Slow Down, eh?

When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ve seen a lot of things come and go.

Remember the bouffant hairdo using tons of hairspray and backcombing? Remember the opposite hairstyle: ironing your long, long hair so it laid flat? Remember go-go boots? Bell-bottoms? Hot pants? Granny glasses? Big padded shoulders? Fads.

One psychologist defines a fad as a social trend with three stages: emerging, surging, and purging. There comes a time in a fad’s lifespan when what we embraced so eagerly suddenly is anathema in our sight. Out it goes with yesterday’s newspaper. It is so “not in” anymore.

The quilting life, which is a big part of my world, has gone through its fads as well. Once upon a time, long, long ago, quilts were blankets people made out of necessity. As one pioneer wrote in her journal, “I make quilts as fast as I can to keep my family warm and as pretty as I can to keep my heart from breaking.” After that, came the “improvements” – ornate Baltimore Album quilts, crazy quilts, broderie perce  – on and on.

A Baltimore Album Quilt

When I was learning about quilts and beginning to make mine, machine quilting was the big thing. The popular rationale for using a machine to piece and quilt your blankets of love was, “So many quilts to make, so little time.” So instead of spending a winter around the quilting frame, you quilted your latest creation on a machine in a week or so, and moved on to the next project.

 Well, the latest trend in quilting is the Slow Stitch Movement. Making quilts fast is now so passe!  “Slow” is not just a speed, it is a philosophy to counter the hurry-up nature of our world. First, there was Slow Food – buying local, cooking from scratch. The idea spread: Slow Art. Slow Fashion. Slow Beer. Slow Consulting. So “Slow Stitch” is just the latest character to make an appearance in the Slow Philosophy. There’s even a World Institute of Slowness: http://www.theworldinstituteofslowness.com . “We are not rats, and life is not a race,” writes a slow-world proponent on CNN. “The Slow philosophy is ...  about seeking to do everything at the right speed. Savoring the hours and minutes rather than just counting them. Doing everything as well as possible, instead of as fast as possible. It's about quality over quantity in everything from work to food to parenting (Carl Honore In Praise of Slow 2004)

Slow Stitch practitioners have discovered that the process of creating something beautiful is as important as the final product. They pick up needle and thread and create tiny hand-embroidered and beaded pieces, and they are as excited as they formerly were by making a king-sized quilt on their computerized machine.

Slow Stitch Sampler by Margot Bicknell

Sometimes, they are a little like newly born-again Christians. They’ve discovered something amazing, and they want to tell everyone about it. They’re sure nobody has seen the light like they have. (They forget that their grannies always used to work this way.)

This movement was popularized in the quilting world by Mark Lipinski, a professional quiltmaker and teacher. Ironically, not that long ago, Lipinski was touting the marvels of a wonderful pattern called Simple Simon. “If you only make one quilt in your lifetime, this super fast and easy quilt is the one to make. There is just about no quilt that comes together faster than these quick-to-piece Simple Simon blocks.” Hmmm. Now, through Lipinski’s endeavors, there’s a Slow Stitch magazine, website, blog, and even – yes! – a Slow Stitch retreat that features a luxury hotel, catered meals, workshops, Show and Tell – a packed schedule that will keep you hopping – slowly, of course. (Can you tell I’m just a weenie bit jaded when it comes to the commercial aspects of slowing down?)

Will Slow Stitch – for that matter, Slow Anything – be another fad, fading away as it outlives its novelty?  Or is the message of Slow Anything deeper and more important than a shallow fad?

I think about my forebears, who had to create all their clothes from scratch – clipping wool from sheep, washing it, carding it, dying it, spinning and knitting it into garments. Picking up your knitting needles in every spare moment, knitting up sweaters and underwear for a brood of eight because winter was coming – there was nothing slow or meditative about that. I wonder if these women and men “savoured every moment” of the experience. Probably not. You need to have the time to slow down, in order to slow down and savour the moment, if that makes sense.

