A place for the heart
“Blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who finds great delight in his commands. Wealth and riches are in his house, and his righteousness endures forever.” Psalms 112:1 and 3
This is a painting from a real place called Plumtree, in the mountains of North Carolina. A real cabin that’s survived many a storm ‘cause it’s built on a rock. Its owned by real folks who love and trust a real God, who so loved the world that He gave His only Son, to create a real, eternal place in His heart… just for you.
And the wreaths of Avery County grown, Fraser Firs, are real too, that sing out from the little cabin every year, “Merry Christmas. Guests that are cold from the world are welcome here!”
family
Very few of God’s creatures evoke as much emotion in poem or song as the little bluebird. And yet, the saga of the bluebird is a dramatic story of its struggle for survival. The bluebird will not build its home on a limb of a tree, but has to have an enclosure–– a hole whittled out by a woodpecker in a tree, fence post, or the eve under a barn. But along came super highways and shopping malls and homes became scarce. And the bluebird almost disappeared. And that’s what prompted Mr. Jack Finch to begin building homes for his “friends.”
Linda and I visited the “Bluebird Man” as he was affectionately referred to. And when he discovered I was an artist and was thinking about doing a painting of them he took us for a long walk on what he called his “Bluebird Trail.” There, he hosted nearly a mile of bird boxes containing families of bluebirds. While showing us his vast array of homes for these incredible birds, he told us stories of wisdom that he had learned from observing his tiny friends. As we were about to leave he insisted on loading several of his “Home for Bluebirds” into our van. Looking off across the countryside he spoke almost as if he were in prayer and said, “Yes. I hope this nation of ours would somehow learn from our feathered friends the value of home and family. Perhaps if we’d listen more for the wisdom of bluebirds instead of the political rhetoric coming out of Washington, there still might be some hope for America.”
As we drove slowly out of his long driveway lined with bluebird houses, my wife said, “I believe you will paint the bluebirds, and when you do, you must name the painting, ‘Family.’” I did.
Unless the lord builds a house
Early I learned that the story behind a painting was as important as the painting itself if it was going to minister to folks. As badly as I wanted to paint the old cabin nestled in the valley of the North Carolina mountains, in Plumtree, I couldn’t without a story. But God arranged us to get snowed in near the cabin one cold winter and I asked Linda to join me to go down in a borrowed jeep and let me take some photos. She reluctantly agreed, cause the temps were way below freezing and with the wind blowing extra hard, it was mighty, extra cold.
When we arrived we noticed footprints leading up to the cabin door and smoke rising from the chimney. As we got out into knee deep snow, Miss Kaye, the cabin’s owner, spotted us and called from the porch to hurry inside where it was warm. Linda hurried inside while I could not resist taking some magnificent photos. But Miss Kay called again and I ran to get warm myself.
Around the warmth of the wood stove Miss Kaye began telling stories about the cabin’s 100 year long history. They all were intriguing, and just as we were leaving she said, “I know this is not real important to you, but I can’t get it off my mind. Last week a plumber came out to dig some new sceptic line when he discovered the strangest thing. He asked me if I realized the cabin was anchored to a 200 foot diameter rock? I had to laugh, cause some folks wondered if this was a mystery cabin, cause it has survived three major floods that washed away barns, houses, and sent a pick up or two five miles down the valley. All I could do is sing that old children’s song, ‘Oh the wise man builds his house upon a rock…’”
Finally, I had a story and I knew the cabin was about to have its portrait made, for I knew the old cabin painted to hang in homes would be a constant reminder, “That unless the Lord build the house the builders labor in vain…“
Unless the Lord builds the house. . .
Its builders labor in vain
When the waters from heaven flow into the valley
The structure will fall to the pounding rain
Unless the Lord builds the house. . .
Its foundation is weak
The house will falter in times of trouble
Then a new shelter our heart will seek
But when the Lord builds our house. . .
We surrender our desires into His hands
And worry not, rather have faith in His work
And weather the storms
For He builds us on the rock instead of the sand.
––Jodie Lynne
A Painted, Quilted Pony
If you check out the web site for “Old Salem,” a restored Moravian village in Winston-Salem,NC, you will read one sentence that will beckon you to visit. “Come and discover something new about our past and that will intrigue you about our future.” Old Salem calls you back to simpler times. That’s intriguing. And one particular time in the store window of one of its shops my eye caught a hand-make pony, fashioned from an antique quilt. Before I would paint it in its simplicity I wrote a poem that describes the something new I learned from time past, when life was simpler.
