Meeting in the Middle

 

Parents are being punished and cut off making mistakes.  This is not new, but it seems to be happening more.

I would say most of the time Parents can say the wrong things with the right intention. They step in when they should step back.  

We do this because our hearts are louder than our judgement.

Parents are afraid of losing their children, they are afraid of watching them get hurt.  Fear makes even the most loving parent respond in ways they regret.  How can one expect a child to understand that?  How can angry kid ever really know that a Mother's heart will always move first before logic.  This makes her human in every possible way.  The messy parts come from a place that's trying to love and protect the best way she knows how. 

One of the most important lessons you can ever learn is that your parents may never be who you wish they were.  Years and countless hours are spent on replaying the past over and over in your mind. "I wish my Dad hadn't manipulated me".  "I wish my Mom cared more about me."  The problem is that wishing does nothing, it doesn't change them.  It only keeps you stuck in the pain and past of what never was...  This isn't about allowing for abuse or pretending their mistakes didn't hurt. It's about releasing the weight of constantly I wish and letting them be who they are.  With acceptance comes peace.  Learning to understand them and meeting them where they are and finding ways to heal instead of letting anger keep the distance alive and ever present in every conversation.  Because once you understand your parents not as the perfect figures you once needed them to be, but as human beings with their own wounds, their own pains and their own limitations you see them differently.  You can't pretend to acknowledge this but keep stoking the fires resentment of what should have been from your perspective.  This is not true acceptance, and lasting peace will be elusive.  You may see the cycles they never broke, the love that they might not have known how to give. The ways they tried but fell short and in that understanding it's like your heart starts to soften.

My friend was an estranged child.  They helped me understand that it was safer for them to cut their parents off then stay in the conversation, but then they never healed. They stay stuck carrying unresolved anger and grief into every relationship.  They explained to me that while they were in that state, every effort her parents made to reach out was ignored, dissected or used against them.  She couldn't trust anything her parents did.  So, any progress or movement towards maturity was never acknowledged.  There was never a chance for them to correct or clarify the why they did or said certain things.  So, time passed, their parents were moving on, but she was not.  Until she realized that if she met her parents in the middle, realized they were actually trying to understand her and be supportive of her path, she was going to be stuck with permanent pain.  She thought that reaching back into the past she could justify her anger and why she was estranged.  She narrowly escaped a slippery trap.  

She realized that her motivation of searching the past was to validate and justify her actions and personal choices 

vs that of understanding her parents with empathy.  She didn't want to take responsibility for her own choices.  She felt like placing blame would be the answer.....it wasn't.

There is a story of a group of people that needed to stoke hate of their "parents" or forefathers for generations for moving them from their homeland to across the ocean to a new place.  The homeland was conquered and destroyed.  Some of the kids of this family felt like it was a blessing, others did not, so they clashed big time.  The one's that were ok with it moved away and progressed.  The ones that stayed couldn't bear the thought that the others could live in peace.  How dare they?  They decided to make a conscious choice to teach hate for generations and that it would be better to wipe them off the face of the earth then to just live peaceably apart.  What an interesting problem, "if you don't agree with me, then I can't accept you."  Can you see this in our society today?

Why can't an estranged kid live the way they want and still be happy for the parents to be who they are?  Why would a kid decide to "save" all his siblings that still have great relationships with their parents by getting them to see how manipulative and wrong they were.  Why isn't it possible for to be happy in their own sphere?  Why not?  What's the big deal?  If you are truly that angry maybe it isn't about your parents after all.... What if you are just mad at yourself?  What if you are the problem?  Is that too hard to even consider?

We decided awhile back now that we aren't going to chase down a child who doesn't want us back, 

who resents us, and doesn't respect us parents who did their best.  We know that doesn't actually bring them back, that is not right.  There is no "back".  There is only support for their happiness going forward.  But if they don't acknowledge that then any attempt is an irritant to their spirit.  We aren't going to lose ourselves in that pursuit.   It would be disrespectful to both us and the kid.

So, I ask you, what if the story shifts.... from "they failed to where they were carrying their own pain too".

That may not erase the pain, but it creates space for compassion 

 Sometimes that compassion is what opens the door to healing.

