Why I still do arts and crafts at 25

    Yesterday I was feeling pensive on my drives to and from my internship and I began thinking about how much I enjoy sewing and crafting and generally making things of all sorts.

And I was thinking that sometimes it feels essential for me.

 
    I am entering into a field where progress is often slow, subtle, and difficult. People’s lives do not fix quickly. Hope is there, light is there, but it takes time and great effort to find it. So I celebrate the small victories in people’s lives and continue to hope.

That’s where crafting comes in. 

   
    When I want to make something I have a vision of what it could be, the beauty to be found and then, right before my very eyes I can make it come to be.  There may be small setbacks and frustrations but by the end of the night I can usually see the product of my hopes and vision. I accomplish and see the fruits of my labor. I can create something new. When I often find myself among brokenness and so much darkness it feeds my soul to create. I can mend torn seams, give new love to old fabrics, and display beauty in discarded scraps. And it helps me remember the importance of creation, hope, and vision in working with people’s hurts. 

And you know what else? It reminds me that my God is a crafter. He crafts beauty from ashes, creates joy where there is mourning, and sews together a garment of praise out of scraps of despair.

If dogs could talk

   Tonight mine would tell you that when I'm home alone baking I blast music from the stereo in the kitchen and dance like fool all around the room.

   He would tell you that when it gets to the loudest part of a song I lean down and sing loudly in his face to share the moment with him. He would also want you to know how much this confuses him.

   He would tell you that when I start to get warm from the oven being on I stick my face at the precise angle necessary to steal some of the cool, country breeze coming from the window facing the field. He would tell you the breeze blows and makes the wisps of my hair that have fallen out of my ponytail dance around my face and that I look very much like a dog hanging out a car window.

   He would probably tell you that nights when I'm baking are some of his favorite nights because while all this dancing and singing and face in the breeze is happening I am carrying around a spoon in my hand covered in sugary goodness. He would tell you I get a little clumsy with this sugary goodness at times and that usually means I fling some chocolate or dough or sugary batter onto his face.

   He would tell you he does not mind this a bit.