Hovering above me as I slept in my bed he scratched out, "You don't want to forget this." The somehow familiar hoarse whisper. He set a small box on my nightstand. I woke up slowly, without fear and with too slight an annoyance. In hindsight I wonder how this could be. A looming figure in our bedroom in the middle of the night, three children asleep just across the hall.
Lean and disheveled, his unkempt greying beard disguised leathery sunken cheeks under deep set dark eyes. Well worn khakis two sizes too big were heavily cinched at his waist. His soiled t-shirt fell over them smelling of stale cigarettes, sweat and beer. The faint blue moon illuminated the silence through sheer shades gently wafting. I glanced at my unstiring wife, and scanned his hands for weapons. A gaunt yet imposing visage belying a wiry strength, I knew he didn't need any. So I rolled out of bed gently sliding his clandestine delivery off the nightstand and holding it protectively to my gut.
We stood together in my grandfather's pristine garage with plastic flowery curtains hiding the clean work bench and well sharpened gardening tools. All around was the comforting warm sweet aroma of lubricating oil mixed with grass clippings. Our only illumination from the half light side door spilled askew across the space. His half lit disturbing presence juxtaposed against the light in stark angular vertically. He turned to face me.
"I don't want this," I said, holding the box out to him. I felt like a ghost outside of myself, like I should be fearing for my life, but I am beyond fear of pain or injury. No! Like I should be fearing for my soul, and a nauseating tingle rose up my spine.
"That's fine," he offered slowly through a pursed frown, shaking his head and casually swinging his sinewy arms in a wide gesture that he really couldn't care less. He took a step away from me, his gaze sweeping across the painted concrete floor.
"Then take it back," I thought to myself.
In the driveway now, his dark junker of a work truck, bent and rusting, overflowed with debris and filthy tools. The driver side door was open and an empty beer can fell out, bounced twice and then rolled with a hollow tinkle out toward the street. He stood there pacing in the glow of the orange sodium street lamp where the well trimmed lawn met the sidewalk.
I watched empty handed next to the house as he unzipped and took a leak on my grandfather's roses. "You're going to want it back," he intoned, hostile.
"I don't think so," I offered calmly confidently, controlling a wired alertness ready to react - to run or to fight. He stared right through me, throwing all of his energy into that piercing gaze, penetrating my soul. There he met an outside strength that bolstered me and allowed me to stand despite my fear. A strength that assured me the battle was uneven in my favor.
"Oh, You're going to regret that," he threatened as he undid his belt and let down those two sizes too big khakis and began to defecate on my driveway.
I turned and went inside.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Play House Follow up
Here are a few pictures of the different playhouses from the gala. The night of the gala was overcast and rainy. A shame, because there was low turn out. All told they raised around $20,000 for their non-profit.
The week of wear and tear from being on display at the children's museum did minor harm to most of the houses. The only thing we couldn't touch up: They had removed the bell cord, and try as we might we couldn't get it re-threaded inside.
Our steering wheel survived though!
I got a lot of compliments for SPOT. In the end our firehouse was the biggest dollar bringer at auction, though in my opinion, it wasn't best of show...
This beauty was dubbed an "artist's studio," and had a chalk board inside. The week at the museum left it completely covered with chalk tags and names. It looked fantastic. I thought it was a shame they hosed it down for the gala. If I were to buy one of these playhouses, this would be the one. It now has a home in the backyard of a posh 1920's mansion near Cheeseman Park in Denver.
"Chia House" photographs better than it looks in person. Construction wise I doubt it will make it through a winter.
Act now and your child could have the COOLEST lemonade stand on the block...
This "space station" was completely covered in zinc panels! We are speculating that the price it fetched at auction wouldn't even cover the cost of the siding.
All in all, working on the playhouse competition was a fun experience. I think we can do a much better job, much more efficiently next year.
The week of wear and tear from being on display at the children's museum did minor harm to most of the houses. The only thing we couldn't touch up: They had removed the bell cord, and try as we might we couldn't get it re-threaded inside.
Our steering wheel survived though!
I got a lot of compliments for SPOT. In the end our firehouse was the biggest dollar bringer at auction, though in my opinion, it wasn't best of show...