Can there be permanent healing....?  I believe so and it doesn't have to be in a religious way.  It can come from a simple decision.  A choice. One first has to want to heal.  They may not know how to reach that point.  Because what if the people that love them the most could be part of that solution but are kept at arm's length from doing so?  That would be the ultimate tragedy.

Parents, what are you doing to change?  Are you mature enough to stop wasting time worrying about what you could have, should have done or hoping your kid "comes back" and find a way to make is safer for them to meet you in the middle?  

Kids, what are you doing to change?  Are you mature enough to stop wasting time, accept your parents for who they are as well as yourself and heal by finding a way to meet them in the middle?

What a Privilege

"What a privilege to be tired from the work you begged the universe for..."

"What a privilege to feel overwhelmed by the growth you used to dream about..."

"What a privilege to be challenged by a life you created on purpose..."

"And what a privilege to outgrow things you used to settle for..."

To be tired from having done things you dreamt about is a beautiful blessing.  What an amazingly refreshing concept to simmer on.

I came across this and experienced a powerful sequence of reflections—it reads almost like a mantra for gratitude in motion. Each line reframes exhaustion, overwhelm, challenge, and change not as burdens but as evidence of answered prayers, focused intentional living, and personal evolution and progression. It’s a reminder that the very things we sometimes complain about are the fruits of what we once longed for.

There are many layers to consider and points of view.  The only way I can welcome these points into my mind and heart is through an elevated mindset and spirit.  These are not to be quickly scanned and understood, at least not to me.  I liked how I felt when I was able to let them sink deeper into my being as they caused me to look at my trials, my proclivities, my progression -- my life differently. I immediately felt wiser and more grown up when I finally acknowledged the truth that I found in them.  What helped is when I could actually recognize that maybe I had progressed a bit.  I still have so far to go, I know... but it was a nice moment of reflection.  

• Privilege of effort:  fatigue becomes proof of meaningful work, not meaningless toil.

• Privilege of growth:  overwhelm signals expansion into spaces you once only imagined.

• Privilege of challenge:  obstacles confirm you’re living deliberately, not drifting.

• Privilege of evolution:  outgrowing old compromises shows you’re stepping into higher standards and truly progressing into a new maturity.

It’s almost a four-step gratitude ladder: work → growth → challenge → evolution

I was curious if these “What a privilege…” reflections mapped to Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet, especially his meditations on work, growth, challenge, and change.  I was so pleased to show how beautifully they correlate!

Here is what I found:

• “What a privilege to be tired from the work you begged the universe for…” Gibran’s chapter On Work insists that labor is not a curse but a blessing. He writes that “to work with love is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart”. Work, when embraced, connects us to ourselves, others, and the divine. The framing of fatigue as privilege echoes his idea that toil is ennobling when it springs from love and purpose.

• “What a privilege to feel overwhelmed by the growth you used to dream about…” Gibran often pairs joy and sorrow, showing that expansion comes with weight. In On Joy and Sorrow, he says they are inseparable: “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” Growth, even overwhelming, is proof of life’s unfolding. Your statement mirrors this duality—overwhelm as evidence of realized dreams.

• “What a privilege to be challenged by a life you created on purpose…”               In On Freedom, Gibran reminds us that true freedom is not escape but conscious choice. To live deliberately is to accept challenge as part of self-authorship. This resonates with his insistence that intentional living brings both responsibility and meaning.

• “And what a privilege to outgrow things you used to settle for…”              Gibran’s On Reason and Passion and On Self-Knowledge emphasize evolution—shedding old compromises to embrace higher truths. He portrays growth as a continual rebirth, where leaving behind lesser things is necessary for becoming more fully oneself.  “Outgrowing” aligns with his vision of spiritual ascent.

I loved this so much.  I loved reading over these expressions over and over again. 

I wonder how you feel as you read these.....?

Here I am: A Soul Awakens

 

💔 Here Am I: A Reflection on Tragedy, Faith, and the Courage to Love

In the days since Charlie Kirk’s murder, something has shifted inside me. Not just grief—but a soul-level ache. It feels as though we’ve lost something sacred in this country. A reverence for truth. A shared moral compass. A willingness to lift our spirits toward something more enlightened, more loving.

Instead, we’ve degraded into our worst selves. We’ve traded grace for grievance. And I find myself asking: How did we get here?

Is it the erosion of family structure? The rise of ideologies that teach our youth to justify violence over disagreement? Or have we simply tried to replace God with ourselves—believing we know better than He?

