what if we knew we were beloved in every fiber of our being?

Recently I was approached about contributing an artwork to an exhibit at church. The exhibit was focusing on persecution and artists were being asked to respond. My first thought was that I am not an artist. In the traditional sense, it's true. I don't draw or paint or sculpt. But the woman coordinating the exhibit warmly suggested I use my sewing machine to create something. I told her I'd think about it.

I sat on it for weeks. I am not well acquainted with persecution. Although we have our struggles, we live a pretty cushy life. Occasionally the awful realities of life outside will pop up on my computer screen and I'll be moved to sign a petition, engage others or say a quick prayer. But in order to maintain the freedom and safety of my family, I don't have to do much. I can exercise my beliefs, use my voice and show my face everywhere I go. Living in the western suburbs of Chicago has its perks.

I figured I would not be participating in this exhibit.

A couple of days before the contributions were due, I remembered a conversation I had had years ago with the director of Youth for Christ in Lebanon. He shared about the difficult situations he and his family had experienced over the past months: death threats, bomb scares, etc.

“It must be really hard to be a Christian in Lebanon right now,” I said to him.

He gave me a funny look and shook his head.

“Not really,” he responded. “I imagine the most difficult place in the world to be a Christian would be in America.”

I'm not sure I said anything after that. I was stunned, but I knew he was right. We are self-sufficient in America. We really don't know anything about persecution. Most of us don’t have an urgent daily need to cling to God or his Word.

Thinking about my friend in Lebanon reminded me of the story of Corrie Ten Boom surviving the Nazi concentration camps. The efforts she went through to hide her little Bible on her person so she wouldn’t have to give it up impressed me greatly as a child.

A few seasons of life have led me to open my Bible on a daily basis. But never with the urgency of a desperate person clinging to every word.

What would it look like if the Bible were that important to us? If it were—worn and tattered—all that we clung to? If we gave up our debates and arguments about the finer points of theology and inerrancy? If we stopped looking at the Bible as a book of rules and judgment, or a weapon of persecution in itself?

What if, instead, we simply clung to its promises? What if we wore the truth of who we are—beloved children of God—like our lives depended on it?

And, so, I cut out pages of those promises from a little Bible and made something for the exhibit after all.

No matter what happens to us in this life, I am certain that there is a greater purpose and a God of love we can cling to. A God who doesn't demand retribution but who encourages forgiveness. A God who doesn't promise prosperity but who asks for sacrifice. A God who doesn't leave anyone out but who loves lavishly and unconditionally.

Persecuted believers know it with every fiber of their being. May we as well.


For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

december 10

My crafty artist friend Liita, owner of Little Bits Workshop in River Forest, has a dream to work with youth and moms in transition and get them on the right path by training them to create and start their own cottage industries. Small-scale, local microfinance of sorts. Funded in part by sales from a trunk show of handmade items crafted by her artsy friends. Her blog post explains it best. I'm just thrilled to be along for the ride, to help make this wonderful dream come true! Here are the details:

Trunk Show Fundraiser
December 10, 2010
4-9 p.m.
American Artworks Gallery
in downtown Forest Park

A significant portion of the sales at this show go to support both the Little Bits Scholarships for teens at risk and also workshops for kids at Ronald McDonald Children's Hospital in Maywood. Liita will work with these terminally ill kids to make altered journals and other special keepsake items. A beautiful thing.

I have ten days to get down to business sewing recycled jean skirts and whatever else I can scrap together from salvaged fabric. Since this sounds way more exciting than any paying job I've had in the last 13 years, I'm thinking it may be the start of a new career...or just a fun new outlet.

If you're in the area, shop green. Shop for a great cause. Shop to encourage a few retail newbies. Or just come by and say hi and tell Liita she's doing a really awesome thing.

birthday bag and art

Yesterday my aunt Libby and I spent the better part of the day at the Art Institute. An artist and art teacher, Libby is the person you want to take to an art museum. We stood teary eyed in front of works of Renoir and Rodin and were seriously mystified by the contemporary American "works" in the new wing. I have taken my share of art history classes, including a spectacular course in Impressionism when I studied in Paris, but I don't think anything I could learn would help me appreciate what passes for "art" in the late 20th century. A pile of gravel, a room of white panels, a video of a clown on a toilet reading a magazine, a big black canvas with the date October 31, 1978 painted on it, for no other reason than because the artist existed on this date. Where is the beauty? The inspiration? The skill? Doesn't take more than painting a canvas white to be an artist? Have we replaced observation and imagination for complete self absorption? The contrast is so great, it's disturbing. I even dare wonder, "My admission fee - not to mention tax dollars - is paying for this? Really?"

