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Celebrate the 70s with me and yarn!

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You’re invited!
You’re invited!

I adore the design of the 70s because I am a child of the 70s.

For most of that decade, I grew up in a fabulous house in southern California with shag carpet and an avocado-colored fridge. It had an intercom that you could press a button to talk to other rooms of the house. The 70s has a reputation for delighting in color. Inheriting the psychedelic palette of the 60s, it embraced a new sensibility of on how to work with brown, rust and mustard at the same time. In short: combine them excessively. In a poncho. With fringe. Wear that poncho proudly.

This is the 70s aesthetic…and I love it.

Relish the tasteless?

Design is continual. Everything that catches our eye today will soon enough look “of a certain time period”. Instead of resenting the old and calling it names like “dated” and “tasteless”, I relish it. I salute the colors that speak with the familiarity of childhood. Devote yourself to thinking back on the world as it was when you were young. By comparing and contrasting how things were with how things are, we can notice the passage of time. This act of noticing stops our lives from becoming a blur.

Finding the familiar is a gift you give yourself. Do you enjoy the hunt of a gas station sign, seeking out roadside antique shops for just the right one? Are you a collector of delicate porcelain figurines, as Laura Ingalls Wilder’s mother was? Our souls thrive on the occasional comfort of nostalgia.

For the MU Staff Arts and Crafts Show (flyer PDF), I’ll be displaying the 1970s retro crochet pieces I’ve worked on all year. I focused on the colors that come from my personal history: creative ways to say I celebrate the way the world was when I arrived.

I await the show eagerly. I look forward to having fun laughing with people about the outrageous hues and vibrant combinations. I will even be wearing a special outfit during the grand opening reception on May 20 at noon…hope to see you there!

Blessing

Lord, thank you for our life in full color!
We thrive in celebrating and expressing
ourselves in how we create our clothes
and decorate our homes.
Thank you for change.
Thank you for longing.
Thank you for remembering how it was so
we can even better appreciate
how it is now.

Tell me your thoughts!

What brings you happiness to think back on?

If Mother’s Day hurts

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Beasley girlsI’ve looked, but I’ve never found a greeting card that says, “Mom, thanks for not killing me during one of your hallucinations.”

Complicated, striking, unforgettable: my mother. She suffered from schizophrenia and obesity, both conditions that made her a constant target for our society’s criticism. I was her shy, mortified child who trailed behind. With her loud breathing, she could have supplied the soundtrack to a horror film. She dressed in clothes that were too bright and shiny even for the 1970s. The volume of her voice dominated a room.

There was hell to pay if she didn’t receive a card for Mother’s Day. While she was alive, I browsed through hundreds of cards to seek the one I could honestly give. Most were sappy, and included sentiments like “Best Mom” and “Thankful I grew up to be like you”. I sought only the vague wishes that seemed truthful. Most years, I got something floral and noncommittal; “Thinking of you; happy Mother’s Day.”

I’ve been a mother myself for a decade and a half, but I don’t feel like I own the day. Mother’s Day belongs to my mother.

Gone for five years, she is still with me

I think of her most days. She would be so proud. She would delight in knowing that I spoke at the conference in Jeff City. She would put up this photo of my son with his state champion medal. She would love these artificially dyed fresh flowers in the grocery store.

Sunday is a day to celebrate motherhood for what it really is: snotty, competitive, clingy, exhausting, drippy, strengthening, messy, aggravating, holy and more fulfilling than anything else. All at the same time. It starts with babies who both smell like heaven and have a tendency to projectile vomit. It only gets more demanding from there. Motherhood isn’t neat enough to fit on a card.

You might miss the mom you had, or the mom you wish you had, or the mom you wish you could be, or the mom who remembered you before Alzheimer’s took her from you. Give yourself permission to make the day as comfortable as possible. You’ll reminisce. Indulge in what eases your mind. Do puzzles. Binge watch TV. Take a hot bath. Give extra smiles to everyone you see.

To the single moms out there whose kids won’t get it together to bring you breakfast in bed…

To the women who wanted to become mothers, but couldn’t…

To the stepmoms doing their best…

To the women who have lost a child…

To the ones who have lost their mothers…

To those of you who have a difficult relationship with your mom…

To all of you, I wish you an OK Mother’s Day.

If Mother’s Day hurts, remember you’re not alone.

 

Blessing

Lord, bring your mercy and forgiveness
to our relationships.
Ease the ones who struggle.
Bless all of us, your children.

Tell me your thoughts!

How is Mother’s Day for you? Do you have plans? Do you have a favorite memory?