I’ve felt embarrassed by my own silence. My own reticence to speak truth in love. I’ve tiptoed around my conservative values, afraid to offend, afraid to stand. But this tragedy has awakened something new in me—a courage to profess my faith in Christ. To testify of His example. To follow Him, if ever there was One worth following.

🔥 A Nation in Mourning, A Soul in Revival

Across the country, I’ve seen people moved by something unseen. Drawn to church pews. Opening dusty Bibles. Whispering prayers they hadn’t spoken in years. It’s as if Charlie’s death cracked something open—not just politically, but spiritually.

Isaiah 6:8 has echoed in my heart:  “Here am I; send me.”

It’s no longer about asking what God can do for me. It’s about asking what I can do for Him. That seemed to be a posture Charlie embraced. And now, I wonder how I can do the same.

🌿 Gibran’s Wisdom in the Wake of Violence

Kahlil Gibran once wrote:

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

This moment is a scar. But it can also be a seed. Gibran’s poetry reminds me that love is the only answer. The only universal truth that transcends ideology, race, and creed.

“You can do no wrong by me.” What if we saw our enemies through that lens?

🌍 Remembering My Roots, Reclaiming My Voice

I grew up as a minority in foreign lands.  My parents taught me that we were always guests.  They could always see the best in everyone first.  I felt so blessed to have so many friends from all walks of life.  Thank goodness we weren't the same.  Diversity wasn’t a slogan—it was my reality. I learned to welcome different thoughts, to wrestle with hard questions about my faith. And in that struggle, I found strength—not because I had all the answers, but because I knew what I believed. And I knew that He knew. That was enough.  

Today, I’m reminded that love is not passive. It’s inconvenient. It demands service, humility, and consistency. If I can reflect the Savior in my countenance, then it will never be about me. It will always be about Him. And maybe—just maybe—others will see Him too.

🕊️ The Altar of Forgiveness

Perhaps Charlie’s legacy will be measured not in political impact, but in our willingness to lay down hate. To purge our hearts of contention. To forgive ourselves first. To make space for the redemptive power of the Atonement to burn us anew.

But what will we do with that empty space? How do we keep it from filling with resentment again?

We must choose love. We must see through the lens of charity. We must ask God, trembling but willing:

So, I ask you—what burden are you still carrying that love could lift? And what would change in your life if you simply said, “Here am I; send me”?  Maybe for you it isn't my God, but whoever you believe in. Does the question still haunt you sufficiently like it does me?  If so, then I am glad.....for the both of us.

Let's speak again in one year and take stock of our collective response.  

Hands

 

Today at church a very wise man got up and shared some of his thoughts and feelings he was experiencing.  He immediately started talking about hands.  He started by sharing how grateful he was that he had just been sitting with his wife holding hands after 42 years of marriage.  He talked about how nice that was.  

He mentioned that we often greet others with hands, touching connecting, flesh to flesh.  Sometimes it might be a hug.

He continued by saying how important it is to have hands.  He asked us how life would be different if we only had one.

I thought about that.  What would service look like without hands?  It can certainly be done, but it did make me think...

He spoke about hands of service.  How important service is and how often we associate service rendered to others with hands.  I Googled "Helping Hands" and was amazed at how many organizations, foundations, NGO's, non-profits etc... had these words in their title.

It caused me to reflect on my own hands and their service.  I felt as if I were lacking... My hands have been too idle.  I can't say that they have been too busy, too tired or too worn out in the service of others.  Have I asked Heaven how they could be more helpful?  In what ways? Could I write or text an uplifting message to someone?  Could I use Zoom or Teams to connect with someone that could use remembering a great memory from the past?  Could I pull a few weeds from my neighbor's lawn as I walk by it each night?  It struck me that my brain does the thinking work, my heart feels the compassion, but ultimately my hands execute those thoughts and brings those feelings to life.  Whether they be loading the dishwasher, replacing a light bulb or maybe playing the guitar to make beautiful music, making food to share with someone, or when they find themselves on someone's head needing a special blessing of comfort. Have I done many of these tasks?  Yes, but has my heart and mind been involved or just my hands? Have I missed the mark by finding myself only feeling good about checking the boxes?  I still reflect even more as I go deeper.... have my hands been as helpful as they can be?

