A few nice how can we images I found:

The Sixth Station (1024×768)
how can we
2009-02-18 16:22:03
Posted Date: 2009-02-18 16:22:03 , By : jdwarrick
how can we
The Sixth Station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

Leader: We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.
All: Because by your holy cross You have redeemed the world.

Jesus, suddenly a woman comes out of the crowd. Her name is Veronica. You can see how she cares for you as she takes a cloth and begins to wipe the blood and sweat from your face. She can’t do much, but she offers what little help she can.

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New for Lent and Easter 2010:
I have started converting these to the Personas format. If you use Firefox as a browser, check it out at http://www.getpersonas.com/en-US/gallery/Designer/jdwarrick

About this image
• From the stations of the cross at St. Francis of Assisi Church in Sacramento, CA
• Reflection from www.catholic.org/clife/lent/station.php?id=6

Use
You are welcome to download and/or share this image. Please be sure to review the Creative Commons license. Please do not post elsewhere.

Enjoy!

• Visit my site at http://www.jdwarrick.com
• Visit St. Francis Church at www.stfrancisparish.com/index.htm

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Article: Stations of the Cross date back to the fourth century
Excerpt from Catholic News Service, March 11, 2009

Devotions to the Way of the Cross began in earnest after 1342, when the Franciscan friars were given custody of the holy sites in the Holy Land. The Franciscans have been closely identified with the devotion ever since; for years, Church regulations required a set of the stations to be blessed by a Franciscan when possible.

The number of stations varied widely, with some manuals of devotion listing as many as 37. The term "stations" in describing the Way of the Cross was first used in the narrative of an English pilgrim, William Wey, who visited the Holy Land twice in the 15th century.

Depictions of the events described in the Stations did not start becoming common in churches until Pope Innocent XI permitted the Franciscans in 1686 to erect such displays in all their churches. He also declared that all indulgences given for visiting the sacred sites in the Holy Land would apply to any Franciscan or Franciscan lay affiliate visiting a set of stations in a church.

Pope Benedict XIII extended that privilege to all the faithful in 1726. Five years later, Pope Clement XII allowed all churches to have stations and fixed the number at 14, where it has been ever since. In recent years, many churches have included the Resurrection as a 15th station. Benedict XIV specifically urged every church in 1742 to enrich its sanctuary with stations.

Two Franciscans of the era did much to spread the popes’ wishes. St. Leonard of Port-Maurice erected stations at more than 500 churches in Italy, and St. Alphonsus Ligouri in 1787 wrote the version of the Stations that most Americans recognize because it was used in most churches in the United States throughout the 19th and 20th centuries.

It has become standard for Catholic churches in this country to recite the prayers related to the Stations on the Fridays of Lent. Many churches have two services, one in the afternoon, mainly for schoolchildren, and one in the evening. Some Protestant churches, especially those belonging to the Episcopal or Lutheran denominations, have made the devotion part of their Lenten activities, particularly on Good Friday.

The traditional 14 stations are as follows: Jesus is condemned to death; Jesus takes up his cross; Jesus falls the first time; Jesus meets his mother; Simon of Cyrene carries the cross; Veronica wipes the face of Jesus; Jesus falls the second time; Jesus meets the daughters of Jerusalem; Jesus falls the third time; Jesus is stripped of his garments; Jesus is nailed to the cross; Jesus is crucified; Jesus is taken down from the cross; Jesus’ body is laid in the tomb.

The third, fourth, sixth, seventh, and ninth stations are not specifically described in the Gospels, nor is St. Alphonsus’ depiction in the 13th station of Jesus’ body being laid in the arms of his mother.


how can we
2011-03-06 21:36:50
Posted Date: 2011-03-06 21:36:50 , By : wakingphotolife:
how can we
First times.

She was uncomfortable throughout the day. On the cab ride from Taipei 101 to their hotel room, she said that she could sense her period coming. “I feel like shit, especially the first day on it.”

He held her hand and looked outside the window as she talked; the sun was setting down in between two skyscrapers.

Since the morning of his flight there, he felt a slow fever burning. When he reached his transfers in Tokyo, he took his cap off and sprawled across the seats in front of the gate until they called final boarding. The time spent in the air was the most difficult to get through. By the third day in Taipei, it subsided a bit.

"Relax. You look so stressed out," she kept saying in the beginning.
The night before, she told him that his body was a heater and asked if it was always like this.
"Sometimes."