On the other hand, the Slow message has touched something very vulnerable in our psyches. Life is not all about product, and productivity. When we slow down, when we take time to really get in touch with our own creativity and dreams, we begin to sense an organic connection with and appreciation for all the aspects that go into our work, such as the skills passed down through generations, the origins of the product we’re using, the mystery that surrounds creative endeavors. People all around the world are doing what we are doing, yet each product will be totally unique, an expression of who we are. Slowing down opens our eyes to the precious gift of every moment.

Slow Stitch – slow anything, for that matter – has always been available to us. Perhaps it takes a fad emerging to get us to realize that.

In the meantime, I’m going to practice some Slow Stitch of my own. I mean, reaaaaaaalllllly reaaaalllly slooooooow. I’ve been working at some projects so sloooooowwwwllly that they have been in the works for yeaaaaaaars, and it is time to finish them. I’ll let you know how that works for me in coming blogs, but don’t hold your breath. "Slow down" is the operative expression! Excuse me while I go thread my beading needle.

Spring Tree: I started it last year, put it aside, and then picked it up again and finished it. It took hours upon hours to add all the green beads to the branches, but those were good hours, giving time to reflect, think, enjoy, glance out the window now and then.

For more information on how the Slow Philosophy can apply to textile creations, see this article about Elaine Lipson, who began the Slow Cloth Movement. It includes the Slow Cloth Manifesto.
http://handeyemagazine.com/content/slow-cloth

For a different take on Slow Stitch, check out Pippa Moore's blog at  http://kitambaa.blogspot.ca/ Her blog got me inspired to write my own thoughts on the movement.

The Road Not Chosen

On Ground Hog Day, a friend posted that the palm tree had seen its shadow: thus, there would be 6 more weeks of Florida. Ha ha.

 On Vancouver Island, the ground hog saw rain and said there would be 6 more weeks of grey skies and clouds – or that’s what it feels like, right about now.

If I had my druthers, I too would be sitting under a palm somewhere, enjoying balmy breezes and pina coladas.


Druthers: great word! My good friend Google tells me druthers is a shortening of 'would rathers'. It was first used in the late 1800s and written as “‘drathers.”  Later, ‘drathers became ‘druthers, and was popularized in the cartoon strip L’il Abner, who was fond of saying, “Ef Ah had mah druthers, Ah'd druther...”. (I could write a whole blog on L’il Abner ... maybe another time.)

 

Some people, at this time of year, strap themselves into an airline seat, order their glass of bubbly, and wing off to someplace warm and fun. The resident sweetie and I strapped ourselves into the seats of our little Yaris and zoomed  our way south, too (Toyotas do not zoom-zoom, for that you need a Mazda)...all the way to Victoria, 3 long and rainy hours and 38 stoplights down island. If I had my druthers, I’d opt for the flight to Hawaii. Some people book themselves into a fancy hotel with room service and a balcony that offers a view of the ocean waves and gorgeous sunsets. We booked into a little apartment decorated in 80's style, and a view of the neighbour’s cluttered backyard. If I had my druthers...well, you know!

Now of course, some peoples’ whines are other peoples desires. A lot of people consider a holiday on Vancouver Island – Canada’s banana belt – a wonderful choice in January and February. And some people don’t want to skip winter – that’s ski season. But the resident sweetie and I, if we had our druthers (as well as the shekels to pay for it) would be seeking out a warm sunny clime for few weeks right about now. We may be living in the banana belt, but you need a lot of rain to grow bananas.

Instead of that kind of vacation, however, on a rainy Sunday a few weeks ago, we walked through the doors of the Royal Jubilee Hospital and went through a rigorous day of pre-operation orientation.

The next morning at 5:30 a.m. (5:30?!@*) we walked through the doors again, and Al underwent all the indignities that go with surgery – hospital gowns that hide little of your naked self, full body shave, and waiting, waiting, waiting. Then off he went to the OR.  Separate vacations may be the norm, but if I had my druthers, I would have gone with him.

