The Whole Box of Crayons

One day, Powell’s, a large independent bookstore in Portland, Oregon, posted this on its Instagram account:

“Life is like using the whole box of crayons.” Ru Paul 

Weaving Multiple Colors of Yarn 

The Indianapolis Art Center in Broad Ripple offers a series of two-hour classes they make open to the public. Recently I was part of a weaving class. Driving to the center, I imagined choosing yellow, teal, orange and soft pink to make the small weaving advertised as the class project. When I arrived and saw the array of colors of yarn spread over four tables, including my current favorites, I was elated. I could hardly wait for the teacher to instruct us and let us choose our yarn.

The instructor began by saying we were not weaving a wall hanging like the one described in the course catalogue. Instead, our focus for the afternoon was a “small interpretive piece.”

“Choose a picture,” she said, gesturing to an assortment of magazines strewn in the center of the long table around which we gathered. “This will form the basis for your interpretive weaving.”

After we found a picture, we chose yarn to match colors in the picture, and then wrapped the yarn around a 5 x 7 piece of heavy cardboard – not what I was expecting. In my mind, wrapping yarn around cardboard had no connection to weaving.

Turning the pages of several magazines, I was determined to find a picture with my favorite bright pastels. However, along the way, I was distracted by a picture of a flock of sheep and decided to use that picture instead. At the yarn table, I selected several shades of white and cream, as well as tan, pink, and black, all of which I saw in the magazine picture. With these colors I was surely exploring hues in the box of crayons previously ignored.

I slowly wrapped the cream yarn around the cardboard, anchoring each row with a knot on the back. Threading a needle with the pink textured yarn, I began weaving the needle in and out. I came to a weaving class, and I was determined to weave my creation.

When I took a break from weaving, I wrapped another cardboard square with yellow, teal, green, and blue. Somehow these colors didn’t feel right to my soul. I felt like I was forcing the colors when my heart was connected to the creams, pink, tan, and black to match the sheep.

A Surprise Using New Colors

On the drive home, I reflected on my experience and realized I came to the class focused on certain colors much like a child might tend to draw with only his or her favorite selection of five or six crayons.

Fortunately, I yielded to the leading of my heart and opened myself to a group of colors that were not my usual preference, but fit the photo perfectly.

Opening to new experiences in color reminds me to break out of other ruts in my life where I follow the same pathways or routines over and over. I realized how open I was to new ideas and perceptions when I ventured into colors that are unfamiliar. It’s the same way in life—if I venture into new locations or interact with new people or entertain new thoughts, I’ll be open to change. Even in my thought processes, changing from loss to gain and good will energize, strengthen, and empower me – just like I experienced when exploring new colors.

For your Reflection:

1. Purchase a small box of crayons. Get a sheet of paper and empty the box.
2. To what colors are you attracted? What are your favorite colors? Draw a few shapes or designs using those colors.
3. Eventually use all of the colors in the box. What feelings arise or insights come as you explore the crayons you tend to use less infrequently or not at all?
4. What parallels in your life can you make by using all of the colors in the box? 

Prayer: God, you are the master of color, creating every shade we see in nature. Even we humans have different types and colors of hair, skin, eyes. All were made by your pleasure within your presence and creative choice. Give us courage to explore “all crayons in the box” so we can free ourselves of habits and ruts that impair fresh possibilities. Then we can arrive at new places of healing and creative potential, all for use in your kingdom and for your glory. Amen.

Chairs

Chairs in the

Church parlor—

Different colors,

Different shapes—

Just like the people

Who will sit in them.

Arranged in a circle

For the meeting

Later in the day.

Chairs hold the people

Who sit in them

As well as their history,

Silently containing

Thousands of stories

Through a lifetime of use.

A New Day

When I look out the window

At the beginning of each day,

I wonder what will happen as

The hours go by.

Some things are planned, but

Unexpected turns

catches me off guard –

Keep me centered in you when

I fall in thought.

Sowing Seeds at the Grocery Store

One day on the way to an art class, I stopped in a local grocery store to purchase an orange and an apple for a mid-afternoon snack.

I stood in the checkout lane behind an off-duty Marion County sheriff, whose food filled the belt. Noticing my two small purchases at the end of his order, he said in a booming voice, “I’ll pay for her fruit. I’m a seed sower. I like to be a seed sower.”

I was flustered at first. “You don’t have to do that.”

He smiled. “I like to be a seed sower.”

I thanked him for his generosity. “I will pass on your kindness in the future.”

Following him out of the store, I saw him load his groceries in the sheriff’s car right next to me – the only two cars in the parking lot. I thanked him again, and we offered each other blessings for our days.

His kindness reminded me of Paul’s words in I Corinthians 9:11 – “We have sown spiritual seeds among you.” The sheriff was living out these words written by Paul, flowing from the love of God in his heart.

Paul wasn’t talking about sowing seeds that result in plants, but “spiritual seeds” that when “planted” through acts of love encourage the recipient to ponder the kindness and perhaps “sow it forward” to someone else. Love sows love, you might say.

For Your Reflection

How can you declare and demonstrate “I’m a seed sower,” like the sheriff did to me?

Prayer: God, living and moving among your kingdom is what we do in our jobs, at home, in stores, at parks, and in all of the places we go. Remind us to be “seed sowers” in whatever form that may take. We know you bless our efforts to spread your message of love everywhere. Amen.