This beauty was dubbed an "artist's studio," and had a chalk board inside. The week at the museum left it completely covered with chalk tags and names. It looked fantastic. I thought it was a shame they hosed it down for the gala. If I were to buy one of these playhouses, this would be the one. It now has a home in the backyard of a posh 1920's mansion near Cheeseman Park in Denver.
"Chia House" photographs better than it looks in person. Construction wise I doubt it will make it through a winter.
Act now and your child could have the COOLEST lemonade stand on the block...
This "space station" was completely covered in zinc panels! We are speculating that the price it fetched at auction wouldn't even cover the cost of the siding.All in all, working on the playhouse competition was a fun experience. I think we can do a much better job, much more efficiently next year.
This economy is getting the best of me
I wish I could say the sweet scented smears of sunscreen and the whistling slightly over-seared dogs being snatched from certain fiery death by my tongs just in time for dinner has been occupying my carefree mind this summer, keeping me content if not slightly too full and a wee bit sticky. But truth be told, I've been sinking. sinking... sinking...
Going under. Glancing up far too calmly at the swirling immense complexity of it all clicking and whirring away without me. "Isn't that interesting?" I think to myself. Down. down... down...
Here I sit, Monday through Thursday, earning what feels like too much pay for this... this... sitting.
Grateful to be employed, but with lack of good meaningful work to do a curious little battle for my self worth is being waged. As if I was a genteel spectator at a civil war battle, I watch the flying darts and arrows of occupational malaise pierce my own soul. Lethargic - almost disinterested. Their seeping poison making me sleepy.
One more lap around the empty office? Another cup of coffee? What am I doing here? Isn't there something more important I could be doing? Is this pay check worth it?
How did work get all tied up with money anyway? Work is good for the soul. But money without work has me caught like a greedy monkey with his clenched fist in a jar.
Hey! I would listen if You told me to let go. I thought you should know.
Going under. Glancing up far too calmly at the swirling immense complexity of it all clicking and whirring away without me. "Isn't that interesting?" I think to myself. Down. down... down...
Here I sit, Monday through Thursday, earning what feels like too much pay for this... this... sitting.
Grateful to be employed, but with lack of good meaningful work to do a curious little battle for my self worth is being waged. As if I was a genteel spectator at a civil war battle, I watch the flying darts and arrows of occupational malaise pierce my own soul. Lethargic - almost disinterested. Their seeping poison making me sleepy.
One more lap around the empty office? Another cup of coffee? What am I doing here? Isn't there something more important I could be doing? Is this pay check worth it?
How did work get all tied up with money anyway? Work is good for the soul. But money without work has me caught like a greedy monkey with his clenched fist in a jar.
Hey! I would listen if You told me to let go. I thought you should know.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Playhouse Design
Well times are slow for us architects right now. In our lull we contributed some time for a fun fund raiser for a local affordable housing developer, Rocky Mountain Communities. They are on display at the Children's museum for the next week and a half. If you are in Denver on July 25th consider attending the gala and bidding on one of the five playhouses designed by local architects for your backyard.
We designed a firehouse complete with a fire engine to drive, a bell to ring, a ladder to climb, and a real brass pole to slide down! The engine house mascot "Spot" even has his own doggy door!
I have a couple of quick shots from set up this morning. The signage was installed later. I'll get a few more shots at the gala. Some of the other entries are pretty cool too!
We designed a firehouse complete with a fire engine to drive, a bell to ring, a ladder to climb, and a real brass pole to slide down! The engine house mascot "Spot" even has his own doggy door!
I have a couple of quick shots from set up this morning. The signage was installed later. I'll get a few more shots at the gala. Some of the other entries are pretty cool too!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Good Friends, Summer, Special Days, and Lost Shoes
Good Friends
3 days this week we spent some good quality time hanging out and talking with friends. I love watching my wife light up and engage in conversation - loving on and enjoying the people who are important to her - to us. We are not extroverts, but company brings out the best in both of us, I think.
Summer
Our backyard has a large box elder tree with a swing, and an even taller European linden tree that flowers with these strange light green wisps giving it a great rich two tone hue this time of year. Tonight around twilight the lawn was freshly mowed and the garden was weeded and most of the toys were picked up. The sprinkler was running. I plugged in the strands of white Christmas lights that run through our patio awning, and just soaked in the crisp summer air, feeling the misted grass between my toes. I love summer in Colorado. I love our backyard.