 In many spiritual traditions, hands symbollize compassion and healing.  Hands are incredibly spiritual... they can do so much good to lift souls and brighten spirits.  I believe Helping Hands are Healing Hands.  

This good brother then mentioned Jesus' hands...  How he looks forward to seeing those hands in a coming day.  Hands with the marks that bear witness of his ultimate sacrifice and service of all possible service in this world and the next.  Those hands that did nothing except bless the lives of countless lepers, diseased, sick, lame, mute, deaf, maimed and even brought forth the dead.  Those hands that had to lift and bear His own cross.  Yes, these are His hands.  The Hands that will never rest in serving and making sure all that were His will come back to God's presence.  

If you don't think you are spiritual you might be wrong...  Maybe your church isn't a building, or a mosque or synagogue.  Maybe it is wherever your hands are helping someone else?   Have you thought about that?  Maybe that is the best church of all.... where everyone is a bit more concerned with using their hands to help someone else besides themselves.

Speaking of church, I am so glad I went there this day.  What I heard sparked something inside me, a certain amount of unrest and wrestle.... a hurts good struggle as I realized I can do more with these hands of mine.  It caused me to remember a day so many years ago, when my hands were in such pain with carpal tunnel and my brother laid his hands on my head, and gave me a blessing of comfort and healing.  He said something I won't ever forget.....  "Aaron, your hands are not yours, but the Lord's.  Use them in His service and your pain will be forgotten."    

What a powerful thing to consider and it made me think about how I use them, for Him.

I am grateful for the hands I have been given.

Oh! how I have been wanting to sit with you giving you just enough space to ask:

"What lessons have you learned in the past few years?"

I would listen for hours and my heart would be filled, no it would runneth over....

I know it would involve tears, laughter, madness and joy all mingled together

What I would give for that...without thought of ought else.

Sounds of the Night Vendors

 

"Saaapuuuuuh!" I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night wondering where I was.  I was in a strange bed, in a strange place and there was moonlight flickering through the window casting dancing light onto the floor and walls.  What was that noise...?

I heard it again...."Saaaaapuuuh!" I gripped my sheet more tightly and turned my head quickly towards the window.... It came from outside.  I had never heard a sound like that before. It didn't quite sound like an animal so I was confused.  I wanted to see out the window but was too afraid to move from my bed.  Thirty seconds went by like an eternity...... "Saaaaapuuuuh!" rang out again through the night air but this time fainter. My eyes were wide awake...

My eight-year-old imagination went wild.  I had just moved to Indonesia and it was still the first couple of days in this mysterious new country.  I could not figure out what that cry in the night was.  I didn't know whether to go wake up my parents or not.  I sat, just listening to the quiet night wondering if I would hear it again....

After what seemed like an hour I laid back down and started to relax.  It had been quiet for a while now... somehow it seemed like a dream. 

Before I had a chance to fall back to sleep I heard another loud cry: "Jagung!" "Jagung!" This was higher pitched then the other.  I jolted back up with my heart racing.... wondering all over again what in the world was happening.  It repeated just like the one before every few minutes but with each new chorus, it became softer as if it were disappearing into the darkness.

After a restless night I awoke and ran into my parents room to tell them what had happened.  My Dad laughed and said "Oh!  Those are the calls of the night vendors."  I was still confused.  I didn't know what night vendors were and if that is what they did I didn't like it.  My dad explained to me that there were many different vendors that would walk through neighborhoods selling their different wares and instead of knocking on each door, they would call out the product or service they were selling out loud so people could hear and then run out and flag them down to buy what they were selling.  

Once I saw them during the day outside going past our house I finally understood and then paying more attention to the different calls of each vendor after that.  It became a really cool thing to me. I remember I couldn't wait for bedtime so that I could wait and listen for the different vendors that would pass by.  It was like clockwork.  They always came and there were so many different calls.  I tried to keep track of each of them. I would echo their calls out loud trying to imitate what I was hearing.

It was fun to hear their cry and then run to the window to see who they were and what they were selling.  I remember watching the 'Sapuh' guy the first time rhythmically balancing on his shoulder a long bamboo strip called a pikulan that is strung with brooms, mops and a multitude of kitchenware. He would walk with this perfect gait like learning to ride a trotting horse without busting one's behind.  The perfect rhythm of his bare feet slapping like leather against the asphalt roads.  His one arm holding the pole and the other swinging in perfect synchronicity maintaining the necessary balance. 