A painted, quilted pony has much to say
To hearts unafraid to make their way
Back into much simpler times
When childhood eyes could often find
Playful creatures in whispy clouds
Trees turned warriors standing proud
Where stories opened windows to another place
How easy it was then to see Gods face... But now, quilted pony, are you useless to me
I’ve more important things to do and to see
Than to give precious time to dreams and play
There’s jobs to finish and bills to pay
Though I’d long to be carefree, a child once again
There’s mountains to climb, and fences to mend
O painted, quilted pony, what do you recommend...
Be converted my soul, be a child amongst men.
painted, quilted pony has much to say
To hearts unafraid to make their way
Back into much simpler times
When childhood eyes could often find
Playful creatures in whispy clouds
Trees turned warriors standing proud
Where stories opened windows to another place
How easy it was then to see Gods face... But now, quilted pony, are you useless to me
I’ve more important things to do and to see
Than to give precious time to dreams and play
There’s jobs to finish and bills to pay
Though I’d long to be carefree, a child once again
There’s mountains to climb, and fences to mend
O painted, quilted pony, what do you recommend...
Be converted my soul, be a child amongst men. ––– Ken Helser
A Just Weight
When the farmer was weighing out some Granny Smith apples on the old scale and a butterfly landed on it, we both smiled. He waited for the creature to fly before he priced the apples. That reminded me of Proverbs 11:1 that says, “A just weight is God’s delight.” But it also reminds me of how unbalanced my life can be and how He alone can bring me into His balance so that I might have what He promised: “I have come that you might have life and have it more abundantly.” John 10:10
And a Little Child
Shall Lead Them
No picture I’ve ever painted has ministered to more people than the “Little Child” has. Yes, the little child is our youngest daughter, Sarah. At summers end we’d always vacation at a family on the coast of North Carolina, and Sarah would always make me promise to get up with her to collect shells on the beach. I didn’t mind making that promise, but what I dreaded those morning was how early she’d wake me by waving a sandy bucket over my head, reminding me, “Daddy, you promised.” On one of those mornings as I staggered out of bed to follow her I had a camera and said,
“Sarah, stop at your next step. I wanna get a photo.” At 1/8 of a second, my handheld picture turned out perfectly so I made a print and hung it in my office, never thinking to paint it cause’ I’ve already told you I only paint “stories.”
But one particular summer I ministered at Camp Lurecrest where lots of kids wanted me to pray for their troubled parents, and over and over I prayed that the way to their parents hearts would be through their children, because Isaiah 11:6 says, “And a little child shall lead them.” And that’s when I saw the story in my photo of Sarah, because those mornings with her reminded me that yes, God gives us children for us to teach them, but more importantly, God gives us children for them to teach us. Oh the lessons I’ve learned when “a little child led me to see how much the Father loved me!
My poem from one of those morning of following Sarah to gather shells…
“Wake up!” She said, rousing me from a deep sleep,
A promise I made late, so early to keep.
Following her footsteps of love in the sand,
Still in her nightgown, with bucket in her hand,
I remembered... “And a little child shall lead them.”
“See this one! And this one!”
She squealed with such pleasure,
They all looked alike, but to her each a treasure.
I figured we’d gathered all the shells on the beach,
Strolling back hand in hand
Did the Father’s voice teach...
“This is the way it should be you and I, Child of my heart, apple of my eye,”
“And a little child shall lead them.”
Be There
A father. A son. A walk to the beach.
A picture of God’s heart toward us.
But the world’s busyness has replaced belonging. We’re tempted to trade lust for Love. Religion has replaced relationship. Words have taken the place of The Word, until we have allowed information about God to replace intimacy with God.
O Lord, forgive us.
Teach us that there is no higher calling than to place our hand in yours and stroll with you through life. We desire no other agenda but to discover that we are truly our Father’s sons our Father’s daughters.
O God. Before the foundations of the world you chose us to be yours. You have always been there for us.
Now, we long to just be there for you.
Consider the Lilies
I was such a young artist when I wanted to do a detail painting of one of my favorite passages of Scripture, Matthew 6:25-34. It is Christ’s warning in the Sermon on the Mount about how the greatest treasure in life is to live free from worry by considering “The birds of the air… and the lilies of the field.” I was excited about this painting until my little new born, Jonathan David, crawled into my studio and spilled over a table of water onto the painting and washed away a third of the water color. That got my attention. I prayed, “Lord, what’s going on?” He answered, “You are trying to minister to others about considering the lilies but you’ve never considered them for yourself.” OUCH. I left the art work behind and sat before some lilies and let them preach a sermon to me:
Each Shell is a memory
Sarah and I went for a walk early that morning, but instead of taking an old sea-salt rusty bucket for our shells, Sarah insisted on Cattie McCormick’s beautiful basket. “But Sarah,” I protested. “There’s no telling how expensive that beautiful basket is? I bet…” Cattie interrupted, “Oh, take it. Your walk with Sarah is worth far more than that old basket.”