Poems Are Like Patches of Fabric In A Quilt

Over the nearly forty years I have pieced quilts together, every step of the process has meaning: from finding a pattern, selecting and cutting fabric, sewing the pieces together by hand or machine, to the final stage of sewing the quilt top, batting and back fabric together. Reflecting on the recipient adds loving thoughts to the process. If the quilt is for someone unfamiliar, joy can come from beginning and completing a project of great beauty.

I find great pleasure from touching cloth through these construction stages. I liken it to the story of the woman who knew that if she touched only the hem of Jesus’ cloak she would experience healing from a twelve-year history of severe bleeding (Matthew 9:18-26; Mark 5:21-35; Luke 8:40-56).

Touching fabric brings me into the healing presence of God. In late November, I began writing a series of poems that captured what I was doing during the days of preparation leading to Christmas. Although I’ve written poems in the past, these collections of words, stacked on top of each other like blocks, expressed a multitude of events, emotions, and experiences:

• The joy of receiving a plate of Christmas cookies and candy 
• Seeing bird nests in trees without leaves 
• Reflecting about the pitcher resting in the baptismal fount at my church 

Many other moments throughout my day were recorded as poems.

These poems were gifts to me. I approach and complete all my writing as prayer. The words coming from God bring me comfort regardless of form – poetry or prose. These poems that came daily gave language to what I saw or encountered and became patches that eventually fit together to form a big quilt. Instead of fabric, poems—some long, some short, a few related to my past, most coming from the present—collectively brought comfort to my heart in much the same way a quilt does when I rest cozy under the tiny stitches that hold many pieces of fabric together.

I’ll share a few poems in the weeks ahead – scraps of comfort from words that come from God, not a store…pieced together with love.

For your reflection: What brings comfort to you?

Prayer: God, you come to use in many ways. Thank you for poems that are like stars in the sky reflecting the light of your presence in my life. Open our hearts to new ways we can receive you, recently as a baby on Christmas morning. With grateful and loving hearts we come to you. Amen.

Art Remains In Sarah's Hands

When I saw her

Long, slender fingers

Press and mold the

Clay,

I returned to those

Early years

When small fingers

Drew and painted

And formed play dough

Into many shapes and forms.

Now she teaches art to eager students,

The same set of fingers

Move over lesson plans,

And give examples

Of artistic possibilities

And outcomes.



The art started in the nursery,

And continues

In the classroom,

Nearly four decades later.



(A poem written for my daughter, Sarah, after a recent visit.)

A Thank You Note To A Book

Tweetspeak Poetry, a blog I follow, often gives poetry prompts with their weekly posts. Recently, they suggested we write a thank-you note in the form of poetry, a paragraph, or using pictures of your favorite books.

I decided to write short notes of gratitude to books that were significant to me in high school and when I was in my mid-twenties.

Early History with Books 

Books were not companions when I was a child. I received my first book, Now We Are Six, by A. A. Milne, for my sixth birthday from my father’s work colleague whom I’d never met.

I first visited the public library when I was thirteen years old. I checked out a stack of five books, the maximum allowed, every other week during the summer. At that time I wanted to be a nurse, so I read every book in the Cherry Ames, Nurse series.

Although I wanted to purchase my own books, opportunities to earn money were limited. I babysat occasionally, earning fifty cents an hour, but my earnings had to cover all of my desires. Saving for almost a year when I was a junior in high school, I was excited when I finally had enough money to purchase three books. I wish to thank them today.

Francie Nolan is the heroine in Betty Smith’s novel A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, published in 1943. The book chronicles Francie’s adventures growing up in the squalor and poverty of the Brooklyn slums. Francie is 11 when the story begins.

Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, details 13-year-old Anne’s experiences when she and her family were in hiding during World War 2. The annex where they lived was part of a house in Amsterdam.

The third book I bought was the newly released bestseller To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. The story is narrated by Scout Finch, who was growing up in Maycomb County, a fictionalized place in Southern Alabama. Scout, who was ages six to nine in the book, lived with her father, Atticus, and her brother, Jem. Her mother died before the story began.

Gratitude to These Books 

These three books had a common factor of a young girl growing up in challenging circumstances, just like I was. Thanking these three books acknowledges others who were struggling and whose lives offered me encouragement. Anne, Francie, and Scout were companions during my high school years, resting between the pages of books that had a place of prominence on the small bookcase in my bedroom.

Even though I didn’t know real people named Scout, Francie, or Anne, these girls were alive to me as their characters developed. Their life experiences nurtured and brought me comfort day after day, helping me realize I was not alone as I faced challenges just like they did.

Gratitude to Books a Few Years Later 

When I was in my mid-twenties, I read Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s series of letters and diaries. Although I never met her, she showed me that a mother could write while taking care of a family and maintaining a house. Grateful for her inspiration through books I cherish, I continued to write as my family increased. Since I had no one who encouraged me, I appreciated her thoughts and reflections on writing amidst a busy life.

Thank You to Every Author 

Authors deserve my gratitude for supplying gaps in my life for companionship and encouragement through the characters they created. Though I have not written fiction, it brings me joy to imagine and hope that my writing can offer to a level of companionship and encouragement, just like others have given me.

For your Reflection:

What books hold significant places in your life and merit a “thank you”?

Prayer: Thank you, God, for ways that authors and their stories can offer encouragement, support, companionship, and identification, as we read and rest with their work. The gift of writing can bless abundantly those who read and reflect. Thank you for the way you care for us with books. Amen.

Related:

• My Favorite Books
• The Shredded Book, Part One