 I learned later that many of them would do this their entire adult lives.  I was witnessing the micro business of Indonesia in the 70's before that term existed.  The street vendors were, and I believe still are an integral part of Jakarta's landscape; one that separates Jakarta from other boring, even sterile-looking cities.  A thriving underground economy, street vendors reflect a resourceful entrepreneurial spirit that delivers good and services directly to the consumer using some ingenious forms of transportation. There were all kinds of bicycles and carts and other modes of transportation. 

This whole nighttime culture of selling one's wares became part of my life.  It was a bit intoxicating and wondrous as I would fantasize about being one of them.  I would imagine which one would be the best to be and then put myself in their so called "shoes" or feet rather and wondered what one night would be like.  For an eight-year-old, tired didn't factor in.  These folks seemed tireless, never stopping, working hard to make enough to eat that day.

What started out as being so scary and haunting, became familiar and surprisingly comforting.  I came to count on those interesting nighttime noises like little friends in the dark, letting me know that they were out there, that all was well.  Many nights I drifted off only after I started hearing their cries which was a very different place from where I started those first days of arriving there.  I became keenly aware of the difference when I came to the U.S. for summer vacations.  It was difficult to fall asleep to a completely quiet night.  That was when I knew I was "all in" with respect to this amazing culture and land. It was reminiscent of Beryl Markham's remarkable stories of Africa which were so incredibly immersive and impactful on her life.  These were for me.

Over the years I have fondly thought about them, their calls, their lives and how they completely captivated the imagination of an eight-year-old boy. The nostalgia is very strong and deep when I let myself fully remember.  Even now as I write my memories down, I am drawn back to that hot, humid, mysterious place.  It was like being dipped into an old story to a place where books have not been written yet.  A secret place with secret sounds and smells.  Its' pungent aroma fills the senses metaphorically as I take in a deep breath.  A story that a young boy can forever live off of and return to forever....

Oh, how amazing it would be to hear one more "Saaaaapuuuuuh!" reverberate through the night to lull me back into a deep sleep of exotic and dreamy experiences of my childhood.

Yes.......These are the Sounds of the Night Vendors.......

Bear Lake Snowshoeing Rookies

This was my first orientation adventure with snow shoeing.  We were up at Bear Lake and Abby's mom was our guide.  It was completely beautiful with large expanses of pure white unmarred snow.

It was so bright it hurt to look at the snow.  It was chilly but walking around warmed us enough to layer down a bit.  The snow was pristine and still very deep. The lake in the background was an awesome sight.

I think I prefer cross country skiis but it was cool to see what tromping around in show shoe gear was like.

McKenna led the way through some unchartered territory so it was a bit like an adventure.  Really enjoyed spending time outside, in this part of God's creation.   It was a workout which I needed!  Always fun to spend time with McKenna

Travel is Fatal

 

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime."

                        ----Mark Twain

I never knew what this meant until I repatriated to the U.S. my senior year of high school.  I had already had a lifetime of world travel and multi-cultural experiences by this time.  I was the new kid at school.....again, for the hundreth time.  That wasn't new for me, in fact, growing up in other countries and attending international schools made first day's of school exciting.   It was always interesting to see what new kids had moved in and would be coming because inevitably they would be new addition to various friend groups.

My first day at Highland High School in SLC wasn't the same.  I expected people to notice me, or want to meet me.  It was the opposite.  I was weird, different and somehow repelled others.  My clothes were very different, my hair was all wrong and I was immediately an outcast.  I found myself gravitating to the minorities who seemed to readily accept me.

The few mainstreamers that did muster up the courage to engage would then try and figure me out by asking terribly ignorant questions.  "So, your parents are in Brazil..... Did you live in a house on stilts in the Amazon?"  "Did you have running water?"   "Where's Indonesia?"  "Did you see any terrorists in the middle east?"

At first I thought they were kidding, but quickly realized they weren't.  I was so puzzled, I couldn't really understand why they were asking such inane and uninformed questions.  When I did answer them there was no follow up curiosity or desire to learn more about these places, their people and their culture.

