The longer the stretch between posts, the harder it is to write. Too many partial posts blogged in my mind that never made it to the keyboard.
Two more hats have been made and only the crown is left on the one I’m knitting for our son. How could I resist when he slyly said, “Where’s my hat?” as he fondled Wesley’s small grey hat. Trying to capture the pattern in written format for three sizes has been a challenge but it’s coming along. Thank you to all who waved their hands and offered to test knit! I’ll be sending you the pdf as soon as it’s finished.
Feather’s hat is made out of Cascade 220 to see how well the pattern would adapt to a bulkier yarn. It turned out okay but looses the soft drape and wispy charm of the softly spun fingering wool which I’m convinced it partially mohair.
Green is her favorite color these days.
Little Bud was intrigued that Faith has a hat kind of like his.
The cold bug that seems to be going in circles looped around again and settled in for a two week visit. It’s not wanting to depart either. Almost everyone I know has been hit with this bug. Ed’s been keeping it at arm’s length which is good since he’s as busy as ever. He was able to take the weekend off and get away to the coast for the regional Friends men’s retreat. I packed up the last of several store orders that had pending deadlines on Friday and heaved a huge sigh of relief that Ed was able to make such a massive amount of hooks, spindles and hairpin lace looms in about six weeks, get them finished and shipped. At the moment we have mostly spindles that still need making for various individual.
While getting ready to go to bed a couple weeks ago, I was thinking of all the good in my life and counting my blessings for the things I’ve been able to accomplish. Most times it seems that I don’t do much of anything worthy, or significant and it’d been one of those days of feeling a bit down and insignificant. We all want to leave some mark of our passing life for a brief while in this world. It was good to take measure of things that I’ve been to be able to take part in: Raise two children who are doing well as adults; composed a few pieces of music – one, a jig, which has been written down and met with approval when Crooked Finger Band has played it for several occasions; wrote a Christmas play that the kids had fun doing; contribute to our business wih the spinning book/dvd, lifelong friendships… But mostly what keeps repeating in my head for the past month is the saying that was on a plaque at the head of the stairs when I was little. I could read it by the time I was five. Daily I would stop and read it as I climbed the stairs to go to bed.
“Only one life twill soon be passed,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.”
I tend to hold my faith quietly and close to my heart. I wish I were bolder in sharing the wonders of the magnificence of our God. Sometimes I want to shout of His incomparable love from the housetops, the mountains – to shout, clap and dance with joyful abandonment. The reality is, I’am shy and feel inhibited most of the time. But, you see, it’s really not about me, I need to get out of the way and let God do the work.
Today I had one of the greatest privileges in my life: give the message at Meeting this morning. The pastor and four other men went to the men’s retreat, including the man who usually backup preaches. Two weeks ago when the pastor told me he’d like to go I’d offered to find the replacement but in the busyness of life time slipped past and suddenly there were seven days left. What I’d been ignoring was a small inkling that kept growing with each passing day: there was a message I was to give. The first couple days as I processed and packed orders I prayed and thought and prayed. What a wonderful time it was! Inspite of interuptions of Justin dropping by with the kids on Monday, fixing food for a funeral on Wednesday, while working to get out that one huge order (100 hooks + knitting needles + hairpin lace looms) by Thursday, babysitting Friday morning, there was a strong, steady communion with God. Reading the Bible in the morning as I ate breakfast and again in the evenings, trying to be open and listen to God’s leading, slowly the sermon came together. Gathering my Bible, extensive notess and purse, heading out the door to church this morning I wished for one more hour to meld it into a cohesive written whole rather than pages of written notes and an outline. But the groundwork was well laid and the Holy Spirit was very much present. When I stood at the pulpit and started to speak the minutes flew by. The verses flowed, weaving naturally throughout the message of the Name that is above all names. The Word through whom and by whom and for whom everything in the heavens, on earth, and under earth exist. The One who spoke a name and I was created. Someday He will give me a white stone and on that stone will be a name that no one knows (Revelation 2:17) – my own unique name, the name that He spoke me into being. Every fiber of my being will shout YES! That is who I am.
I will be complete.