Since Libby lives in Canada, I don't get to see her very often, so the day together was a treat. And since today is her birthday, I wanted to make her something special to commemorate the visit and the day. So I attempted sewing my first bag. I pretty much followed the Simple Bag pattern in Last-Minute Patchwork + Quilted Gifts by Joelle Hoverson, except that I made the handles shorts and wider, added a button and clasp, and cinched in the top to cover up for the fact the the lining was slightly too small. I love how the colors all look together, and how well it suits my aunt Libby.

capturing the moment

I have two grandparents, one living, one dead, utterly enamored of the natural world. My grandmother Gaye still clucks with pleasure at each new bloom on her oak leaf hydrangea and catches her breath whenever a yellow finch darts around the feeder outside her kitchen window. She brazenly coaxes languishing blossoms with words of encouragement and chats with the birds. I dare to say they all listen to her. My grandpa George was also a naturalist, planting lavish gardens, tending chickadees and drawing, painting and carving exquisite ducks and birds. Today my son revealed his genes, and although I could have photographed a thousand lovely flowers, fish and green things, I couldn't stop trying to capture him capture the moment.



We had a date to the Garfield Park Conservatory, with the added fun of train and el rides. The fern room was my favorite. The variety of green, the lush, velvety fronds and mosses, the waterfalls, the thick, heady air.



But most of all, it was the dappled sunlight in that miniature jungle, and the sweet concentration of my sweaty little companion that stole my heart.


Our world has been grey and barren for so long that this excursion was like a visit to the chocolate factory for poor little Charlie. In order to drink it all in, we toured the entire conservatory three times. We could hardly get enough of the place.

On the way home we had a short layover in Oak Park and stopped into a novelty shop to see about spending a little of the boy's allowance. I think he made a good purchase, and found another creative way to delight his mom.

how we spent our Sunday afternoon

On this cold, grey April day (which has now turned white and icy - argh!), I suggested to Liam that we color while Elliott took his nap. Not particularly thrilled with my coloring book choices, I remembered some mandalas I had stashed away. A couple years ago a former assistant minister spoke about these circle designs related to prayer, specifically about coloring a mandala as a way to quiet your mind. Today some stillness and rest from anxious thinking seemed like a lovely way to spend the afternoon.


After leaning over my paper to tell me what a good job I was doing for the third or fourth time, Liam broke from his Power Rangers coloring book and asked if he could color one of my circles, too. I am still stunned by what a spectacular job he did. The most incredible part is that we colored together for TWO full hours. Side by side. Quiet. Calm. Lost in color. Just the best kind of happy.

Find some of these wonderful mandala coloring pages here.

art therapy

On Friday in DC I spent several hours in the National Gallery. As I stood in front of the Cassatts and the Degas and the Monets, I couldn't stop the tears. Here's what I decided: I need to get out more. It has been far too long since I've stepped foot in an art museum. Alone was good (very good!) but next time I want to bring Liam. So next week the two of us have a date at the Art Institute. We'll take the train, have a picnic lunch and take a little tour of the Impressionists. I can hardly wait.


Before leaving for DC, I whipped up this cute little hat for a baby shower. I am proud of it on several levels. It was the first baby hat I knit in the round. The first pompom I've ever made. And the first time I started following a pattern then changed it and did my own thing. And it worked!

The pattern I adapted is Gnomey Hat from Hello Yarn. I skipped the ear flaps, skipped a few knit rows near the top (on accident) and added the pompom. I used Felting Natural Yarn from Bernat, and I loved how it was slightly uneven and chunky. Did I mention that I'm proud of this one?

p.s. Mark, I am knitting your hat. I promise. I really am.