When we returned our family was already up and playing on the beach, except for our daughter Jodie. She was in deep thought having her God Time. So, I just left the basket of shells and a few wild flowers we picked by the sea fence. Glad I did, cause later Jodie, drawn to see beyond the natural, had composed a poem that began with, “Each shell is a memory…”
“A memory?” I asked curiously.
“Of course Daddy, “ Jodie answered. “They once were homes for living creatures, but now the shell that remains is a memory of what was once life. And the basket is like our hearts that keeps these shells… memories…”
Jodie’s poem touched me so deeply I knew I was going to paint it, less I might forget a memory that I would keep in my heart forever.’
Each shell is a memory–
Filled from beginning to end
With the sweetness of God
While the flower is a friend.
They are held in the basket
Of perfect peace–
The unfailing love of God
That will never cease. The seasons may change
But the memories stay
For I will secure them in my heart
Where my deepest treasures lay.
––– Jodie Lynne
Five Tubes of Paint
I was so young, my gift list so small. All I wanted for Christmas was the paint set I drooled over in the hobby shop window–– the one with thirty-two tubes of paint in a beautiful oak box with shiny brass latches. I was convinced that with those oils I could be a real artist.
I promised Santa I’d be good all year if only I could get those paints.
The magic morning finally arrived, and I quickly opened all my gifts, except one. To my dismay it was a little box, much too small for thirty-two tubes of paint.
I slowly removed the wrapping paper to discover a Christmas card box. I lifted the lid, and all that was there were five, big, fat, ugly tubes of paint. I was heart broken with disappointment. That’s when my mother held me real tight. As she wiped my tears she said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you what you wanted, but I did get you what you what you needed.”
Quickly she squeezed the paints onto a pallet and unwrapped the miracle of color. I squealed with delight when blue and yellow became green. Red and yellow became orange.
I’m an artist today because from five tubes of paint and a mother’s love I got the greatest art lesson ever: I learned to see and love color.
Long ago the world asked for a King, and God gave the world a Savior–– a baby in a tiny box. Often God’s greatest gifts come in small packages.
Sometimes God does not give us what we want but lovingly gives us what we need.
House of Hope
“I know the plans I have for you,"
declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11 Difficult and many the obstacles be,
For one whom can’t nest on mere limb of a tree, But faith born of instinct the bluebird must follow, To locate a fence post or dead tree hollow,
To find a house of hope. From housetop protected from reptile and foe,
The male bird starts singing, a compass to show, The way for his sweetheart, a life mate be,
His passionate love song allures her to he,
To build a house of hope. So like the bluebird is Bridegroom Christ Jesus, Gone to prepare a place quite prestigious,
Please hearken His own love to His song compelling, Calling us to Himself, our eternal dwelling,
A House of Hope.
––– Ken Helser
Few of God's creatures evoke as much emotion in poem or song as the little bluebird. And yet, the saga of the bluebird is a dramatic story of its struggle for survival. Why did the one who carries the sky on its wing nearly become extinct? Because of its many enemies. First, it was the environment. Super highways, malls and housing projects rapidly eroded the wild berry trees that once sustained the bird in the winter. Gone were the hollows in trees and fence posts which it once made its home. Then came the raccoons and black snakes that invade the home of the bluebird for an easy meal; the starlings, robbing its food supply; and the English sparrow, that savagely kills the mother and robs the nest. Some wondered if the bluebird could possibly survive? And some decided to give God’s little creature a hand.
It has, thanks to Jack Finch, a Carolinian who has built more than 50,000 bluebird boxes, and plants the berry producing dogwoods for winter provisions for bluebirds with more vigor than Johnny Appleseed planted apple trees. Mr. Finch first caught my attention when he was featured on an “Earth Day” special on CBS news. I was instantly captivated by the Jesus look in his eye when asked why he would spend much of his life building homes for bluebirds, he remarked, “Well, one day this old body will be laid to rest, and I’d like to think a bluebird or two might take notice of my love for them and sing a song or two over my grave.” I was so intrigued by the nurseryman from Bailey, North Carolina, that Linda and I sought him out in hopes of taking some photos of the beautiful birds–– which I might make a painting of. But we got much more. We got a life-changing message.