I was shocked at the level of ignorance that seemed pervasive across more and more people as time passed and I interacted with more kids.  I remember vividly coming to my own conclusion that being my wishing that everyone could just go spend 3 months anywhere other than the U.S. and to then see if they might come back different.  Maybe we new perspectives, a broader view, empathy for those that were different.  Twain's quote is so true to me.  I felt like Americans didn't completely understand the many comforts, convenience, expansive choices and freedoms that they had at their disposal.  They took so many things for granted and it was such a contrast from my life that it was difficult to wrap my head around.

In my experience, most folks that can travel and be exposed to different cultures with some desire to learn and experience new things cannot possibly ever see the world the same again.  Empathy for others has to deepen.  Appreciation for freedom must be heightened.  It is difficult to ever see oneself above anyone else after such an experience.  

I am reminded of how strongly I felt back then at 17 years old.  How much I wanted to have enough money to send everyone overseas for a while and then see how they changed as a result.  I feel that is needed again today. I wonder how many social ills would dissipate, dissolve or even dissapear if everyone could immerse themselves somewhere else, and then return home with a fresh perspective, expanded ways of thinking, more tolerant, more kind, more empathetic and more charitable?

"To Travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries."

This is so true!  You will find whatever you want to no matter where you go.  If you believe people are rude, that is what you will see.  If you are looking to compare the place you are in with the U.S. you will almost always be dissapointed.  If you travel with your arrows pointed in, you will come up short.  If you have heard that the food is bad, it is highly probable you will find that too.

I lived in some of the dirtiest places in the world.  All my parents saw was beauty everywhere they looked.  My mother was often breathless after experiences such as walking through a croweded hot marketplace, watching a poor artison on the street creating something to sell.  She didn't focus on the smells and odors that could be distracting.  She saw poor people smiling, keeping their dirt floors clean and wondered at how they would wash and bathe their livestock in the rivers scrubbing their hides with eucalyptus leaves leaving a fresh sparkly scent.  She couldn't wait to learn the traditional dances so she could better understand their way of life and what story their dance was telling.  My dad never complained about the chicken infested, over crowded trains he had to take often.  He found the adventure in that space.

Travel far enough, you meet yourself."

In the end, if you are willing to look beyond yourself, beyond the tourist traps, the normal suspect check box places to take a selfie, and you are looking to understand, find out, ask questions and learn, you will most certainly find yourself in that process.  Hopefully you will admire that person too when you do a little more than before you traveled.  Travel can be a journey of self-discovery that allows us all to learn more about ourselves as we explore the world.   I have been literally to a thousand places in my life.  I have so many experiences and memories tucked away in my "cloud journal" but they are to no avail or value if they haven't changed me in the process.  If they haven't refined my sense of appreciation, gratitude and pulled at my heart strings with respect to my interactions and relationships with others, then I have failed.  My travels might as well be summed as having made many stops to get a quick drink and rushing off to see the next "thing" vs drinking deeply from the well of experience, reflecting, and then letting that living water change my heart and mind in more meanintful ways.  

You want to be a better person?  Then I invite you to travel.... anywhere, it doesn't matter.  Go explore and don't look back and see what you are like afterwards.... you might surprise yourself.

Thank you Mom and Dad, for sharing the world with me and showing me how to see everyone and everything in it with new eyes of wonder and awe!  It totally made all the difference in the world to me. 

Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque: Abu Dhabi

 I will never forget my first week waking up to weird noises in the late night or early morning in Indonesia.  I wrote a story about it called the "Sounds of the Night Vendors" which was my first creative writing piece.  I remember Miss Moore liked it.

In addition to the noise of street vendors, was the constant cry of the electrified prayers emanating from local mosques.  They occurred the same time each day and during special occasions.  You could hear the prayers wafting through the heavy aromatic air no matter which neighborhood you lived.  

They became a bit like second nature after adjusting to them.   It was refreshing to see how many devout Muslims there were in Indonesia.  Anytime any practices their faith I am always impressed.  Some need to be in the religious structures to feel close to their "God". Others don't.  

I remember being in school and sometimes walking by a secluded corner of a building during the day I would come upon a maintenance or school employee doing individual prayer on their mobile prayer mats.  I am sure that locals welcomed them as a reminder of their faith throughout each day.

I was not prepared for the Sheikh Zayed Mosque.  It is in U.A.E. in the city of Abu Dhabi.  It is magnificent.  The level of craftsmanship, beauty and revereance was unbelievable. It was entirely quiet for the whole tour.  There were dress standards and women needed to cover their head.