Special Days
Amanda and I have been married 10 years. She asked me, over dinner as we celebrated, what some of my favorite memories were from these ten years. I had a few significant ones to share. But right now the only thing that occupies my mind are glimpses of her joy finding expression in sparkling laughing eyes, - her nurture metered out to an infant asleep on her chest, - her contentment seated beside me holding hands on the couch. Truly, it is all the little insignificant memories of these last 10 years of blessings that make me long for more.
To the next 10 and beyond sweetie!
Lost Shoes
I found two navy blue crocs in the bathroom tonight. They are beloved, well worn, and sized perfectly for a 5 year old boy. The house was dark, and everyone else was asleep. I looked at them and remembered all the frustration that ensued hours before when these shoes could not be found.
"They're not in the shoe basket, not in your room, not in the backyard buried in the sand, not in the playroom, not in the basement, not in the car, not in the living room, not in the kitchen , not in the dining room. None of the normal places you lose them. Maybe you need to go barefoot to remember to put your shoes away!"
*sigh*
They are really small shoes, sized perfectly for a 5 year old boy, sitting there on the bath mat next to the tub with foam cutouts to stick on the glass during bath time. I love the little feet that fill those shoes. He deserves better than my aggravated impatience. I'm going to miss those really small crocs when they are replaced with size 15 sneakers. And even more when they won't be found on my floor anymore.
Lord Jesus, hear mr prayers, petitions, and thanksgiving for good friends, Summer, special days, and especially for lost shoes!
3 days this week we spent some good quality time hanging out and talking with friends. I love watching my wife light up and engage in conversation - loving on and enjoying the people who are important to her - to us. We are not extroverts, but company brings out the best in both of us, I think.
Summer
Our backyard has a large box elder tree with a swing, and an even taller European linden tree that flowers with these strange light green wisps giving it a great rich two tone hue this time of year. Tonight around twilight the lawn was freshly mowed and the garden was weeded and most of the toys were picked up. The sprinkler was running. I plugged in the strands of white Christmas lights that run through our patio awning, and just soaked in the crisp summer air, feeling the misted grass between my toes. I love summer in Colorado. I love our backyard.
Special Days
Amanda and I have been married 10 years. She asked me, over dinner as we celebrated, what some of my favorite memories were from these ten years. I had a few significant ones to share. But right now the only thing that occupies my mind are glimpses of her joy finding expression in sparkling laughing eyes, - her nurture metered out to an infant asleep on her chest, - her contentment seated beside me holding hands on the couch. Truly, it is all the little insignificant memories of these last 10 years of blessings that make me long for more.
To the next 10 and beyond sweetie!
Lost Shoes
I found two navy blue crocs in the bathroom tonight. They are beloved, well worn, and sized perfectly for a 5 year old boy. The house was dark, and everyone else was asleep. I looked at them and remembered all the frustration that ensued hours before when these shoes could not be found.
"They're not in the shoe basket, not in your room, not in the backyard buried in the sand, not in the playroom, not in the basement, not in the car, not in the living room, not in the kitchen , not in the dining room. None of the normal places you lose them. Maybe you need to go barefoot to remember to put your shoes away!"
*sigh*
They are really small shoes, sized perfectly for a 5 year old boy, sitting there on the bath mat next to the tub with foam cutouts to stick on the glass during bath time. I love the little feet that fill those shoes. He deserves better than my aggravated impatience. I'm going to miss those really small crocs when they are replaced with size 15 sneakers. And even more when they won't be found on my floor anymore.
Lord Jesus, hear mr prayers, petitions, and thanksgiving for good friends, Summer, special days, and especially for lost shoes!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I Will Rise
"I'm on fire when you're near me. I'm on fire when you speak."
Sunday worship has been moving me to speechless silence and tears. The experience is a potent visceral oomph like my chest is opened and waves of joy and praise are lapping my soul as I raise my hands to heaven. There is NOTHING that compares to my invitation into His life. There is no sensation as tremendous as pure worship. Not sex. Not Drugs. Not Alcohol. Nothing compares...
