The Right Idea » Texas

Fictions of Man

R. D. Frazier — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 04:22:57 +0000

“… I-10 eastbound at the I-45 interchange, there’s an eighteen wheeler overturned. HPD has all but one lane closed while they clear the wreckage. Traffic is backed up all the way to the west loop and building.”

Houston skyline just before sunset in the early 1980s

As the radio blares, my mind automatically goes into overdrive calculating alternate routes, rush hour traffic patterns and drive times… that’s it! …Memorial Drive to the north side of downtown, then swing south on Smith to Jefferson then east to the hospital. For the moment this “hot-shot” package on the seat becomes the focus of my world. Cars ahead are already heading for the Memorial exit as news of the tie-up spreads. Oh well, even with this extra traffic along my “alternate route,” I’ll get there quicker. Barring another unforeseen traffic snafu I should just make the delivery by the 5:30 deadline. With another minor traffic crisis solved, my attention returns to the radio talk show, the host echoing my own opinion in a heated debate with a caller. Typical in the life of a big-city courier, this little traffic drama is played out by thousands of drivers daily in a city of millions.

Who created the crisis that caused my concern? Was it the law firm who hired me to deliver that package before 5:30? Was it the eighteen wheeler driver who caused the traffic snarl? Or, could it have been the secretary who refused to wait one minute past 5:30 to receive the papers sealed in that envelope? Yet without that little crisis, this courier would be out of work. In the city, “time is money” becomes a continuous subconscious drumbeat as faster service becomes a commodity for sale to the highest bidder… and the beat goes on as I drive toward downtown.

With all its warts and problems, Houston can still be beautiful at times. The downtown skyline is fascinating to me, with dozens of multi-story buildings composing an ever changing panorama as I hurtle down Memorial. In one spot along the route, I note that three particular buildings ought to catch the sunset light perfectly around 6-6:30 on this clear February evening. I make my delivery then return to search for just the right angle and wait for the moment.

Time takes on a new and providential character as the rush of the day fades into memory and I anticipate the inevitable magical sunset light of a beautiful late winter day. Tripod and camera in hand, I walk a couple of blocks for the perfect photographic perspective as the setting sun begins to color multi-storied glass with bright sunset orange. The clear southeastern sky beyond the towers darkens into a saturated indigo blue. I have a new deadline. But this deadline could never be changed by the fictions of man’s manufactured schedules. This particular sunset-light timing was set by the creator of the universe and I have no choice but to meet it or miss the image he has revealed in my photographic imaginations.

The tripod is set as I compose the photograph, measure the light and anticipate adjustments in exposure as the sun fades. Multiple exposures are taken as I marvel at the changing sunset reflections punctuated with fluorescent office lights revealed through elevated windows. In spite of the grandeur perceived and constructed by man in the person of these magnificent buildings, the eye is drawn directly to the glory of the heavens as the setting sun paints itself upon their surface. Distorted visions of an infinite universe reflected in the glass of the towers become the focus of the moment. Polished stone, metal and glass serve only to define place and shape as the sunset reveals the soul of the moment. And then it is gone leaving only the promise of an encore on another clear February day.

With the disappearing sun we are left with another providential promise. No matter what the man-made circumstance, God is in control.

Only the Wall

R. D. Frazier — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 05:16:37 +0000

Unpainted walls reflect mood as I move through unfamiliar streets. Evidences of hard times speak through walls of gray. The untold story of better times quietly reveals itself in faded signs of past commerce on buildings long since abandoned or appropriated for lesser function. Economic depression confronts me on all sides in spite of the bright sunlit day. By contrast my own modest monetary sufficiency seems opulent.

Evidences of hard times speak through walls of gray.

As I turn the corner yet another more expansive wall comes into view. The building is still in use, although for what I am not sure, perhaps a boarding house, or maybe a local bar with living quarters in the back or upstairs. The blank rear wall is devoid of distinguishing features except for a few small windows and one sagging doorway. The height and width of the wall are what set it apart. Much taller than the surrounding single story structures and perhaps a quarter of a block wide, it is a single vertical plane of weathered wood absent of color, but revealing volumes of untold stories of struggle and pain expressed in the grayness. What lives are connected with this wall? How many times has there been joy, heartache or violence just behind it?

As I write about this photograph, half a lifetime brings new perspective through almost thirty years. Over those years the ups and downs of an American life have been lived. The gray wood of the wall personifies the hard times, the times when there seemed no way through difficulty. In those times we see only the gray, lifeless wall, uncertain of what lies on the other side, uncertain of our abilities to survive or go on in the face of death or an inevitable lifetime of struggle. In a way we are right. Human strengths are no match for death, no match for impossible odds. So we stare at the wall and allow its enormity and death dealing grayness to overwhelm us in our frailty, refusing to acknowledge the providential nature of God. In our stubbornness to control our own destiny and the destiny of those we love, we find no cracks to exploit in the forbidding wall. Our American independence is stymied as we deal with universal truth. Yes, we do have pain. Yes, there is despair in the forbidding walls we encounter over a lifetime. Over time we find we are inadequate to prevent the tragedies of life and we are not spared heartache.

