pages three times.

Step one: I am going over my editor’s comments, making changes when I feel best, but considering each comment she makes carefully. I agree with most of her suggestions, but not all. She understands me quite well, and that helps the both of us as we work on this book.

After I go through fifty or sixty pages, I begin step two: I print off three chapters at a time to be read out loud. I find that combination of verbalizing the pages and seeing them on a medium other than a computer monitor, helps me catch mistakes.

That leaves step three: After I make changes from step 2, I load those three chapters into my tablet and allow my electronic reader to read them to me. This is an important step I learned on my third book. The machine reads what is on the page not what my brain thinks is on the page.

So how far have I gotten into this task.

I have completed all three steps on 330 pages out of 518. That being said I have completed the first step to page 400. So you can see I have done the lion’s share of the heavy lifting.

But the work continues…page by page.   

(320 Words) 10-18-2024

Just Passin' Through...But

 

Just Passin’ Through…But?

By John W. Vander Velden

 

I remember back in the 70’s that there were bumper stickers with the words Just passin’ through. I believe it was meant to imply that someone was just moving down the road. There was no need to notice them for they paid little heed to the locals that came in went in their travels while bound for somewhere else.

They were just passing through…no more no less.

There are those that believe that sentiment can be applied to a wider perspective. That they pass through the masses and accept nothing from most encounters and prefer to leave nothing behind.

But is that realistic? How can you or I slide unnoticed in any major part of our lives?

The thought led me to thinking. Years ago our family had a small boat. The 14-foot-long Aluma-Craft, which we purchased used was not particularly fast, especially later when we put a 6 HP motor on its stern. All the same it was fun to take it to the lake and cruise about on a hot summer day.

However, there were times when we needed to go through public channels. Those narrows would be marked as idle zones or no wake zones. For the waves a boat could make passing through those narrows might damage portions of the channel or things tied at the sides of it.  

But here’s the thing, even our small boat, moving at an idle, creates a small wake. Cutting through the water at any speed makes waves that move out and away. Of course, slow boats create small harmless waves, which was the point of the signs to begin with.

But any boat in motion causes the water to rise and fall behind it.

Just as a boat cannot move without altering the water around it, we cannot slip through the sea of humanity completely unnoticed.

Certainly, there are those people that make bigger waves than others. And it is easy to doubt our own significance. We are, after all, just ordinary people, yet we leave a mark. The important thing to consider is the kind of mark we leave behind on those around us. Few wish to leave a negative impression, yet there are those that seem more than content to do so. We do not enjoy being near those that spew their anger, rant at life’s unfairness, or scream at or about others.

Their wake damages the world’s channel we share.

Just as there are those that seem emit darkness to the world around them, there are others that fill the space they find themselves in with positivity. People gravitate to these amazing individuals, and the light that comes from them.

Most of us are somewhere in between, going about living day to day, sliding through the sea of people, yet our wake touches many more than we imagine.

Therefore, it is up to us to decide what kind of mark we leave…be it the dark turbulence of a thunderstorm or the brightness of a summer’s sky, for we do have the ability to choose.

And it is an important choice. How we act and react to those around us, effect not only them, but us as well. Though it is impossible for us to be positive all the time, yet we need not fall into the pit of indignation, and the darkness that benefits no one.

As you pass through each day…may your wake include understanding, patience, and compassion, for to do so makes our world better.

For you see…no one is just passin’ through. No one.

(591 Words) 9-20-2024

 

 

 

The Naming of Things

 

The Naming of Things

By John W. Vander Velden

 

For most of my life I was not in the habit of naming things. Oh I named pets, a tom cat named Gray Gray spent most of his life on our farm in the sixties. Dad named the farm dogs, Ike, a boxer that was tougher than nails, yet terrified of thunder. A mutt of a snow dog, whose soft fur seemed a foot thick, was named King. The fur wasn’t that thick, but King loved the cold. He would lay all day on top of the snow bank in a raging blizzard. An incredible beast. We’ve had cats named Moose, Baby, Oliver, and so many others that we attached names to.

