A Good Thing

 This is what happens when I discover something that is very useful and then discover that it is hard to acquire and/or might be disappearing all together. My normal parameters about storage space and budget concerns become secondary and at times forgotten. In this case I discovered 8 1/2 x11 composition books at Office Max. (I love to shop their store. It is my Zen temple.) They are my preferred size of paper to write on, and I do write by hand. I had given up on spiral bound notebooks because they aren’t as hardy and they fall apart. The pages of this large composition book are sewn in and my work is more secure. 

The panic struck when I went to Office Max and found only a handful of the large composition books and on clearance. I had adopted the LCB as standard practice, and was having great success. I bought what they had, and then went on a search for other vendors. I can be very particular about wanting the same thing over and over, but with procurement uncertain I had to relax my guidelines. Whenever I found a new vendor, I bought at least three, and as this search was carried on casually I did not keep track of inventory. 

Today I started organizing some piles and discovered a mountain of LCB. I can quit worrying and keep working. It is nice to have a good supply of a good product at hand, but I prefer to let Office Max carry my inventory. 

Socks Day

 

Every year around April I’d pick a day when homeschooling was dragging and declare it “Sandals Day!” We’d hit Payless Shoe Source for all it was worth and get everyone new sandals. It was enormously fun and the kind of planned spontaneity that makes for good, productive memories.

The poor unfortunate counterpart was “Socks Day. If U replace the vowel you’ll understand my true feelings about Socks Day. The freedom, the ease, hint that things were going to be freer and fresher was snuffed out with socks and sneakers. Suddenly there was more laundry that magically disappeared. All the little piggy toes said goodbye until next year when new sizes would proclaim they were leaving me.

They are mostly gone now, so I am observing Socks Day alone. My comfortable loafers have sat frozen for the summer, and the drawer is overflowing with socks. I wish I had someone to make sock puppets with. Perhaps I should give some to Dobby. 

The Laborer

 Willow looked at the tiny lens on her phone. All she had to do was press record and she was one step closer to saving the world for Jesus. She patted the pile of quilts on the table next to her and remembered when all she wanted was to get those quilts right. But then Mildred started harping on leading people to Jesus. She wanted them to speak to at least three people a week about how much they needed Jesus.

Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.

If Willow spoke to more people than Ron, Talitha and Timothy it was a miracle. Even at Bible study she never even answered a question or offered an opinion.

All of that considered, people needing Jesus mattered. 

So thou, O son of man, I have set thee a watchman unto the house of Israel; therefore thou shalt hear the word at my mouth, and warn them from me.

Willow had to do something, but everything she tried was a bust. She didn’t like bothering people. If only there was a way that people could come to her. She always watched Sister Rachel on the Church Channel, and one day Sister Rachel shared how many letters she got from people needing Jesus. Willow thought through the impact Sister Rachel had and how she did it while sitting in a basically empty room talking to a camera. 

But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold.

She never pestered people; they came on their own. If Willow could get on TV maybe then she could share Jesus. Her first thought was to start a Bible study channel on You Tube, but she didn’t like studying and felt inadequate to sharing some deep truth. She just wanted people to know that God loved them. She was watching Morning Star Quilting Company on You Tube trying to pick up tips for her next quilt when she was struck by inspiration. 

And so we have the prophetic word confirmed, which you do well to heed as a light that shines in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts;

What if it wasn’t morning star quilt company? What if it was the MORNING STAR Quilt Company. What if it was quilting for Jesus? She could talk about quilts. Didn’t Ron tell her every day to shut up about quilts? 

Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives;

She could help people learn how to quilt while reminding them that Jesus loves them. She just had to sit in an empty room and speak to a camera. She could do that.

She didn’t tell anyone about what she was doing. 

let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth:

She decided to call her channel Sonshine Quilts. It worried her that people were going to think she couldn’t spell, but they would all live in Seattle or some such place, so it didn’t matter. Her first video she decided would be a review of all the quilts she’d made so that the people would know she wasn’t wasting their time and she knew what she was talking about.

Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.

She had thought about asking Ron to be her cameraman, but he was always so tired coming home from the job. She would have to get the view set up right and hope it stayed that way as she went through her quilts. The kids were at school. She had made a nice breakfast out of whole grain toast and chia/blueberry jam, and she had done her devotions. For once she was tempted to vacuum, but it was time to film. She said one last prayer and then dived in.

Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few;

“Welcome to Sonshine Quilts. I do know how to spell, but I hope you’ll see this as a tribute to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I want to give Him all the glory for these quilts you are about to see, though some of them aren’t that good, but it all falls under His grace. He loves my quilts just the same way He loves me—nothing perfect.

With all that said let’s start with my very first quilt, a nine-patch I made with my granny.”