Prayers the color of code blue

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dandelionsHealth is the great equalizer. Whatever we strive for and however many material goods we amass, it all pales in the face of health problems.

Friday, I woke up with plans to clean the house and put in quarter round. After making myself hot coffee with eggs and toast, the sparkling dew on the spring grass distracted me. I left the kitchen table and took the dogs, Mercy and Cookie, outside. The dogs were content with my change of plans. They accept going outside anytime for any reason. God bless dogs with their moment-to-moment happiness.

I was in a mood of gratitude, feeling thankful for my family, my job and my animals. I marveled at the dandelions, yellow against the new grass. They didn’t seem like weeds, just little flowers hoping to become puffs and renew their kind. Do dandelions dream of their time on the wind? God bless the dandelions.

Inside, I started laundry and began to saw the quarter round. I do not see myself getting hired as a quarter round installer anytime soon, or, if I’m honest, ever. My miters left gaps large enough to stick dandelion stems in. I would call my hammering ability inclusive, as in, I included my thumb as well as the nails. God bless home improvement amateurs.

While I cheerfully bumbled about with hammers and saws, the phone rang. It was the high school. My son had some mild chest pain and due to his history, would need to get checked. I explained that I didn’t have a car, because he had one with him at school and my husband the other. I tried to reach my husband. No luck. The school called back and said my son was being driven home to me so I could take him to the ER, one school member driving my son in his own car while someone else followed to drive the administrator back. God bless small schools and caring school staff.

In the ER, everyone treated us with kindness and expertise. From the desk clerks to the nurses and doctors, we felt our son was in good hands. I texted five friends to pray for my son, and their immediate prayers eased the tightness of my bones. I felt them close to me. My ribs loosened to let me breathe again.

We waited for the cardiac test results and listened to the ER stories through the curtain, stories heard but not seen, heard but not completely understood. Ambulances brought in broken people, overdosed and injured. We heard a code blue and knew someone’s life was on the line.

We listened to a conversation about a child who used to come in the ER often but had died. He wouldn’t ever be back in. Through the curtain, we felt the collective missing of a boy we would never know, and somehow we missed him too.

A volunteer came by and offered us something to drink. The clear soda he brought cleared our minds. It grounded us in the simple act of being alive, swallowing something sweet.

The cardiac tests came back negative. My son was OK.

God bless us to always taste the sweetness of life, whether surrounded by weeds, sloppily sawn quarter round or a curtain in the ER.

Blessing

Lord, bless our eyes to see beauty
in both hospital waiting rooms and
spring mornings.
Seven days of the week our lives belong
to you.

Don’t let us turn our backs to what
you offer:
experiences to know you,
chances to pray and
chances to ask for prayers.

The end of our days belongs to you.
Before we return, remind us to relish
the sweetness of now.

Oh! The sweetness of now when
we taste it.

 

Tell me your thoughts!

Have you had a day that turned out differently than you expected? Who can you ask for prayers when you’re worried?

Lessons from Easter morning

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The father and his college-aged son led us in Easter hymns. Our songs joined with the bird songs. At 7 a.m., the sun was easing its way over the tree line. The father played guitar. His experienced voice rang out warm in the cool morning air.

“Christ is risen,” said the pastor.

“He is risen indeed,” we affirmed.

The congregation was a mix of ages and stories. Some of us had visible scars. Some were grouped in families while others came by themselves. We all sat together on wooden benches in a semi-circle around a simple cross. On the bench in front of us, a young mother rearranged a fuzzy smiling monkey blanket around her young boy in his pajamas. He leaned on her. His older brother put his arm around him to add a little warmth.

During communion, the father played the keyboard while the deacons passed a wooden tray of small cups of juice and bread. I tore a piece off of the loaf. I held my cup.

The congregation was served and the deacons returned to the front. The son tore off a piece from the loaf and gently placed it on the keyboard along with a cup for his father. He looked after the one who was giving to us. Who do you know who is always giving? Show kindness to the kind—the selfless ones who look after others—so they can keep up their work of softening the world. Tear off a piece of bread for them. Give juice to those bringing music to our day.

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices, so that they might come and anoint him. Very early on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb when the sun had risen. They were saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?” Looking up, they saw that the stone had been rolled away, although it was extremely large. –Mark 16:1-4

We usually attend a service of hundreds indoors, a rich and triumphant worship in an expansive space. For Easter, I like the sunrise service outside. I feel humble, exposed to the elements while nestled in the intimacy of a small group.