It was very hot and yet it felt cool in the shade of the mosques many covered hallways and gathering areas.  

The sheer expansive scale of the mosque was staggering.  It had so much intricate tile inlay  The colors were so appropriate and I am sure there was so much meaning in every one but we didn't have a tour guide, so we had to use our imagination.....which was easy to do as there were so many references to nature, life, energy and light.

The open inside court was like 3 football fields long.  The marble was so clean and clear it reflected the images of the spires and domes on its sleek floor like a mirror.  

I really did want to just walk out and wander across but that was forbidden.  Did I think about how incredible it would be to skateboard across this?  Yes, for a moment, but knew at the same time I would never do that in such a place.

The decor inside and the choices that were made for the elaborate chandeliers, stained glass windows and ceiling artwork was exquisite.  There was so much to look at.  It was it's own art masterpiece.  There weren't any pictures to hang as all the art was embedded into the design.  It did not need anything like that which would have made a mess of things really.

The carpets inside went on for miles....  The colored lights hanging from these beautiful chandeliers were amazing.  

I remember imagining thousands of people in white kneeling on here and praying in unison.  The idea of thousands vs hundreds was an easy idea to consider given how much room there was.  It was totally designed to invite as many in as possible.

The architectural elements and design choices were wonderful.  The combination of archways and domes all intersecting made a wonderful display for the eye to follow and explore.

The reflecting pools were a perfect add.  It adds a cooling affect to the ambience.  The water reflects the azure sky.  It serves as psychological refresh factor given the heat of the day is pretty intense.  Most of the acces to and from the actual mosque is air conditioned underground tunnels that have shops and food vendors which made the entire visit so pleasant.  

I remembered fondly back to my youth in Jakarta, thinking as I looked down this perspective and looked up to the tower half expecting an electronic prayer to be uttered while I was there.  It would have completed the entire experience. 

You cannot build a structure like this without strong faith and belief.  It makes it all the more inspirational 

I felt joy and peace.  I love that there are places of reverence around the world in so many diverse cultures and peoples.  I love strict observance because it is never easy to accomplish for whatever religion calls for it.  It is a battle inside ultimately, to subjugate our own will and wisdom to that of a higher power, to one who knows and understands more than we do.  I am grateful for those who uphold their religious values through practice and rituals.  

I wish I could do a little better at that myself....

FLW: Samara

FLW always named his homes.  Often by the owners name but sometimes other names that had meaning through metaphors.  A Samara is a winged seed found in pine cones.  You have seen them but probably never heard of this name.  He used the shape of the Samara throughout the design of this house.  He designed it into the carpet, bedspreads and into the architecture itself.  Pine trees were found on this property.

Samara was a place I really wanted to visit but wasn't sure if I would.  It is about 2 hours north of Indianapolis.  It is a great hidden property and much like his other designs, it blended into nature so well.

One of the unique aspects of this house is that you can actually sit on the furniture which was a delight because it is the only FLW property that I have been do to allow for that.  It was very cool to sit on the built in couch and look out the windows.  I loved the tiered sunken living room idea with small square tables that could be positioned anywhere for folks who might want to just sit on the stairs but still have a place for drinks.  You can see the Samara shapes repeated on the carpet.  The room felt so comfortable and full of natural light, which all his homes seem to duplicate.

This side view shows how he leveraged built in floating book cases above the seating area all down and then around the corner.  A perfect nook to disappear and read.

The dining room was really well done.  He hung a classic japanese print which he loved to do on the wall.  The high back chairs were his design and you can see how he incorporated the Samara symbol into the cutouts on the backs of the chairs.

They were not supposed to be comfortable and they weren't! 

He invented the mitred glass corner of windows.  It added to the element of inviting the outside in.  

The amazing little chair he designed as well is such a great touch.

The Samara symbols are cutouts that let extra light in above the windows.  This is a signature design element.

This was a great tour, the stories that were told of how it came to be and the interactions the owners had with FLW were so colorful.  

This is probably the 10th FLW home I have toured and I find the excitement never dims for each new one despite some of the similarities.  Every property is different but feels so amazingly like he wants you to feel.  Somehow he knew this as he designed from his studio.  What an amazing vision and aesthetic he possessed.