It was quite a week: quadruple by-pass surgery, intensive care where round-the clock-nurses watched what was happening to all the tubes and monitors that were going in and out of him, and then recovery in a room that overlooked the hospital parkade. Long story short, though: he did amazingly well. In fact, the nurses called him the poster boy for what recovery from by-pass can be. Five days after surgery, he was shedding the hospital jammies and wearing his street clothes as we transitioned to the apartment, and one week to the day after the surgery, we were on our way home.

As the week went by, there were many times when I thought about those druthers. Every choice we make means that something else can’t happen. Of course, if we had our druthers, we'd rather not have any trouble or pain in our lives. But that's just not possible. So then we get to travel an unexpected pathway. Al and I took a detour on the road that leads to the palm trees and sunny beaches and ended up in a place we wouldn't have chosen. But the experiences we had on that unexpected road made me rethink my druthers.

Instead of tropical paradise, we found crocuses in the rain.

Instead of waiters carrying trays of drinks, we were surrounded by many, many people who wished us well and prayed for us and wanted us to be sure to let them know what happened. They were cheering for and with us, and we were amazed and humbled and grateful and sometimes in tears. Instead of car rental agencies and tour guides, there were the skilled hands of the surgeon and a team of doctors and nurses carefully repairing what needed fixing.

There was more. The magic of cell phones, computers, e-mail and facebook meant that we could talk to each other even when we were apart. My daughter stayed strong and held my hand when I got anxious and antsy. Our one-year old grandaughter sent Opa a “letter” (with the help of her mom, of course) which brought a smile to his dear face. The landlady who rented us the apartment was flexible and kind. I learned again that we are not alone – that we can lean on our Creator, on our family, and on an intricate and interwoven net of relationships, and we will be held. Those are truly blessings, aren’t they?

So in the end, I discovered, that I’m actually living my druthers, the life that I’ve been given, and that I wouldn’t ruther trade it for anything.

Awakenings

Lately, it’s a delight to peek out at the yard through the raindrops and see what’s happening.  The flash of gold in the pond means our fish have decided to unearth themselves from their winter hideout in the muddy bottom.

The garlic, planted last fall, is up at least 6 inches. And under our dining room window, the snowdrops have begun to bloom. The garden is waking up.

The word “awakening” has been floating around in the back of my mind for the last few days, a sure sign that I’m supposed to blog about it. It’s a lovely word, setting my neurons to tingling. If you created a word web, with AWAKEN at its centre, you’d  come up with lots of connections, many of them having nothing to do with the physical experience of opening your eyes after a good night of sleep:

And to this, I should add Star Wars – its latest blockbuster is entitled “The Force Awakens.” 

While we all awaken every morning, we also have many other awakenings in our lives. It’s the Aha! moment, when we suddenly see something in a different light. Or it could be a gradual understanding that we are not the same people that we were 10 years ago. Or perhaps, the awakening happens just as we’re entering a new phase in life, when something which had been incomprehensible before now makes complete sense.

In this sense, awakenings are what happens to us over and over in our lives. One of my earliest memories is of such an awakening. When I was a child, like all other children, I thought I was the centre of the universe. But something happened when I was 6. We were living on a farm outside of town, with big old maples lining the long drive which led to the gravel road. It was a perfect summer day, big fluffy clouds in a blue sky, and green corn growing in the fields.

My sister and I (on right) in front of the farmhouse, with big trees in the background.

When I begged my mom to let me walk to the neighbour’s farm where my dad had gone to borrow something, she let me go, all by myself. It is a memory I have more than 60 years later, a memory of beauty all around me, a sense of awe and amazement filling me. As I look back on this moment, I realize it was the beginning of understanding that this world was huge, and I was just a little person, not at all the centre of the universe, but a very significant part of it.

Such awakenings have happened often since then. There was the horrifying moment in the middle of an argument with the resident sweetie, when I suddenly realized that I was guilty of all the things I was accusing him of. That wasn’t fun – but it was necessary. There was the time I read a challenging book, and when I closed it, I knew that I could never look at the world the same way again. I felt as though all my life I’d been living in a secure little world, which,like an eggshell, had protected me; but through reading the book, the eggshell had cracked. Sometimes, when I am working on a piece of writing or a piece of art, I am  suddenly aware of something that I would not have been able to express before I began the work. These are awakenings and they change me.