It’s easy to imagine being Mary, worrying about who would roll the stone back. I think about the hurried walk to the tomb, early in the morning, maybe a morning like this one. The spices waft on the air from the bag in my hand, swinging as I walk. The repetitive thought start to wears a rut in my mind, “Who will roll the stone back?”

I focus on the future tasks I have to perform. How will the meeting go? Will this situation work out? Will these bills ever end? Will his health get better? Will it get easier?

How many times do we worry about who will roll the stone back?

The truth is God will bless us a thousand times before we die. God will work in our lives and exceed our positive—and negative—imagination no matter how we fuss. God knows children fuss, and we are yet children.

Do not worry about the stone.

Christ is risen.

Blessing

Lord, what are we that
you love us so?

Take the stone out of our mind.
Fill our thoughts with your hope.
Let us live as Easter people,
in your extravagance

Alleluia!

Tell me your thoughts!

What stood out to you about Easter this year? What have you worried about that turned out to be different than you thought? Who will you spoil this week?

PS-new blog design! Thanks for all the feedback!

What I’m learning about facing my dog’s death

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Portrait of Mercy

Portrait of MercyA stray on the edge of starvation, she slept with her body pressed against the chain link door of the kennel. Dogs barked, children yipped at the sight of the dogs barking and the parents followed the children, their heavy sighs seen but not heard from being drowned out. Such a tumultuous place and the spotted white dog slept.

I stopped at the door. “Look at this one,” I called to my family. “She looks nice.”

It was the beginning. We didn’t know it. Beginnings can be so subtle that they are as quiet as a sleeping dog in a kennel of 80 others barking on a Saturday morning.

We took her home

My seven-year-old son named her. “We should call her Mercy,” he said. “Because that is what we’re showing her.”

Her name quickly changed to Merfect. Companionable, she is loyal, friendly and tender, always happy to meet new friends.

“Mercy is the best thing we’ve got going,” we say.

She is such a good dog she even went to church

mercy-with-boysWe needed a dog to promote our annual pet blessing event last fall. With her calm patient manner, Mercy was the merfect choice. She walked up the aisle with a wag. We gathered beneath the cross for the children’s moment at the front of church.

A dozen small children gathered around her. A toddler kept touching her eye while another tugged her ear. A boy fascinated with her wagging stub tail tried to hold it. She accepted all the clumsy pats as the show of affection they were.

For ten years, Mercy has greeted us. A docile dog of little demands and much affection, she is as easy as sitting outside on a sunny spring day. Her mouth is so soft that she once caught a sparrow. When we told her “drop!” she opened her mouth and the bird flew out unharmed.

This week, her doctor told me that she has cancer. I hung up the phone and prayed the Lord’s Prayer. I reached out to friends. In grace, prayer and community, I felt God’s holy hand of comfort. I know I will be sad, but I will not be alone. I will not avoid my grieving. It is proof of love, proof of life.

Grief honors the beloved

This might be her last spring. I don’t know if she’ll live to see the pet blessing in the fall. This is the end. We know it. I hope it will be a quiet ending, quiet as a sleeping dog surrounded by the ones who care about her.

I will treasure her as long as she is with us. I will love her after she passes from this life. I will remember her as Merfect, the stray who made a home in my heart, the dog who made my home more welcoming.

Blessing

Mercy with Chase the catLord, thank you for the blessing
of animals in their feathers and fur,
bright eyes and open faces.

Let us care for the wanderers,
the neglected, the abused by cruel hands.
Make our hands kind,
make us the good stewards
you ask us to be.

Above all, let us love as dogs love,

As if each reunion is the best,
as if each homecoming matters.

Tell me your thoughts!

Have you had a beginning or ending recently? Do you have a story of an animal who welcomes you home? How has grace touched your life this week?

Servant’s art

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scuplture of woman with green trees

scuplture of woman with green treesI recently had an thought-provoking conversation with my friend, Jenny McGee. She talked about changing from an artist who used painting as self-expression to becoming an artist whose work serves others. Her focus has widened to encompass a participatory process with multiple people.

I have been turning over this nugget of an idea in my mind ever since.

There is art I make because I have so many feelings that I need somewhere to put them. This is art as self-expression, art as an external container.

There is art we make because others need our art. It fills an individual or community lack.

An example of art for others is the Field of Empty Chairs. The 168 chairs represent the lives taken on April 19, 1995 in the Oklahoma City bombing. Each chair bears the name of someone killed on that floor. Nineteen smaller chairs stand for the children. (from the Oklahoma City Memorial)

This art is a testament to both agony and healing; we mourn and we endure.