Nothing.
Sunday worship has been moving me to speechless silence and tears. The experience is a potent visceral oomph like my chest is opened and waves of joy and praise are lapping my soul as I raise my hands to heaven. There is NOTHING that compares to my invitation into His life. There is no sensation as tremendous as pure worship. Not sex. Not Drugs. Not Alcohol. Nothing compares...
Nothing.
"Yes, I will rise when he calls my name!"
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Chrysalis Christianity
I sit across from people and help identify their present: Right now, Who are you? Who is God? How are you living? Sometimes I see the incongruities between the answers to those three questions. Their faith penetrates the soil of their lives, often quite deeply, like roots - twisting, turning, burrowing, making room, fracturing the hard pan and clay. But so many (all) have rocks and even boulders where that faith does not seem to penetrate. Sometimes those boulders are so obvious, so incongruant, so much an obstacle that I feel this impatient need to pull out the jackhammer.
I know it hurts, SIT STILL! It's for your own good don't you know!
For the record, God is not this way.
God lets wheat and tares grow up together. He explains, "because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest."
Clearly we are to tend the garden of our souls, but don't let impatience or guilt cloud the underlying truth. We the elect are already planted as true good seed right down to the DNA, but not yet fulfilled. He is faithful to complete what he has started!
"I know he is faithful" they say, "in my head anyway..."
Monday, May 4, 2009
Rabbit Heart
Rabbit heart danced in perpetual jerky fitfull loops
"Never stopping means always safe," she gasped,bloodshot eyes scanning the horizon.
Rock heart watched with persisting calm and curious wonder
Rabbit's burning circuit.This way, that
This way, that
Going, going
nowhere fast
With determined measure and a slow certainty
With determined measure and a slow certainty
Rock placed his hand as an obstacle to her circuit.
Can you hear ?
Listen...
from the corner of the eye,
a stationary blur,
Ahead unmoving... Shock.
Stumble or stand?
Stumble or Stand!?!
skidding on her chin to a gritty halt.
Listen... he intoned.
Listen... he intoned.
*silence*
Can you hear ?
*silence*
Listen...
Three Questions
Are two words copyrightable? If so, see here. Put your dime in that cup.
Who am I?
Who is God?
How am I living?
It ALL comes back to this: Know yourself. Know God. Move forward.
Peripateo is a Greek word that translates as a beautiful mix of walking and living. To LIVE means to MOVE.
These three simple questions open a door to discernment and growth in the Spirit that astounds me time after time after time.
Today:
I am peaceful, though there is trouble.
He is in control, my firm foundation.
One blind step at a time.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Going to Print
Nothing like a deadline to bring a work to completion. I am finally pleased with it. I am taking it to print in the morning. Now it needs a title. the working title is "sacrifice," but it has spoken so much more than that to me over these last few weeks. I've got a few days to decide on the title. I am submitting this painting and Co-Heir in the Bear Valley Visual Arts Show, which will run through the 26th. I'll let you know how it is received.
I've was invited to speak at Cherry Hills Community Church. This image will likely be the centerpiece of that engagement. We haven't finalized the date yet. It will be sometime this summer after I am through with finals.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Both And
Have you noticed,
Almost every psalm turns back to God.
Art is an abiding language.
You can't be in its presence and stray for long.
It takes you into itself.
It doesn't just scream truth into the aether.
It always invites you in.
Feel it
Experience it
Know it intimately
abide
This quality makes art profoundly apologetic,
connecting heart and mind.
Didactic teaching cannot be
the Gospel without words.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Cracking the Nut
In a past life I found a mathematical metaphor for everything I loved about Architectural Design. It was the Leplace transform. Take calculus and turn it into algebra. You could write an infomercial about this thing.
"It slices , it dices, it makes mounds and mounds of coleslaw!"
What I loved about Architectural Design was solving a complex problem through the means of an artificial conceptual framework. All of the difficulties came together easily once the concept was discerned. Once the nut is cracked in that conceptual world, you can "transform" it back into our world as built form. And it didn't really matter to me if anyone inhabiting the built form ever knew the concept. I knew it. I let it take up residence in my built form. It peaked at you from every corner, because each detail was informed by the concept holding the space together. With great assurance and even pride I knew the built form reverberated with a deep truth, a central kernel that made it beautiful, and right, and maybe even perfect! At least that was the goal.
