We are the joy

"...who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God." (Hebrews 12:2) Amazing love - amazing grace.

Handmade happiness

I wanted to show some pictures of this embroidered table runner I found awhile back in a second hand store. Most of the things in our home are from second hand stores or flea markets. I've heard that's very trendy now, or "green", since you are recycling. Still, my sweetie and I have always loved "old, dusty stuff", as our kids put it.

But I'm getting off topic. I wanted to share this because every bit of this piece has been hand-stitched and appliqued, along with its cutwork and scalloped edges. Oh, my.

Look at the delicate stitchery. I don't know whether to sigh or cry.

And these wee stitches - how long do you think it took to make something like this? How long ago was it made? I'm guessing the 1930's by the floral design, but that is just a guess.

I think about the woman who made this. Were you a young homemaker, a granny, or a little miss practicing her needlework? Whoever you were, I admire your craftsmanship.

When I went to pay for this, the cashier exclaimed,"Oh look at this - no one appreciates this stuff anymore!" "Yes they do," I smiled.

Ciphering

Counting blessings

98 - the glow of forsythias on a cloudy day

99 - curiosity

100 - taking time to smell the flowers

101 - favorite reading spots

102 - red pears

Pysanky - Easter eye candy

This is my friend Laurie. She makes exquisite Ukrainian eggs. Laurie's not Ukrainian, but she is talented and generous with her knowledge. She will teach anybody who wants to learn how to make them.

Laurie is also hospitable, and served us pysanky students a delicious lunch beforehand.

Everything Laurie makes is pretty

Can you believe we're going to learn how to make these?

The tools - egg, beeswax, and kistka (writing pen)

dyes especially made for pysanky

she demonstrated how to heat the kistka in the candle flame, dip the hot pen into the beeswax, and scoop it up to write on the egg, like a waxy ink.

Both the colors and the designs on a pysanky egg are symbolic. At one time the designs were a form of pagan folk art but later took on Christian meaning.

You dip the egg in dyes from the lightest to the darkest colors, covering with wax any parts that you want to preserve.

After the final dye bath, with black traditionally being the last color, it's time to melt away the wax.

Carefully holding the egg near the candle flame, you melt the wax and gently wipe it away with a cloth.

"Humpty Dumpty had a great fall..." Yes, my egg broke shortly after I finished it - one of the risks of pysanky which make it so exciting - sort of like an extreme sport...

More of Laurie's artistry

Gorgeous. Laurie has been making these eggs for her family for many years. What a gift!

Seeds of Kindness

Around this time last year, my son Alex, his then-fiancee Michelle and I were having a discussion about the importance of kindness, and how you never know the effect it may have. I began telling them about a time...

...when I was a kid, there was an art supply store in the town where we lived. Most days after school you could find me there. Arts and crafts were my hiding place. The shop was owned and operated by a British couple who were very amiable, especially the wife.

One day while I was buying some drawing pencils and a paperback book on how to draw the human figure, she said, smiling, "You're in here all the time. You must be an artist." Feeling both startled and pleased, I answered, "Yes, um, I mean, I want to be." After that, she seemed to take particular interest in me. She never minded whether I bought anything or not, and always patiently answered any questions I had.

I'll never forget the time she gave me a box of modeling clay, saying, "Why don't you see what you can do with this, and I'll display it in my shop window." I sculpted a child swinging on a tree limb. I'm sure it was awful. But oh the joy of walking past that window and seeing my handiwork in all of its plasticine glory :)

That dear woman could not know just how healing were the seeds of kindness she sowed in the heart of an anxious, clumsy, angry adolescent. I wonder if she had any idea where her encouragement might lead.

As I finished my anecdote, I noticed Michelle's face became quite serious. "Where was this shop?" she asked. I told her the town. "What was the shop's name?" I told her. "Those people were my grandparents! They had emigrated here from England and opened an art store." Amazing. I as a twelve-year-old met the grandmother of my future son's future wife! I suppose if we had all lived in the same neighborhood where everyone knew each other, it wouldn't have been such a surprise. But we hadn't.

At their wedding, we were able to recounte this memory with my daughter-in-law's father and his siblings. Michelle's grandmother is still alive, but her memory has given way to Alzheimer's. Her adult children were so happy to hear this story. "Yes, that was our mother," Michelle's aunt cried. "She was always so caring and kind to everyone." God is good.

Keeping

Counting blessings

92 - welcome mats

93 - a gift of homemade candy from friends

94 - our first baby sharing a laugh with his first baby

95 - first blooms

96 - Saturday mornings

97 - another wonderful word learned from a blogging friend: Sahtayn! (Double your health in Arabic.)

Her Hands

A few years ago I traveled to the Ukraine as a short term missionary. One of the highlights was meeting this amazing woman. Kristina was in her late eighties at the time, and she ran the family farm by herself. Her grown children worked in the city of Kiev. When I look at the picture, I'm always struck by her hands - how large and strong they were.

We were unable to speak each other's language. But we communicated with smiles and hand gestures. She wanted me to take home to the U.S. some beans and garlic that she had grown. When I tried to explain that customs would not allow me to bring it in, she waved a hand at me as if to say, "nonsense", and gestured for me to hide it in my bra :) It took me awhile to explain without hurting her feelings that I really really couldn't. She just shrugged and smiled. Two years later, her granddaughter Lena visited us bearing a beautiful gift from her grandmother...this rug.

Lena explained to me how her grandmother had made this at age eighteen. It's made of linen. She grew the flax, beat the flax into fiber, spun the fiber into thread, dyed the thread, and wove this lovely work. Even though it is a rug, there's no way I could put it on my floor. I'm honored to have it hang on my studio wall. Kristina, I will always remember you.