A world in need of your art

See what you can do to fulfill a need. You can be a translator of our existence. Where are common stuck places? What is often confusing? Use your abilities to bring light where others are in the darkness.

When you do art for others, you make them feel worthy of living in a world of art.

Your art is a gift. There is no more “my work isn’t good enough.” There is only “my offering.” Aspire to follow the little drummer boy as your guide.

Right now is your time. The chair with your name on it has a person in the world who can move, give and serve. People need your art.

Paint, take photos, sculpt, throw pots, crochet and draw for others. Show them what they have forgotten. Your symbols will remind them of eternal truths.

Sing, dance and act for others. Let them hear you. Your song will lighten their day.

Write for others. Tell them what they need to hear. Your words will clarify their experiences.

You, my readers, bring me joy. I appreciate the opportunity to serve you with this blog! 😀

Blessing

Lord, use our hands
to make the pictures
people need to see.

Lord, use our voices
to sing the songs
people need to hear.

Lord, use our arms
to make the quilts
people need for rest.

Make us your servant-artists,
coloring the world to match your
brilliant vision of abundance, kindness and love.

Tell me your thoughts!

Where can you share your art as an act of service? If you let go of “not good enough,” what kind of art would you offer to others?

Design this blog!

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I started this blog January 2013 using wordpress.com and a theme called Fresh & Clean. This theme has been retired. It’s time to pick a new look for my blog and you can help!

Here are a few I’m considering. Please let me know your favorites in the comments. I’d also love to hear what’s important to you: size of the text, the font, the photography or something else!

{Click on each image to see a larger size.}

 

Choice #1 The Writer

the writer theme  Shows each story as an image on the home page. A minimal style made for writing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choice #2 Sight

sight themeAnother simple theme made for writers. Shows each story with a photo and blurb on the home page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choice #3 Ampersand

ampersand theme Another minimalist theme (can you tell I have a preference??). This one offers clean typography and is optimized for reading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choice #4 Moka

moka theme Another clean theme. This one has an option of featuring one story or multiple stories on the home page.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choice #5 Sixteen Nine

sixteen nine theme  A basic type of blog set-up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Choice #6 Syntax

 

syntax theme This one was made for reading and writing. Another minimal design.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Change is good…right?

Sometimes we have to change, because the world keeps moving. Keep on moving, praying, loving and telling me how you feel–I love hearing from you! Blessings on your week!

Clarity from cleaning

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daffodils

daffodilsWhen you are feeling stuck emotionally or spiritually, work on your physical surroundings. The momentum will move the other aspects of your life. Make space for the good things on their way to you.

This week, I blocked out six days to take charge and do what needs to be done going forward. I made a massive investment in my future enjoyment.

With three people living in 1,000 square feet, open space is hard to come by. All winter, we practiced the dump and collapse method of life: we dumped our stuff as we walked in the door and collapsed on the couch.

Papers, clothes, hobbies, gadgets and other possessions staged a coup to take over the whole house.

The dog mistook one of the couches for a large bone and chewed off large hunks of foam. It looked like a foam confetti explosion party happened while we were at work. Doesn’t that figure? Freeloading dogs party, and we work all day to bring home the kibble.

After a hard winter, foam bits, paper piles, snaked up tangles of wires and book stacks stood accusingly, nagging us to deal with them.

In her organizing book, Making Peace with the Things in Your Life, Cindy Glovinsky calls the areas that bother you the most your Biggest Irritants, not necessarily the messiest areas. She recommends picking those to clean first for the most rewarding payoff.

With the help of many cups of espresso and strong sweet tea to get us buzzing, we took on ours.

Things I took care of

  • Emptied the living room of everything
  • Got rid of two couches
  • Tore up 16-year-old carpet
  • Fixed a hole in the floor
  • Removed a rose bush and mulched
  • Picked up a quarter-ton of hay
  • Donated 50 books to our local library
  • Donated 40 balls of yarn to a high school knitting club
  • Donated a dozen pairs of shoes to a clean water project
  • Gave away a table (amazing how quickly things disappear with a FREE sign on them, even when you live on a gravel road way out in the country. God bless you, person who took the table.)

Prepare for the future

I feel free and energized. I didn’t even know how much the clutter was draining me.

Do a spring cleaning on the things that irritate you the most. You will feel a new peace.

Blessing

Lord, bless us with

trust.

Let us find our security in you,
not in what we buy or store.

Keep our hands open and
our minds at ease,
our future sheltered in your plan.