Some people have sudden awakenings, like a flash of light on the road to Damascus that the apostle Paul experienced. The experience left him a changed man. The Aha moment is so exciting, you’ll never be in doubt that you have experienced something special. Other times, an awakening is a gradual awareness – you take little steps in a certain direction without much thought, but one day you realize you’ve gone so far on the road you’re travelling that the road has changed you.

The snowdrops below my dining room window have been teaching me a lot this week about that kind of awakening. They are such humble, unassuming flowers – not bold and brassy like daffodils, or beautifully elegant like tulips. They push their way out of the ground in January, and because it’s still cold, they grow slowly – just little green nubbins in the cold brown earth. We hardly notice them at all, but they keep growing. One day, we notice that the green spears are bearing flower buds, and then that the buds are slowly turning from green to white. There they stand, like shy maidens, their heads hanging demurely. I picked a few stems and brought them inside, poking them into a vase of heather. Then this morning, I noticed how much they had changed again, brought into early bloom by the warmth of the indoors. Their heads were still hanging, but if you took the time to really examine the flowers, you would see that  now the buds were wide open, revealing a beautiful green central trumpet set off by three white petals.

And so I think about that little girl that I was – the little people we all were – with so much potential hidden inside us, sometimes gently, gently unfolding, gradually revealing more and more, but sometimes forced into a sudden blossoming by new conditions. The heart of who we are now has always been there. As we move through life with all its challenges and changes, more and more of us will be revealed if we are willing to awaken to new possibilities, pay attention to what is around us, and are open to growth and change.

What's On Your List?

Do you list?

A friend asked me that question the other day. She’d recently discovered the joy of listing – making a list and ticking things off as they got done –  and wondered whether it might be a good subject for me to blog about. She didn’t offer to write the blog – it wasn’t on her list.

But it sure got me thinking. My first reaction was NO! I am not a "listoholic", someone who is addicted to the writing of lists. I don’t want to be afflicted by "listitis" – a chronic condition that limits your life to slavishly following lists. And I certainly don’t want to have a fit of "listeria", which would be the panic attack that happens when I lose my list.

But on second thought, I’d have to admit that I do write lists. Almost everyone does, just to get through life. It starts early, I'm thinking, this list-making penchant, if you have it. My cousin's daughter posted this one at her sleep-over party:

Kassandra's list: good one! I especially like Have Fun.

 I do know how valuable lists can be: grocery lists, bills-to-pay lists, packing lists, party-prep lists. If you’re a scatterbrain (check) or easily distracted (check), they keep you on track and help you avoid disaster. It’s just that when it comes to lists, I’m list-impaired, a checkmark or two short of accomplished. I have no problems writing lists; my problem is actually keeping them. They seem to get lost between the making and the doing. I find them later, stuck into a book as a bookmark or cluttering up a junk drawer. What I really ought to do is make a list of hints on where to find my lists, and another list of instructions on what to do with my list after I make it.

So I decided to take a refresher course on lists, turning to my old friend Google. Let me list for you the things I learned:

Psychology Today offered a good read on “how making lists can quell anxiety and breed creativity.”  Scribless Online List Maker offers a program that allows you to quickly and easily make a list: “Drag your list items around or throw them in the trash if you don't like them. (Ooh, I like that.) You can then email your finished list or print it on paper.” There’s an online study guide on how to make a good list at http://www.studygs.net/todolist.htm. (Don't click on this link, however: it's no longer listed at Google.) I found a list that Johnny Cash wrote:

And then, for something completely different,  there’s this quote by author Umberto Eco.

“The list is the origin of culture. It’s part of the history of art and literature. What does culture want? To make infinity comprehensible… And how, as a human being, does one face infinity? How does one attempt to grasp the incomprehensible? Through lists…”

I had to read this quote several times, just to get the gist of it. Lists are the origin of culture, you say, Umberto?  That’s deep, very deep. I’d add that thought to my list of things I might wish to blog about some day, but that list is lost, too.

