I love the Psalms. Poetry, love, praise, drama, all pointing to God. I have read and re-read those words, hiding them in my heart. More recently I've studied them deeply, inspired by authors and theologians who better understand their mystery. And I think the most important thing I've learned is the simple, yet profound truth that while praying the Psalms, I am part of something so much bigger. The Psalms have been prayed by Christians and Jews for thousands of year. When we pray these words, we pray with all of those believers, voices together as a sort of symphony of praise.
And as I meditate on these words both day and night, I lift up my voice as part of this melodious song.
And these songs inspire me. And so I create and worship through these age old poems.
Over the next few weeks and months, I hope to make several of these pieces, each representing a part of a Psalm that is meaningful to me. I hope they inspire you to sing your part in this heavenly chorus.
Tonight we walked into the woods, holding candles and hands, to remember the beauty. I hope you day was filled with the love given by that special Baby.
Recently I combed through piles and piles of cotton, silk, and wool in my mother's attic closet. I sorted, folded and organized the dots, stripes, and solids, into beautiful piles of soon-to-be projects.
The excitement of the future is enough for me to love this task. I can see a little dress here, an apron there.
But what pulled me into the moment was the past -- the blue shiny, crazy acrylic that my mother stitched into a beautiful costume for the Aurora Community Theater's version of "Annie Get Your Gun" over 20 years ago; the swatches of black and pink calico that flowered into my first sewing project when I was six; the beautiful silk that turned into tiny dresses for my nieces. And so much more. Memory upon memory flooded me -- the perfect dress for my prom, the perfect outfit for Halloween, the perfect quilt that I helped design -- and hours upon hours spent watching my mother create something out of nothing.
I love to create -- to see beautiful swatches of fabric turn into a quilt that will be used for generations; to see the patterns dance in just that certain way, to participate in an age-old ritual of preparing for the life of the family. But sometimes as I sit and create, I wonder if I'm just kidding myself - if this really is part of my calling as a woman, a mother and a daughter, a friend, and a wife in this age of overabundance.
My mom's closet whispered an answer that I had been longing to hear... "No."
The moments I spend in creation are not lost. They are not meaningless. In fact, they are so very, deeply important. They give the gift of creation, of moments, of the "perfect" dress (or coat... or doll... or toy or...).
Holding those very precious pieces of fabric, I could feel my mother's love. Even in this day and age of plenty, we need creation -- and the love that springs from it. We need things that take time. We need ideas that turn into reality, and our children need to see and experience the rich beauty of this process.
During this Advent season, this time of waiting, I am seeking to more fully devote myself to the Source of all love. May this season give you time to seek and find the love of our Beautiful Creator.
A dollmaker in a little town with lots of flowers and birds.