Jesus Christ was the transform in my life. I let Him take up residence in me. He peaks out at you from every corner because each detail is being informed by the God Man who holds this space together.
Now I am trying to discern the "nut" that needs to be cracked in this painting. This painting is a detail of my life that needs to be informed by Christ. Yet, it isn't for me. I am designing a work of art that every person will possess and assess differently. Truly this is the beauty of art. As each person abides with the work, it somehow unlocks the truths that are within them. I need to see that the painting is more like the transform than the complex puzzle to be solved. We are the complex puzzle to be solved.
She asked me, "Have you asked God what the nut is?"
"Hmmm, No. Let's do that!"
As I drove up Santa Fe yesterday I asked Him. Do you know what He said?
I love you, I love you, I love you.
"It slices , it dices, it makes mounds and mounds of coleslaw!"
What I loved about Architectural Design was solving a complex problem through the means of an artificial conceptual framework. All of the difficulties came together easily once the concept was discerned. Once the nut is cracked in that conceptual world, you can "transform" it back into our world as built form. And it didn't really matter to me if anyone inhabiting the built form ever knew the concept. I knew it. I let it take up residence in my built form. It peaked at you from every corner, because each detail was informed by the concept holding the space together. With great assurance and even pride I knew the built form reverberated with a deep truth, a central kernel that made it beautiful, and right, and maybe even perfect! At least that was the goal.
Jesus Christ was the transform in my life. I let Him take up residence in me. He peaks out at you from every corner because each detail is being informed by the God Man who holds this space together.
Now I am trying to discern the "nut" that needs to be cracked in this painting. This painting is a detail of my life that needs to be informed by Christ. Yet, it isn't for me. I am designing a work of art that every person will possess and assess differently. Truly this is the beauty of art. As each person abides with the work, it somehow unlocks the truths that are within them. I need to see that the painting is more like the transform than the complex puzzle to be solved. We are the complex puzzle to be solved.
She asked me, "Have you asked God what the nut is?"
"Hmmm, No. Let's do that!"
As I drove up Santa Fe yesterday I asked Him. Do you know what He said?
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Work In Progress
I am attempting to "complete the process" this semester - cross the finish line - persevere - diligently cross my t's and dot my i's. To bring it past the inspiration to the fulfillment of purpose. And I mean that for all of life really, not just this painting. But this yet unfinished painting is a signpost at a fork in the road. What do I do now to complete it? What do you see here?
Which is the likeness of Christ? Which is the likeness I want for myself? Which do I want for you, brother? For you, Sister? For you, son? For you, daughter?
I see the dissonance between the sacrificial servant savior bloodied and beaten, ready to die, extending his hand of blessing to one pristine and polished with good posture.
At once I feel grateful for His sacrificial blessing, and yet see the ways I am far from His likeness. What is this good news transforming us into?
Cast off the distancing mask of perfection.
Embrace the melody of brokenness and the melody of grace.
He has shown the way.
Which is the likeness of Christ? Which is the likeness I want for myself? Which do I want for you, brother? For you, Sister? For you, son? For you, daughter?
I see the dissonance between the sacrificial servant savior bloodied and beaten, ready to die, extending his hand of blessing to one pristine and polished with good posture.
At once I feel grateful for His sacrificial blessing, and yet see the ways I am far from His likeness. What is this good news transforming us into?
Cast off the distancing mask of perfection.
Embrace the melody of brokenness and the melody of grace.
He has shown the way.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Sacrifice
How do you know when you have given enough?When can you say, "I need?"
I might die before you right now,
But I will do so for you.
This is Sacrifice
And I give all
Edward Knippers
For those who may not be familiar, I would love to hear your feedback on Edward Knippers paintings. His Pieta brings me to tears every time.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Two Vignettes
I feel it...
like some sort of inward creep
THICK & SOLID
not pushed by desire
just habit
numbing
deadening
clouding
STOP!
_________________
Oh gentle ache
Tell me your name
Oh tender pain
All mine
All mine
Lost loved one
still heart break
to the rim
Rising
Rising
But it won't overflow
like some sort of inward creep
THICK & SOLID
not pushed by desire
just habit
numbing
deadening
clouding
STOP!