I’ve come to the conclusion that there are two kinds of listers. There are the detailed listers who write out their lists and who, with great glee and satisfaction, tick off the things they’ve done (I’m so envious!) Sometimes they even add things to the list that they’d done that day that weren’t on the list, just for the joy of scratching it off (you know who you are!). Making lists and then checking them off gives them joy. By creating a box in their minds for the to-do lists, they have found a way to “quell anxiety” (as Psychology Today phrases it, above) about the day-to-day tasks, making so much more room in their minds and hearts for creativity. Three cheers for detailed listers.

And then there are the big-picture listers, who use lists to refine their thinking. The process, not the completed item, is the important thing. That would be more like me. When the resident sweetie and I were considering our move to the Island, we created two lists; a list of things that were important to us as we aged, and a Pro and Con list, charting the benefits and drawbacks of moving. The big picture helped us clarify our thinking. 

One day, I wrote out a list of the First Ten Things I Love About Al (the resident sweetie). I do not use this list to tally or measure or check things off. It’s just a reminder of how blessed I am (and bonus, I can add to it every day.) I have a friend who posts a gratitude every day on Facebook – at the end of the year, her list is very long, a great way to reinforce a positive attitude.


So the answer to my friend’s question, Do I List? is, Yes, I list. The detailed lists help keep my life on track (sometimes, if I can find the list and discipline myself to follow it.) But if you want to hear my heart sing, give me the job of creating a big-picture, open-ended list, the one that is never finished, that leaves a whole lot of room for surprises and unexpected opportunities to learn and blossom.

I call it my life.

Just a little grace

I had a blog all written earlier this week, a blog about New Year’s "ReVolutions" instead of "reSolutions". It was a riff off a blog written by Parker Palmer. My blog sounded like a sermon, his sounded so much better. Read his, instead (you can find the link at the bottom of this page).

But that wasn’t the only reason I changed my mind about posting my piece. What I realized is that sometimes we  – okay, okay, I – can just escape my own issues if I get up on a pulpit and sermonize in beautiful words. I speak good ideas, but they are not from the heart, the heart that is a bit bruised and sad and feeling beat up these days.

It’s January, and most people, when they take stock, will admit to a touch of the blues. Those blues may be the aftermath of seasonal celebrations – too much, too much of everything. Or perhaps it’s thinking sadly about all the resolutions you’ve made in years past that haven’t made a lick of difference in your life. It may just be the season – not enough sunshine, short days and long stretches of darkness. Whatever the cause, the January blues hit, and you’re stuck in them.

For me, the temptation then is to escape into my ivory tower and think lofty thoughts – it’s easier to pontificate about vast and airy concepts than to come to grips with what’s really ailing me. And boy, can I pontificate with the best of them. Here’s a line from the blog I discarded: “The enemies of love, truth and justice are many, and we see them at work in our society every day:  racism, xenophobia, lies, favouritism, entitlement, cheating, violence, hate, materialism, and on and on.” Uh-huh. So true. So cliche. So lah-di-dah-di-dah. So what?

Time to pony up and tell the truth. The resident sweetie and I are fussing over some issues in our lives that need resolution. You too? My creativity seems to have gone for a walk. Al has developed a medical problem, so we’re living in limbo till the next step can be decided. We’ve had to kibosh travel plans. Someone who is dear to us is facing a life challenge. It’s January, and looking on the bright side is more difficult in January. These issues occupy quite a bit of our conversation and sometimes disturb our sleep at night. For these issues, we don’t need words in a sermon.

In this frame of mind, I went off to the quilt guild yesterday. For someone professing to like time alone, sitting in a room full of women who are sewing , snipping, chatting, admiring each other’s work, or just hanging around catching up on the gossip, may be a strange choice. But  at least I’d get some worthwhile work done, and also be distracted from my own preoccupations.