But in general, I did not name objects.

Jackie on the other hand named some of her automobiles. She called my blue 86 Dodge Aries, Beasty. To be honest it was a good car, but the least animal like of anything I owned. But the time came when we felt she needed 4-wheel-drive. Winter in Marshall County usually means snow, and she was expected to make it to work on time no matter what. That was when we purchased a small white Jeep. Now that vehicle, she decided, deserved a name. It only took a couple of weeks to hang the moniker Pearl on her Renegade.

Time came when I needed a different vehicle, and as luck would have it, two years after adopting Pearl, we added a younger sibling that looked just like her. Now I was faced with naming the second white Renegade. Hmmmm. It took a few weeks, I toyed with names that sounded Italian. After all our Renegades were imported from there. Finally I settled on Benny Italian or not.

Perhaps that opened the floodgates for I have named other objects since the summer of 2019. The most recent are the tools that help me with my mobility, which are the real subjects of this post.

It began in late February, when a cane became a needed accessory. I had taken one of dad’s metal canes as my own. But the thing betrayed me. I named that piece of Aluminum, Judas, for it tripped me in the dentist’s office. The result was an ambulance ride, seven stitches above the right eyebrow, a broken finger, and four weeks of Physical Therapy for my pinky finger. Hence the name Judas.

A pair of surgeries in April and May changed things, and my bionic knees demanded something stronger and more trustworthy than Judas. A dear friend of mine loaned me a walker, which I promptly named Jethro. If you’re familiar with the CBS Monday night lineup, you might understand the name choice. You see my Jethro was quiet and dependable.

Jethro was my companion until just before Independence Day when I finally was allowed to move to a cane. Jethro was no Judas, he never let me down, no matter how awkward it was to get around. The new cane went unnamed for several weeks. It seemed to me the device had a similar personality to Jethro, but I thought calling it Jethro II, was not acceptable. I finally named my new black cane, LeRoy.

Fact is me and LeRoy have gotten around. Gone shopping in Plymouth, took a trip to Shipshewana, Indiana, but the outing most common was to Physical Therapy.

They have not given me permission to set my dear metal friend aside. I had hoped to be allowed to wander on only two legs by month’s end, but alas it does not seem to be the expected situation. It seems that I will be needing to keep LeRoy close at hand for the next several weeks.

It’s a good thing I gave the cane a name…  

(630 Words) 8-23-2024

   

Bindings

 

Bindings

By John W. Vander Velden

 

For each of us are bound,

With cords we recognize and those that go unnoticed.

Some are connections that hold us but briefly,

Others, attachments made, that endure many years.

Yet for each of us there are bindings

That seem as fragile as a single silk strand.

It is those delicate threads,

Which are never broken.

For they are what continually hold us,

Connecting each of us to another.

For it is with those threads we are forever bound.

Night Walk

 

Night Walk        1-26-2012

By John W. Vander Velden

He crossed the street not certain where he might go.  The rain drops silver beneath the street lamps, splashing new puddles in the street.  Joe’s head uncovered, hair hanging wet, water flowing into his eyes along his cheeks down his neck, cold…wet…soaking…miserable.  Yet he continued moving the direction he faced, confused…lost…in his home town.  It didn’t matter where he went…only he could not go home…not yet…maybe never.  His mind raced, scarcely noticing the chill or the places his feet carried.  How had he come to this place?  The place that home seemed off limits.  How could things change so quickly?  Two hours…only two hours…the time he had left…the time he had walked…the time he had been drenched.  Joe should go somewhere dry but the hour gave few choices.  He should find a safe place…a dry place.  Home came to mind.  That was impossible…now….

