Elk Sawblade

To hang on my front porch.

Steyh's Milk Can

Painted this as a gift for a gentleman in town.

Honeymoon Flowers

The reference photo for this painting was taken by my daughter while

on her honeymoon in Glacier National Park.  

This painting, measuring 2' x 3', will grace the wall of their new home.

The Faith of Rahab

Painting number three for Macedonian Ministries, to be auctioned off at their 2013 Heartcry for the Harvest missions event.  This one gave me pause on several occasions, and if you were to strip the layers of paint you would find two other compositions underneath.  Each of the paintings for MM have been a beautiful struggle where I invariably come to the end of my self and relinquish control of the brush to the Master.  They are a part of me, a part of Him.

The story of Rahab is outlined in the book of Joshua chapter six in the Bible.  She is again mentioned in Matthew 1:5, Hebrews 11:31, and James 2:25.  She was and will forever be known not simply as "Rahab", but as "Rahab the Harlot", her sins following her name down through history, inescapable except for the Grace of God.

The painting "The Faith of Rahab" illustrated not just the cord she let out the window of the city wall to mark her and her family's location so that Joshua's army would not kill them in return for her help in getting his spies safely out of town.  It is a mark of her faith in a God she had never seen but had seen her, to rescur her from death.

In addition to her occupation as a prostitute, Rahab also spun flax into fabric.  In the painting, she sits on the outside wall of Jericho just above the roof of her home where flax is spread out to dry.  The red cord, symbolizing the blood of Christ that was shed to cover sin, is draped across her lap and down the ladders that lead to her door where she entertained travelers.  The top rung of the main ladder is broken, representing her own brokenness and the deliverance from her sin because of her belief.  She grips the cord in her fists, hanging on tightly to the promise that she will be set free.

Post addition 4/14/13:  This painting was purchased by a man who lost his leg in a motorcycle accident in 2010.  He knew he had to face his fears and get back on the horse he fell off of, and so bought a new bike - a red one - and named it Rahab.  Coincidence?  I think not...

Birch Lake, Montana

Painting for a friend who took a trip out west from Pennsylvania.  The painting is a gift for the guide, and was a pleasure to create.  I believe some day I'll go there myself someday to experience the peace.

Spearfish Canyon Falls

Painting for a friend to give as a gift to her mother, the reference photo taken on a hike while they visited with us in the fall.  I wish I could have captured the feel of the spray on our faces from the waterfall, or the woodsy smell of the trees and soil.  Next time I paint this scene it will be plein air.

Weary Seaman

Richard E. Becker, Jr. 2011

(Dad)

Dad passed away on Christmas Eve 2011, and the first anniversary approaches quickly with the daily rising of the sun.  The morning light constantly reveals the darkness of this world as I turn on the news and hear of shootings in schools, bomb threats, riots, hate and death.  And I am torn as to whether or not I should wish my dad here with us for Christmas or be envious that he is no longer in this hell.

The photo used for this painting, my feeble attempt at a tribute to the man, was taken on a fishing trip by my brother.  My sister never liked the picture, but I was drawn to it as his story seemed most evident in his eyes.  They spoke of his pain, his fear, his longing to go Home.  When I asked my brother if I could use the photo as a reference, he said (being an artist himself), "Make sure you get the eyes right and everything else will fall into place."  I know he was referring to perspective -- but it was Dad's eyes that I most wanted to capture in the first place.  

As I painted and even now as I linger over the finished work, I find myself relating to the obvious pain and fear etched in Dad's expression.  I see myself there, wrestling with images and trials of the past, fears and concerns for the future, a constant struggle to find joy anymore in this world.  I picture Daddy at the feet of Jesus now, celebrating Christmas the way it's supposed to be celebrated, and I long to be with him there where there is no suffering, fear or pain.  I picture him welcoming the 20 children who were just murdered in their classroom in Connecticut.  I can hear him talking to them like Daffy Duck like he used to do when I was little.  And they laugh like I used to laugh.

Christmas will be hard this year, and not just for me.  So many have had their loved ones ripped from their lives, and all the while Christ is being ripped from the season.  People would rather believe in a fat man in a red suit with flying reindeer than in the One Christmas began with.  (Which story requires more faith?)  What breaks my heart is that they're happy in their hopelessness, drunk in their blindness, oblivious to the real Hell that boils in preparation for their souls.  Dad's eyes may be full of pain, but behind that earthly agony lingers a Hope that Heaven awaited him.  He knew that.  And so do I.  That is where I find Joy.  That is my Peace.  That is my Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Daddy.  I'll see you soon.