As we reexamine the photograph we uncover a greater universal truth. Our eye is subtly drawn to that spot of color in the window belying faint optimism … there is more to the story. There is life on the other side of this particular un-scalable wall. Evidence of hope is revealed by our inability to ignore this detail of color in a depressing place. How did this hope arrive? After all, there are no exploitable cracks in the wall, only an old window with a spot of color bringing unexplainable warmth to the heart. Our eye falls to the word below the color … “cheer.” Is this a synonym for the joy to be found on the other side of the wall or a cruel hoax in the middle of hopelessness? It depends on our response. Do we dismiss the hopeful message or embrace it?

By dismissing the message we continue on our independent journey coping with wall after wall in frustration or joy depending on the strength and ability of our flesh and mind. If we embrace the message we are beginning to deal with the messenger. And who but a loving God can speak through a cheer box in an old window about the condition of our lives? That message in the widow reveals that God himself is the one who spoke to me in the middle of my despair. In a life and death struggle he spoke to me with a message of hope that eventually lifted me past the wall.

There will there be more walls in my life. The difference now is that by recognizing and submitting to the God who created me, I can call on him to help me scale them.

Dawn Ascending

R. D. Frazier — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 02:30:31 +0000

Ghosts of barbed wire fences flow past in the periphery as miles slide by. Headlights struggle to penetrate the blackness of night. Years remembered find conscious thoughts while the sleeping country road keeps silent company and the hours melt away.

Port Lavaca, Texas piers at daybreak

Lonesomeness grows in yesterday’s memories haunted by family and friends. Blackness and monotony of pre-dawn travel create a melancholy mood recalling things that never will be, things that never have been, and promise unfulfilled. Dissatisfaction sets in as goals fade in the inadequacy of human effort, yet I continue in the blackness toward the day’s work which provides the sustenance of American life. Confidences of youth fade as years fall away in sequence and imagined future stagnates in necessary work.

Rural fences give way to scattered buildings revealing civilization ahead as dawn approaches. Coastline appears in the first hint of calm dawn-light as reflections of distant city lights dance softly on the water brightening mood with the promise of the coming day.

An intersection ahead offers choices. To keep on my current path seems an assurance of remaining on schedule, a sure continuance of the almost-comfortable, but unsatisfying status quo. But an unseen force calls, offering the hope of a brilliant sunrise. A simple left turn answers the unseen, yet strangely familiar voice. Minutes later a tranquil God-created oceanscape reflects the dawn ascending in an uncertain horizon of promise. What a glorious, unexpected revelation in a place usually ignored under midday circumstance; deep shadows of haunting light obscure the dock’s cluttered disrepair. Fishermen answer their calling on the docks above reflections of heavenly glory painted by their Creator, their optimism fueled by a brightening sky.

The experience surrounding the creation of this photograph parallels my own spiritual journey and memories of the gut-wrenching realization that I was on the wrong path in life. Just as I turned left at that intersection, I eventually answered the call of God’s insistent invitation to ever-lasting life. Answering the call changed destiny. Thoughts and dreams came alive as the path changed from the world’s destination to that of a loving God intent on calling me home. There is still real and often difficult work to be done, along with times of disappointment and sorrow. But the purpose of the work has shifted. No longer am I trapped in the tunnel of night remembering human frailties. I have been lifted into an ever expanding dawn-light on the horizon seeking direction in the context of God’s will and the grace of his daily forgiveness.

Unquestionably, his word reveals that he shares and eases our burden in the light, but are we adventurous enough to answer the gospel call to change and face the unfamiliar and challenging life in Christ Jesus? Are we willing to admit our past sin and misdirection in the face of certain emotional upheaval and ask for forgiveness? We must make the final choice between the status quo path to a dark and lonely life without God, and his persistent call through the narrow gate toward redemption and regeneration. The choice is ours.

Read Matthew 7:7-14 (ESV) online

Texas Gallery One

R. D. Frazier — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 03:58:53 +0000

Photographs from various areas of Texas in no particular order

Living Water - early morning dew on wild Texas grass …

Water Bird on Lake Conroe

Heron in Flight, Lake Conroe 2005

Bumble Bee

Texas Hill Country Wildflowers

Port Lavaca, Texas piers at daybreak

Evidences of hard times speak through walls of gray.

You’ll enjoy them best by viewing this page in a large browser window and clicking on one of the photos to expand it to full resolution. These photos are arranged in a photo gallery with navigation links in the upper center of the browser window. Click on the large close window button at the top right when you wish to return to this page.

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Blessings!

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Doxology in Flight

R. D. Frazier — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 12:48:35 +0000

Let the pictures speak for themselves!

A Texas hummingbird praises the Lord!

Living Water

R. D. Frazier — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 00:38:49 +0000

Yesterday the blades rustled against themselves among the dry breezes of a summer day … a chorus of wind and grass.

Yesterday the rocky trail, forbidding in the Texas heat, showed little compassion for passers by.

And then, evening fell and storms passed in the night, a mixture of blessing and curse, rain and lightning, wind and noise. But in that dark, tumultuous night blessings came; coolness, life-giving moisture, an extreme peace known only after cacophony. Rest.

Overnight dampness permeates the air, now thick with freshness and life. Dawn approaches.

Today the early morning shadowed valley no longer bristles with the song of dry grass in the wind, but sits peacefully in the silence of breaking day. As the light rises, new vistas appear in small worlds atop blades of grass, now opulent with life-giving dew … living water. Like the spirit of God, the air of the night begat blessings while we were unaware. The grasses gather the dew as we are given grace. We can’t escape it. It’s all around us. Look for it in the jewels of love, joy and provision … and salvation for those who know Him, who created it all.