 

(151 Words)

Lookin' Back Again

 Lookin’ Back...Again            

By John W. Vander Velden

Some might think it silly.  Some think it a waste of time.  Some might say they never do…but I don’t believe them.  But I look back.  So today when I reach yet another milestone of my life, I think about the road that has taken me to this place.  Yes, I look back and wonder if I have used the years to their best purposes.  But I also find that if I examine my personal past objectively I realize I could never have predicted the outcome.  I imagine the twenty year old kid that set his college degree on a shelf to take on a very different profession.  That boy had no idea where that road would take him, the highs and yes, the lows.  He had no idea of just how difficult farming would be, or how much physical abuse he would willingly put himself through.  But oh, what a journey, and the things I have done.  From the fringe it might seem I lived a small life.  But I would differ from that opinion.  For forty-five years I was up to my elbows in “the mud and blood of life”.  (I always liked that quote from Tree in the Meadow, but like it or not, it fits the life I have lived).  I’ve seen this small part of Marshall County Indiana from the top of a silo.  Times I have even stood on the very top when I had stacked it above the concrete rim and seen the panorama of what was my world. 

I have helped cows give birth more times than I would care to count.  I have aided the vet on hundreds of occasions as together we had to deal with life and death…hands on.  How many times I had found myself working the soil at cool hour of first light, and continue till the day ended.  Sometimes those days ended long after the sun had abandoned me.  I have raced the rain when the hay was almost dry, and hoped for the best.  Sat in a combine cab and watched crop devoured, listened to the machine as it processed plant into clean grain.  They were hard years and I wouldn’t trade one…not one for any alternative lifestyle.

But what I see behind me is more than the farm.  For though the time demanded made up such a large part of my awake hours, there was so much more.  I think back to March of 1989 and a new chapter of my life…a chapter that has not reached its conclusion.  For when Jackie bound her life to mine, my existence took a new and wonderful turn.  I could not stand where I am without her at my side.  I could not have reached the feeble goals I have set without her assistance.  And then there are the other days, when together we have discovered a larger world in our travels.  Whether it was Alaska or Arizona or the other places we have wandered.  Whether it was walking on deserted beaches or climbing lighthouses, one plus one makes so much more than two.

And together we have raised a son.  How many runs did he require…to school…to baseball…to basketball…to band, the list goes on.  I had the flexibility Jackie did not, and so I was the chauffeur, but time spent behind the wheel needed to be made up at the farm.  It might have seemed a sacrifice then…it does not now.  Now when I look back and see the child my son grew from, my eyes dampen.  But only pride come to my heart when I see the man that child became.

So I look back and yes, there are regrets.  There are moment when I know I failed myself and more…those that depended upon me.  But failing is part of living.  And failing is only loss when we do not learn…do not get up and try to do better.  Today I will not dwell on mistakes, lost opportunities, and those things that tend to bring me down.  No, now I look back and smile, for Thursday was my birthday and though I’m officially seventy-two, my whole life is not in my wake.  There is so much ahead, and today I will stand on the past and stride toward the future.  (722 Words) 2-10-2024

 

More Than a Dash

 

More Than a Dash

By John W. Vander Velden

 

Recently one of Jackie’s cousins passed away. The obituary revealed the man had lived an amazing life, what some might call the dash. The dash has been described as the mark carved into a tombstone between the day of birth and time of passing from this world.

After reading that lengthy piece in the paper and attending the funeral, I was led to thinking. Most of us never figure that our time on the green side of the sod is significant. To us our dash means very little. For we are just ordinary people, living ordinary lives. We never even take a moment to consider our own dash, the people around us whose lives intersect with ours, or any of the other ways our dash has and continues to affect the world.

But when we do so, we forget one important thing. For though we might be unable to see it, our dash is not some random mark of no consequence. For I know that each of us has been placed on this globe at this specific time, for a specific reason. God gave you life, for a purpose. It is up to us to find that purpose, to seek it out, to fulfill that place in the mechanism, that is the human race. You are not some random speck. You are not some biological accident. You walk this earth for a reason.

And that reason is more than a dash, more than the list of accomplishments or awards. It is more than the years given to a job or profession. It is more than the heirs we will leave behind. For as unique individuals we fill a space that none other can fill.

Be assured you are more than some lines that one day might be printed in the local paper. For you are more than a dash.

(309 Words) 1/26/2024