Nothing earth-shaking happened. No great flash of insight pierced the grayness. We engaged with each other in the common ordinariness of working together, sharing ideas and tips, catching up on what was happening. We talked about how much we hate it when young newscasters, reporting on a 67-year old woman, might describe her as an "elderly" victim. We laughed. Well, EXCUSE me! We do admit to being older than the young whippersnapper newscaster, but we don’t want to be labelled. We shared some of the ways we know we are older – arthritic hips, frequent bathroom trips at night, sleeplessness. “And what keeps you awake at night, Jessie?” asked someone. I shared a little snippet of my anxiety. They listened. Just listened, and nodded in recognition. They’d been there, they’d faced those same questions and issues. We ate some lunch, chatted some more, helped each other take down tables when we were done. And then we went home.

“Was it a good day?” asked the sweetie, when I walked through the door. “Yes,”  I said, “yes!”

As I wrote in my sermon/blog, there are a lot of enemies of the good things in life and sometimes we can get mired in the muck that the enemies carry with them. It’s easy to begin thinking we live in a grim world, and there’s not a lot of light at the end of the tunnel. But if we open our eyes, we begin to see that there are also moments of grace that shine through. We realize that we are walking through this world in good company, that we are not alone. We exist in a community of others, we form a circle, and the others are so much like we are. We listen, we laugh, we share stories, we share griefs and burdens, and we extend  grace to each other, which goodness knows, we all need.

Crows know: they need each other.

I didn’t need lofty words and big ideas that day. I needed to be with ordinary people doing routine things, just to realize how extraordinary life actually is, with all its shining facets and permutations. I needed the grace of small things, which when you put them all together, add up to a whopping pile of amazing grace.

This mandala was a black and white puzzle which got completed here over Christmas, then coloured with markers -- little bits and pieces, put together, to make a lovely whole.

You might wish to read more of Palmer’s fine blog, and his list of revolutions, at http://www.onbeing.org/blog/parker-palmer-my-five-new-years-revolutions/8290

First Day

As I write this, it is the first day of a brand new year.

And it’s about the 5th time I’ve tried to get this blog to say what I want to say without sounding preachy.

I’ve always enjoyed New Year’s Day, enjoyed the idea of turning to the next page in the book of life and finding a fresh clean sheet, with so many possibilities to fill it. A fresh clean New Year should be an upbeat and hopeful subject for a blog.

But this year, that hopeful thought has been given a whack on the upside of the head. As I was pondering the by-line of my blog, “words and images for the first day of the rest of your life,”  a thought hit me like a baseball lobbed from left field:
  What if this day is the only day you’ll have to live the rest of your life?
The thought knocked the breath out of me. It put a damper on hopeful, inspiring, upbeat, all the things this blog should be.. 

Where do these thoughts come from, anyway? Do they float around in the air, waiting for someone to bump into them? Or are they sent out on a mission: “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write about this topic in such a way that people will not be crying in their beer after they've read it. PS: No sermons.” We all know that there are only two sure things in life: death and taxes. But really, am I supposed to write about that?

Oh. Okay. Here we go again: this is Attempt Number Five.

This is the first day of the rest of your life ...  but what if this day is the only day you  have to live the rest of your life?



That would definitely change my perspective on issues, all right. The argument about some trifling piddling thing which I don’t even remember anymore, which I had with the resident sweetie before I left the house?  Well, I’d be a little less anxious to prove that I was right. I would consciously be more grateful for the wonderful people that bless my life (including him, big time), and I’d tell them so.

I’d quit worrying about whether I measured up in my housekeeping, bodily appearance,  cooking – all the things we sometimes base our identity on. I would not let other people’s opinions  shape my self-image, and I would rest at peace in my relationship with my Creator who has given me worth and value.

I would spend time outside in nature, in awe of the vastness and beauty of the world we live in, and sense my connections to all living things.

I would take some time to sing. Singing is a physical, spiritual and emotional workout that adds joy to our life and wakens our spirits.

I would work, in which ever way I could,  at making this world a better place, which is really why we are here. To show love, to give practical help, to speak up about injustice, to create beauty ... you and I all have our mission and are given gifts to bless others and our world.

Once I started on this list, I knew there were more things I could add – common, ordinary, good things that make our days a joy. And I realize the question is not so macabre after all: these commitments are all the ways I hope to live my life this year. This day really is the first day of the rest of my life, however long it may be.