“Did you know that bluebirds are very romantic?” Mr. Finch said, tilting his ear to catch the warble of a songbird in the distance. “Yep. The male bird falls in love and courts his sweetheart by first finding a suitable home for them to nest. From there he sings his love song. That’s what attracts her. If she says ‘I do’ to his proposal by entering the future homesite, he flutters wildly and sings his he'd off with joy! It’s a site to behold.”
“Why, that’s just like Jesus!” I exclaimed, reveling in the correlation between the bird and the Gospel. “Christ has gone to prepare a place for us, and from there he attracts us, his bride-to-be, to His house with His own love song!”
I was plumb giddy from the revelation, when the kind man continued, “And bluebirds are not only romantic, they are faithful to each other. They mate for life. They make such great parents that they are one of the few birds in existence that continue to feed their young after they leave the nest. Why, they even take a family vacation,” he laughed. “They migrate south as a family.”
I could see that Jack was choking with emotion. Not for the birds, but for mankind. Turning away to hide the tear in his eye, he spoke solemnly, “There is so much we could learn from Go’s little creatures if we would only pay attention. The bluebird is such an overcomer. They have so many enemies. So many obstacles to overcome. But they never seem to waste their lives by complaining. They just energetically go on building their homes, their families, with hope. A great big hope that it’s all going to work out fine…”
After visiting many bluebird houses around Jack’s farm, and taking hundreds of pictures, the kind man loaded five bird boxes into our van and gave us a hug that implied that we had become friends for life.
As we drove out on the long dirt road from Jack’s place, we passed one bluebird box after another. I found myself saluting every homesite. I think I was subconsciously saying thank you to God’s little creatures who taught me about overcoming. Conquering fear. Romance and faithfulness. And victory. I too wanted to go home and build my own “House of Hope.”
“‘I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV).
In my Father's Arms
I remember the first time my own Dad took me down to the shore or the ocean. I remembered how powerful the arms were that held me. Powerful enough to make my fear of the ocean’s roar and bigness disappear.
That came back to me as I stood back while Andy hoisted our grandson Luke to his shoulder and took him to see the ocean for the first time, except it was not just the ocean that spoke to me as I noticed all the crosses formed by the pier, and I saw a father and child as God holding me and never dropping me in the cross moments of our life.
In my Father’s arms I was lifted high
Close to His heart I could touch the sky
For dad was like God and could silence waves roar
And tame all my fears on ocean’s shore
For nothing could touch me or cause me harm
As a child I was safe in my Father’s arms.
From my Father’s arms the years brought a day
When far from His heart I wandered away
Dad was not God but just the old man
I mocked at his wisdom and questioned his plan
A proud adolescent with a mind of his own
My Father’s arms I’d completely outgrown.
To my Father’s arms born-again I returned
Back to His heart from the wilderness learned
That pier’s weathered crosses were moments He bore
My sea-tossed rebellion when He loved me more
For now I’m a father, he’s not God or old man
In my Father’s arms He became my best friend.
Out of the Brokenness
A shepherd's joy is for his sheep to find solitude in green pastures. His pain is the brokenness many must suffer for Him to lead them there.
We mistakenly think of sheep as cute, cuddly creatures, joyfully following the shepherd. Instead, they are stupid, stubborn animals, intent on their own way.
A whole flock can be destroyed by one rebellious lamb that refuses correction. True love compels the shepherd to break the leg of the wayward lamb.
Love's mystery is that the same hands that broke the leg tenderly set the bone and carry the lamb over the shepherd's heart until the leg is healed.
Out of the brokenness the self-willed lamb learns to trust and love the shepherd, forever following close to the shepherd's side.
Isn't that always the way of the Good Shepherd? Out of the brokenness...He gives us His wholeness.
The crab
Actually the crab is my only self-portrait. It’s a reminder of a time when the workaholic in me nearly destroyed a family vacation while fishing for crabs, the Lord said, “Did you come to just catch crabs or did you come to have fellowship with your family? Which is more important?”
“If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.” I John 1:7
The sailboat
Whenever the Helser household suffered an economic setback, I would sigh, “Well, there went my sailboat.”
On my daughter, Dustie’s, wedding day, she surprised me with a gift. A blue, toy sailboat. Leaving the church for her honeymoon, she blew me a kiss and boasted, “You got me married and you got your sailboat too!”
When I was a child, a wise old sea captain gave me my first sailing lesson. After acquainting me with all the basics, I set the rudder and hoisted the mainsail, but we went nowhere. Because I couldn’t see what was below the surface of the craft, I forgot to lower the centerboard. The keel. The instant it went down, the boat began to fly with the wind and I became a sailor for life.