_________________
Oh gentle ache
Tell me your name
Oh tender pain
All mine
All mine
Lost loved one
still heart break
to the rim
Rising
Rising
But it won't overflow
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Numinous
"I have come to view human psychology as the efficiency of one's functioning, and human spirituality as the dynamic process of love in one's life."
God isn't efficient in terms of economy or expediency, much preferring the costly and circuitous path. Yet God is efficient in terms of being effective - performing and functioning in the best possible manner. I like May's phrase, the dynamic process of love. It describes the Holy Spirit's actions in our lives. Not expedient by any means - but entirely effective!
I've stumbled on a new word. Numinous. As in, "pay attention to the numinous - that which surpasses comprehension - the supernaturally mysterious presence and activity of God." I used to describe my way of thinking on nearly all topics as nebulous. I don't work with a hard and fast grid that I fact check everything against. My knowledge and understanding hangs low and thick like a fog, full of sensation, but hard to nail down. At any moment the answer is within grasp. I've become adept at navigating this mental humidity, where it would drive others I know quite crazy.
In terms of faith and theology I was comfortable dwelling in the nebulous-ness of God and His truth, not being a dogmatic sort of fellow. But numinous is so much more appropriate word than nebulous for describing God, isn't it? It's not the nebulous fluff, the fuzzy, undefined-ness of God that I like; it is the mind stretching transcendent-ness of God that refuses to be pinned down or contained by particulars, and yet is actively working all things in each of us who are called according to His purpose. It is that part of Him that you know deep down is true and present and loving and active, but if someone asks you how you know, you can't quite give it adequate words.
Until now - NUMINOUS!
Much of Paul's "pray without ceasing" can be seen as dwelling with attention to the numinous. Much of spiritual direction can be seen as helping others pay attention to the numinous. Our inefficient numinous God so often goes unrecognized because we keep our eyes down, three feet ahead on the path so as not to stumble. We miss him entirely like we miss that brilliant sunset during the congested commute home after a particularly hard day.
Pay attention to the numinous!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Confession
Art is public confession, but it is speaking in tongues. So the communal act is in search of an interpreter. I've been looking through the journal for the last few weeks, and I ~confess~ a bit of aprehension at posting. What do you see/hear here?
Coming down to the ground
Grit under nails
Hoarse cries and the limits of flesh
Not shallow
Deep full and rich life
Something to ponder
Something to marvel at
To keep you up late at night
Scratching your temple
Live of die
Survive or thrive
It rests on the Lord
As do I
No intermediary
But the wagon is full
We'll pick more up along the way
Set course, hoist sail, on the way
Not naive or proud
But with strange assurance
Hope
Trust
Fear
Awe
And rapid sobs bulge my eyes under clenched lids
I'm not good enough
I'm not up to this
I'm not holy enough
I'm not entirely his
I need to be
I want to be
I want to be
I need to be
And He says I am
So I am
Please
Please
Please
Have mercy?
Empower?
Sanctify?
Give Wisdom?
Don't Leave
That's it really
God, Don't Leave.
I'm lost without you and I can't be lost
They need me not to be lost
They deserve me not to be lost
Here Lord, Have my faith.
Coming down to the ground
Grit under nails
Hoarse cries and the limits of flesh
Not shallow
Deep full and rich life
Something to ponder
Something to marvel at
To keep you up late at night
Scratching your temple
Live of die
Survive or thrive
It rests on the Lord
As do I
No intermediary
But the wagon is full
We'll pick more up along the way
Set course, hoist sail, on the way
Not naive or proud
But with strange assurance
Hope
Trust
Fear
Awe
And rapid sobs bulge my eyes under clenched lids
I'm not good enough
I'm not up to this
I'm not holy enough
I'm not entirely his
I need to be
I want to be
I want to be
I need to be
And He says I am
So I am
Please
Please
Please
Have mercy?
Empower?
Sanctify?
Give Wisdom?
Don't Leave
That's it really
God, Don't Leave.
I'm lost without you and I can't be lost
They need me not to be lost
They deserve me not to be lost
Here Lord, Have my faith.
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