Tell me your thoughts!

What is causing you trouble right now that could use extra attention? Does your space support you? Have you had a chance to do spring cleaning?

The importance of rituals

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crystal

crystal

Giving thanks

Spiritual rituals provide a strong structure to form our lives. They break up the relentless flow of days so certain acts are set apart as worthy of our attention and devotion.

In good times, they define who we are. By saying grace before a meal, I replenish my well of gratitude. Instead of thoughts of traffic or hassles, I give thanks. This ritual changes the flow of my thinking and prepares me to eat with more reverence.

Rituals meet spiritual needs when our individual strength fails. In crisis, I know to pray where before I might have wilted from pressure or coped through self-destructive ways.

People say rituals can seem empty. I counter that it is our job to be present. It is never about the glint of gold or careful embroidery. Our life force—our caring intention—makes rituals powerful. Without our mindful focus, any ritual will seem empty, no matter how ancient or lavish it is.

Breaking bread

Serving as a deacon in church, I had the opportunity to take communion to the local assisted care homes. If you want to feel young, spend a morning with women in their 90s! They had such an illuminating perspective on life after nearly a century of experience. I felt like a pipsqueak practically just out of the egg while talking with them.

One woman had difficulty seeing and hearing which made it problematic for her to engage. She had limited ways of interacting with the world. Phones were an impossibility. She couldn’t watch TV because it didn’t make sense to her. She couldn’t read or listen to audiobooks. The elder and I did the best we could, but it was difficult to have a conversation with her.

We asked if she wanted to take communion. She said yes. We took out the bread and juice. As the elder began to read the words of institution, the aging woman’s eyes took on a new light. She began to repeat the words with surprising vigor and enthusiasm. She knew them by heart. “In remembrance of me,” she said. She nodded. The ritual awoken and comforted her. She repeated, “Do this in remembrance of me. Yes, that’s right.”

She took communion with her full self, present to the mystery that transcends our physical bodies of earthly limitations.

Going forth

The nourishing rituals you invest in now will serve you your whole life, even after your eyes and ears fail you. Consider which rituals are meaningful to you, and practice them with your whole heart. Be mindful and present; you provide the fuel that makes the motor of rituals run.

  • Say grace at mealtime
  • Receive ashes as a symbol of mortality
  • Take bread and wine as communion
  • Wear a cross or other symbol of your faith
  • Light a candle in memory of a loved one
  • Pray for the comfort of others
  • Kneel while praying

Blessing

Lord, bless us with your presence
in all our spiritual practices.

Help us learn your ways while
we are strong so
we know your ways by heart
when we grow weak.

May we find courage to commit
to rituals that define and shape us:

To do this in remembrance of you

not from mindless habit but
with eager anticipation,
earnest longing
and true love.

Tell me your thoughts!

Which rituals help to strengthen your faith? Can you remember a ritual that you were caught up in?

Two blessings for your week

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woods

woodsI wrote these two blessings during my spiritual writing mini workshop at the women’s retreat last month. They are raw and unedited. I offer them to you with the hope that they will nourish you during your Lenten journey.

May your purpose continue to be revealed, and may your heart feel strengthened as Easter nears.

Blessings

God, come bless me in this circle of prayerful women.
Bless my pen.
Bless this day of unmatched socks and warm sun through the window
on my neck.

In this ink—your guidance.
On this page—your forgiving nature.

God, you’ve never been an editor.
You put it all on the forest floor—
dead leaves, broken branches,
squirrels who fight.

Your way is messy.

I am too attached to periods and
line breaks and
let’s make the language clean

Your language, Lord, is happiness.
You always seem to be running toward me.
When did I get caught up in reading signs
about what was allowed?
You are always giving me permission
to run

to run

to run across the page

******************************************

May the Lord bless these women gathered
in the holy act of opening to words
opening to the Word
who was
before the first person spoke and
a great star broke

Lord, bless us in our twingey places and rattly worries.
Bless us in our worm-filled yards and birdfeeders.
All the places we seek life.
All the ways we seek each other.

I wanted to climb every fence for you
and not little fences but
the metal razor wire.

I know we put you far away.
I know we make you sit alone,
laying without clothing,
with hunger, Lord.

Yet you bless us in noise and trash cans.
All the while you bless the trash
because it doesn’t seem like trash to you.

You don’t call it trash.

That’s our word.

You, who broke open the first star and
saw no trash—
only the holy

Tell me your thoughts!

Do you ever feel unworthy of God’s love and forgiveness? What helps you to stay grounded in your faith when life gets hectic?