He woke up early in the morning and let his coughs overcome him in the shower. Sitting at the table, he watched the sun rise through the window curtains as she slept.
She briefly opened her eyes. "I heard you in the bathroom earlier. Are you alright?"
"I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep anymore."
After breakfast, she would be the one telling him “Relax. Take it easy.”

The hotel room was on the 6th floor and faced an alleyway shaded by apartment buildings and restaurants. Already, it smelled like Winstons and Capris. In the hotel cafe upstairs, they ate breakfast and talked about religion. Then went back to their room, listened to music off her computer speakers. She messaged her friends online. He opened the windows, sipped whiskey and read from the book he brought.

"Where do you want to go today?" he said. He took her computer and put it on the table, and leaned over her in bed with her hands pinned underneath his.
"Not sure."
"Isn’t this your city?"
"It is. But mostly in the suburbs last time."
"I’ll decide then."

The Museum of Contemporary Arts. An empty artist’s commune. The park. They paused and retraced their steps and in order to look for the black cardigan she left behind somewhere along the way. Maybe at the museum or the restaurant where they had lunch. They walked up and down the blocks on both sides of the street, but it was lost for good.
"It’s my mom’s. She let me borrow it,” she said.
"Will she be alright?"
"She’ll be upset but will forget eventually."
"Did you bring any other jackets?
"No."
"You can wear mine or I’ll buy you one."
“I’ll be fine. Don’t have to.”

He was use to walking at a brisk pace when he was alone. It caused her to pull on his arm from time to time. "You’re with someone you know." It had been a long time since he had to pace himself next to a person.

At the park, they watched families and kids make their way through the open grass. Kites, a soccer game, bicycles and pets – at the far end was a bridge that led back to their hotel building.

The wind picked up. He could smell her shampoo from underneath her cap. It masked her perfume, faint traces of citrus and vanilla. She remembered it from one of her primary school teachers when she was a child. Now it was hers.

He would try to find it later, as a keepsake and reminder, but was never able to.

She held his tie up – blue with small crown patterns in cream orange and white, widely spaced. he put his thumb over the small logo typeface at the bottom. "I like this one because if you look closely, the "i" fades into the letters next to it," he said.
"Is this how you dressed when you were in Paris?"
"Most of the time. I didn’t pack much"
"I can imagine you walking through the streets like this. Where did you get your jacket?"
"From England."
"It seems like you’ve packed a lot this time though."
"I’m wondering if it was such a good idea."
"Did you see my mine?"
This morning he had to sit on top of the lid and fight the lock just to shut it.
"If you’re cold. You can wear my jacket,” he said again.

Every man entertains the idea of giving their coat to a woman and seeing her walk in it. Before he came, she told him that the mountains would be cold so he packed more than he’d ever need.

"Some friends arrived in Taipei last night," she said the night before. "I’m wondering if I should see them or not. We’ll just go for a few drinks." She checked her phone as she talked.
"Not at all."
"What are you going to do then? I’ll probably be back late."
"I’ll stay here or find something to do. If you want to, just go. Don’t worry about me." He put his elbows on the table and locked his hands together.

A few minutes ago, she was certain that she would go. She was set on it. Now, she found herself staying with him in the cafe. She watched him write. That was their plan. There was a cinema next door but it wasn’t showing anything they were interested in.

He felt saturated and wasn’t in the mood to write, but not knowing what else to say to her or not wanting, he kept his eyes in the pages; better to be preoccupied than empty.
"You write very proper." she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You sit straight and your paper is straight."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It’s just very different from how I do. My paper is usually completely sideways."

She went out for a smoke while he kept to his journal. It was the beginning of another unfinished story: he ended up writing about their past few days. The first morning in the hotel. The trip to look for NyQuil the day after. He told her once that she was a puzzle he’d never understand. A million pieces. When he could piece together a few there would still be so many left. "Will you ever get bored of me?"
"Not a chance."
“Then I hope the pieces never end.”
The constant mysteries can be good or bad, he wondered.

She stood to the side of the cafe, away from the main entrance, along a stone path shrouded by tall palm trees; there was a full moon. The building used to be the American embassy and was held up by white Victorian columns on the exterior. The sleeves of her black dress ran along the side of her body in smooth sheets. He felt proud to know they were at the same table. When she told him others had glanced at her, he felt envied. When he went outside, she watched him too. But he didn’t look back except to wave. Once. She wanted to take photo.
"Are you sure you don’t want to meet your friends?"
"Never mind."

