So Here's the Deal

Writing is like quilting for me. I gather segments of my days and mental snapshots of experiences and as I lay them out, I find pleasant patterns and colorful balance. 

I stich and sew, a little at a time, word by word, and phrase by mentally melodic phrase. 

Sometimes amid the purposeful structure and shaping, there emerges a kind of beauty and warmth I could only hope for. Careful to bat and bind each idea with the truth of Scripture, each piece is an adventure for me. 

This "quilting" is a self-serving endeavor at its roots … my release and expression, my hobby and joy. All my days are spent mentally weaving words. But when I share my pieces, some of my friends and even a few strangers seem to enjoy them too ... kind indications that there is value in the comfort, warmth, and design. 

Social media has been like displaying my "quilts" at a flea market (without the giant turkey legs). Passers-by pause to engage. Each cheerful heart affirms the landing and I watch as some enthusiastically share with their friends. *I am genuinely surprised by these generous responses almost every time. 

Occasionally, I have opportunities to create commissioned pieces. Sometimes I even get paid for my work. It's all just a marvelous gift.

Last year, I made it my goal to self-publish a collection of my pieces (essays not bedspreads ha!) by the end of summer for the purpose of making them available to your friends and mine.

It's called "Mile Marker 52 | A Year of Companionship, Wisdom, & Truth". Just 52 brief but thoughtful opportunities to sharpen the focus or soften the edges of our lives together … whatever works, a little at a time. 

The goal is to have it ready in time for my 52nd birthday in late August. Get it? 52=52. I am sneaky and attached my goal to a fixed moment in time so postponement is simply not an option. I have been knowing me and all my procrastinative weaknesses for a WHILE.

Am I excited? A little. Do I have time to be messing with is? Not really, but I said I would do it and it feels super icky to give up now.

This is my dream-laced prayer ... that my little "crafting projects" continue to prove to be useful and / or enjoyable to whoever chooses to partake.

Thanks for all the ways you are already helping to make this a super sweet deal.💗

Choosing Sides

Their backyards share a property line. A single wrought-iron fence marks the boundaries you can see right through, and a swinging gate pass-through facilitates boundless peace and joy.

For years, both sets of neighbors enjoy the freedom to come and go as they like, sharing flour, swingsets, vegetables, and life.

When summer comes, the gate remains open for the series of splashy evenings spent poolside. As autumn breezes cool the air, the fire pit magnetizes people with stories and laughs. Whenever storms come and limbs fall, everyone works together toward restoration. When heat or cold keep people indoors, the shared fence with its propped gate can be seen through sheltering window panes from any direction. 

One spring the western house sells. 

Friends vacate, leaving a quiet void. New owners come and occupy the space but choose to dwell at a distance and rather avoid. 

No one knows why. No transitional explanations are offered, but they leave nothing unclear.

The new kids on the block are at school the day their parents build the fence. The brand new wooden privacy fence butts up against the sturdy little scrolls of spaced-out iron as it towers solidly over both yards. And it has no gate at all.

The brick stanchions of the pass-through gate rest midway against the impenetrable barrier. Robbed of purpose. Silly looking, really. Noticeable by the eastern neighbors alone, the faithful little gate is positioned for connection and rejection all at once.

This is a true story about a real gate and a real fence in a real backyard … not in the town where I live. 

But it is in a land of brave freedom. So those eastern neighbors can circle the block and walk right up onto the western front porch. They can politely knock and say hello, share some zucchini, and smile goodbye. If they so choose.

And they are free to keep doing this forever. Until neighbors move along or change their ways. Until the wooden fence rots or falls. 

Even if it is repetitively reinforced, there is freedom to engage the whole neighborhood and freedom to keep that little wrought-iron gateway clear of weeds, the handle loose, and the hinges greased. If they so choose.

I wonder …

Who shares the proverbial backyard of your heart?

Is the gate open or has someone built a wall? Which neighbor are you?

"If possible, as far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all." Romans 10:18