And how about you? What will you do with the first day of the rest of your life?

This Messy Life

Christmas 2015 has come and gone.

There's a photo-bomber in every crowd!

Trying to arrange everyone for the annual Christmas shot is a challenge.

...but finally, it happens. Quick, shoot before someone moves.

This year, we were the ones to decorate the little tree in the woods.

The Christmas visitors packed up and left yesterday morning. The last sticky kisses and lingering hugs have been exchanged, and off they go. No more “Five Fat Days of Christmas” -- non-stop feeding of 12 hungry mouths. No more noise of children playing and running through the house, computers pinging, adults discussing lofty issues. No more dishwasher running non-stop. No more coats and shoes piled up by the door, and suitcases lying open in hallways. No more mattresses on the floor and pillows on the sofa and stray socks and mittens under the coffee table. Oh bliss, the house is ours again. But I miss them already!

I miss them already, but ... The hardest thing for me when the kids come home is giving up  my office/studio, my own space, my circle of quiet where I am free to create and dream without interruption. When the family comes home, however, the work table collapses, the design wall comes down, and the Murphy wall-bed descends. My space becomes “Bedrooms R Us” for whoever needs the space.

Right now, I have a number of projects on the go. What will happen to those budding ideas that still need development? Will the ideas still be there when I pull the projects out of the closet where I tucked them a few weeks ago? In Elizabeth Gilbert’s latest book Big Magic, she suggests that ideas have a life of their own; they visit you, calling out, “Okay, here I am! I’ve chosen you to make me real and send me out into the world.” But if you tell those ideas, “Later, later, I haven’t time now,” they may just give up on you; they may skip town and lodge in someone else’s heart, one who is more receptive! That may sound  hokey, but I suspect there’s some truth to the theory. I have more than a box full of unfinished pieces that were begun with a passion and fizzled out through neglect.

It’s a conundrum: I love my family, I love it when they come home, I love the bustling and busy times, the photobombers who mess up photos, the bits of tinsel stuck to the carpet. I love the deep bond that’s strengthened when we spend time together.  But I also love my calling, to follow creative ideas, do something with them, and send them out to the world.

[Interlude: at this point I stop writing, stumped. You  shouldn’t be writing things like that, the voice in my head tells me sternly. Your calling as a mother is sacred. How can you even compare it to something like this creative urge you have to make sense out of your life and then share it with others? Surely you know what your priority is. Bad mother! Bad mother! Ah, guilt. The gift that keeps on keeping on.]


So, defeated, I go to bed. Overnight, something happens. We are in the season leading up to the Festival of Epiphany, January 6, observed as a church festival to celebrate the coming of the Magi, the first non-Jewish people to worship the Christ child. In non-church language, epiphany has come to mean a flash of insight or realization. My epiphany arrives overnight.

Messy: life is messy! It is not an either/or proposition, with clear lines around discrete packages, which you must choose between;  it’s a “all this and more” event. You say it’s a conundrum? NO! It’s blessings upon blessings! And really, at its heart, that is the message of Christmas.

Whether you believe the facts of the Biblical story or not, the kernel of truth embedded in this sacred literature, to me, tells the story of a Creator who had infinite possibilities to choose from, and what did (s)he choose? To enter our messy world and be one of us for a time, to pour out love into this world indiscriminately and recklessly and generously, inviting  us to swim in it, to drink it in, to enjoy it in all its messy ramifications, and pass it on to others.

With love comes pain. With love comes hard decisions, disappointments, anxiety, sacrifices, discomfort ... and more. But to live without it? Unthinkable. What a gift!

This insight eases my soul. It’s time to pull out my latest project and see if the ideas chose to stay and bless me, or to leave and bless someone else. That too is good.

May your life this season and all year long be blessed with messiness, beauty, ideas, hugs and sticky kisses, and all the other things that spell love. 

Post Script: When I pulled out my project and looked at it with fresh eyes, I realized some parts of it would need to change. Apparently, ideas do have a life of their own, and they, like us, need a time of quietness and rest to develop properly. Another lesson learned in this messy life!