She cried into his shirt until his shoulder was damp. It came on suddenly, after they got out of the cab and back into the room. Tears. Mucous. Cotton. The air conditioning chilled them. Instead of interrupting her by getting out of bed to turn it off, he pulled the sheets up higher.
"Let’s leave Taipei," she said.
"We’ll leave tomorrow."
Her cheeks and lips were salty. He shed her jeans and tried to put her body at ease. "It’s okay."
"I’m sorry."
"Don’t have to be."

They were woken up by a click and the sound of a footstep at the door. The lights sprang on automatically. "What was that?" she said.
"Just stay in bed. I’ll have a look."
He found his shorts on the floor and the shirt drying on the back of the chair. He looked out into the hallway. No one. He closed the door and looked inside the bathroom.
"Not a soul," he said.
"It can’t be. We locked the door. How did the lights come on then?"
"Maybe it was a ghost."
"No way. Don’t scare me."
"I probably just didn’t close the door all the way."
"But the lights turned off after we came in."
“I don’t know then.”

He looked at the clock on the desk. It was almost eight thirty. He locked the door and it was dark again.

"Are you feeling better?" Her hair was tangled mess. His fingers moved the stray strands away from her eyes and cheeks."Just forget about me. I’m always like this. My moods.”
“It’s okay. I’m here.”
“I’m sorry about your shirt. I can get you a new one."
"There’s no need for that. We’ll wash it in the next city. I’m just happy to be here."
"Sorry you have to deal with me. I don’t understand myself either. I just feel strange.”

They slept some more.

"Are you hungry?" she said.
"I’m okay. We can stay here if you don’t want to go out. I’ll get something from the street hawker downstairs and bring it back up to you hm?"
"No. Let’s have a real dinner."
They had been staying up late and buying food from convenience stores and street vendors each night so far.

Dressed now and sitting on the edge of the bed, she leaned against him. "So tired.”
He opened the window, street noises filtered into their room, and held his hand out. "It’s going to be a little cold outside.”

The jacket made her look like a tomboy. Her shoulders were lost their form in the armholes and her fingers barely peeked from the sleeves. A boyfriend’s jacket.

"It’s always like this," she said on the bus. "It was even worse when I was working. No one cares."
"They should offer sick leave for women," he said.
He wanted her to take the Tylenol he brought but she didn’t want it.
"They’re easy pain-killers like Panadol. No big deal."
"It’s bad for you to take so much medication."
Though there was only a few left, he had brought the entire bottle. She imagined what would make him take so many that it was nearly empty. "I felt sad when I saw how empty it is," she would say.
"No worries. It’s jut that I’ve been using the same bottle for a while. I’m fine."

They got off the bus at the center of the city.
"Is there anything you want to have?" he asked
"Anything’s fine."
"Let’s walk until we find something."

He never imagined that what she wanted was to go back home.

Same thing: new look: now on Tumblr

One Thousand Smiles
how can we
2008-11-19 16:28:22
Posted Date: 2008-11-19 16:28:22 , By : ::Prad Prathivi @ Amodica::
how can we
Wow.. One thousand pictures..!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and that we take them to treasure a feeling, to capture an emotion, to preserve a memory.

I don’t say it enough, but I’m ever grateful for each and every comment and fav that my pictures receive, and it brings me great joy that you enjoy my snapshots and artworks.

When I first started photo-manipulating my SL snapshots, I was inspired by the amazing abstract imagination of Joshua Morane, the stunning landscapes by Sebcaen Ulysses and truly beautiful portraits by Gabrielle Sinatra. I’ve strived my best to improve my own Photoshop skills and create my own distinct style which lets me express myself. I count myself lucky to have been recognised for the work I’ve put into my art, and I continue to do my best, to keep learning and to keep expressing.

Additionally, I do my best to give back to the community. I will always explain when somebody asks how I did a technique, I am always happy to give a class/lecture in world to explain aspects and I plan to work on videos to pass on knowledge I’ve picked up. In my eyes, there’s little point in harbouring skills for the sake of reputation, and I love to see how other people can progress and develop their own art.

I’ve made some fantastic friends through Flickr, and learnt a lot of lessons too, and I’m thankful because you guys have made me a better person along this journey.

So from the bottom of my heart, I thank you all for your love and support over the past 18 months, and for helping me become me.

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