Today, the little sailboat sits in a special place in my studio, a reminder of the love of my family, and the love of my Captain, Jesus–– who instructs me that real life is lived below the surface, in the Spirit... from the heart. –– Ken Helser
“Guard the heart with all diligence, for it is the wellspring of life.” Proverbs 4:23
The stray
Sarah, a tot of three, took off running toward the strange howling sounds from across the dirt road. I followed her quick pursuit to find, lying on its back in a ditch, the dirtiest, mangiest, ugliest, flea-bitten hound I’d ever seen.
My daughter looked up at me and said, “Ain’t he pretty daddy?”
Knowing little girls’ tender hearts, I laid down the law: “We are not keeping that dog!” Sarah’s eyes saddened, her bottom lip poked out, and suddenly she jumped down in the ditch with the dog. Before I could stop her, she lifted the puppy’s leg and discovered the only clean spot on the filthy animal. She rose slowly to her feet and proudly announced, “Well, the white on him is pretty.”
Sarah won. I picked up the smelly dog and carried him to the house. We dipped him in a solution that killed everything but the dog, and gave him many baths until he was clean. Sarah took him into the kitchen where he scoffed up a whole can of dog food.
The next morning when Sarah was holding the stray in her arms, I saw more than a little girl and a dog; I saw Jesus. Once, I was the stray that had fallen into the ditch of life. Sin took me there. That is where Jesus found me and took me home to Papa’s house. He washed me clean with His blood and fed me food so good I’ve never wanted to go back to the ditch...
“for when the good shepherd finds the lost stray, he joyfully puts it on his shoulder and goes back home.” Luke 15:5
Take no Thought
What an incredible statement from Jesus in Matthew 6, when he says we are not to take thought of worry for our lives–– what we shall eat or drink–– in essence, “How are we going to survive.” He explains this mystery by telling what we are supposed to do in a time we are tempted to worry: “Consider the birds of the air…” That became a reality when I set a jug of wildflowers near the home of some wrens at the door of an old barn. They came out an “considered the flowers of the field.”
Spread your wings
An old Mason jar. A lid. A butterfly set free. But what lies beneath the simple picture is a story of a fifteen year old girl who overcame fear when she heard God say, “I’ve taken the lid of shame and deception off your life because of Calvary Love. Spread your wings. You can fly!” In that moment the little girl, my own daughter, Jodie, wrote her poem…
A beautiful creature was held back by a glass wall;
It was afraid to fly, afraid it might fall.
God spilled the colors of the rainbow into its wings,
God created it for the love, for the joy it brings.
But the lid of deception, holds it down inside,
And the beautiful creature is ashamed, and it hides.
You see, the lid was an illusion in the butterfly’s mind,
It wasn’t able to see the truth, it became blind.
But then one day it found the faith to give it a try;
It spread out its wings and began to fly.
–– Jodie Lynne
stretched tight
When I came home from a glorious conference where I lived luxuriously in a four star hotel, I was met by a house with a broken water tank, dog poop on the floor, and unwashed clothes strewn everywhere, I mistakenly asked my wife, “What in the world is going on around here?” My “stretched tight” wife and mother of my children, wiped her forehead, rose to her knees from scrubbing up the dog’s mess and said, “Home is where you have to live out all the things you like to talk about.”
Teddy Bears and Rainbows
A frightened little girl in a hospital was being tucked in for the night when she asked, “When I die and go to heaven, will God have a teddy bear there for me?” The young nurse prayed, asked God and His answer came in a song that she passed on to my daughter, Dustie and I. We recorded it and the song became a hit among many children. And why shouldn’t it be? Jesus said it real plain when he said, “Unless you become as a little child you will not enter the Kingdom of heaven.” Thank God for the simplicity of the Gospel that even a child can understand… and yes, I really do believe God will have teddy bears in heaven for His children.
Teddy bears and rainbows, Flowers and trees
My God made the little things, To show His love to me.
Sometimes I grab my old teddy bear, And climb my favorite tree
I reach up to heaven where, My father, He know my needs, He gives me…
Teddy bears and rainbows, Flowers and trees
My God made the little things, To show His love to me.
One day those teddy bears will be gone, The flowers and the trees
The colors of the rainbow, We’ll no longer see
But that’s the day I’ve been waiting for, The day I long to see
My Father is waiting there, To show His love to me, And give me…
Teddy bears and rainbows, Flower and trees
My God made everything, To show His love to me.