She went on from there through the thirty quilts she had made and kept. She had almost asked her family and friends to lend her back the quilts she had given away, but that would have meant explaining what she was doing. Thirty quilts would have to do.

When the last quilt had been unfurled and tossed on the floor, she looked in the camera lens and thanked them for watching. Taking a deep breath she said “Remember Jesus loves you.” 

But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ:

She quickly turned off the camera and found herself crying. Somehow reminding the world that Jesus loved them, had reminded her and she sat and cried for awhile.

Quickly she rewatched the video. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d seen on You Tube. Before she could talk herself out of it she posted it. She had done her best to raise Jesus up. It was up to Him now. 

But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf;

She folded up the quilts and redistributed them around the house. She used the nervous energy to fly through her daily chores. The timer rang to remind her to pick up her kids from Victory Christian Academy. She took a little bag of cross stitch to pass the time waiting in the car.

She was feeling unusually virtuous when the assistant principal spied her car. Meryl was the true principal of the school. She got things done and always put the children first. If she were male she’d have had the job ten times over, but God did not ordain women to take leadership. 

Women[f] should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the law says.

Dean Stubbins sat in his fancy leather chair and made you feel twelve years old, especially if you were a woman. “Ask me how I know,” she imagined saying to the camera.

Meryl came round to the driver’s side and Willow rolled down the window on her car. 

“Are you all right? How has your day been?” Meryl said. 

“It’s been a good day. Have my kids been misbehaving? I told Timmy to write a poem if he liked a girl instead of punching her.”

Meryl laughed, “Your kids are great. I heard a rumor that you make quilts, and I wanted to ask you to make one for the silent auction. Any style or size will do. It would be nice if you could do school colors, but you’re the artist. Can I add your quilt to the list? It means you get free tickets to the silent auction dinner.”

“Of course, put me down for a twin. If I can I’ll try for a queen.” Willow relished this small moment of feeling important.

Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.

“Thank you so much. I’m sure it’s going to be the hit of the auction.” Meryl patted the side of the car and went back to wrangling kids.

Talitha did a double-take when she piled herself and all her stuff in the car. “Mommy, you’ve been crying, and you’re wearing makeup. Are you ok, Mommy?”

Willow pulled open the mirror on the sun visor. Sure enough there were black streaks running down her face. 

like a man who looks at his face in a mirror, and after observing himself goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.

They were going to have to stop by Walmart on the way home. It was time to buy the good mascara. The kind that didn’t run. Meryl gave her a little wave as she pulled out of the parking lot with the kids. Willow hated to guess what she must be thinking. “I’m fine. I just got happy about Jesus and I cried a little.”

“I do that too.” Timothy volunteered. “But don’t tell Dad.”

Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.

Homework and dinner filled up the time until just before bed. Ron had had to fire a tiler, so he was in a bad mood. She’d looked for a chance to tell him about her new ministry, but he went out to the garage and worked on Talitha’s hope chest.

After the last dish had been put away and all the homework finished, she took a minute to look up her stats on You Tube. An astonishing twenty-three viewers had seen her quilts and heard her message. Even more surprising three of them had opinions. 

“Praise Jesus! It is so good to hear from the godly on this Earth. Your courage to stand up for Jesus just opened my heart. I praise God for you. Blessings on your channel.”

Willow almost started crying again.

Sing praises to God, sing praises: sing praises unto our King, sing praises.

She opened the next comment expecting more good news. “It’s about quilting, not Jesus. Stop confuddling the two. I don’t come to You Tube for church.” Willow wondered what she could ever say. Maybe she should take down her video before more people got angry.

She opened the last comment fearfully. “Your quilts are so beautiful, may I say inspired. ;) Can’t wait to hear your tips for making my own quilts. Keep going.”

Reassured she prepared for bed. Twenty-three people had heard the good news. Two of them thought she should keep going. It had been a good day.

The sleep of a laboring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much:

Plutarch

When I was a child I wanted to read real ancient literature written by real ancient people, but I was directed to The Once and Future King and The Lord of the Rings. It was frustrating. Like everything we couldn’t have when we were

children I wanted to give my kids authentic literature from whatever time period tickled their fancy. To that end I’ve been writing a history through literature curriculum for eight years now. It requires i.e. gives me permission, to read all that literature I was kept from, most of it multiple times. Generally I really enjoy myself, but this read through of ancient lit has simply sat on my last feminist nerve, and I am begging it to get off. This is why reading Plutarch has become such a chore.

The spine of Plutarch Vol. 1 and 2 is about three inches thick, and while it isn’t polemical so far, the entitlement of ancient males and their disinterest in most things female as long as women are being properly dominated wears me out. I used to imagine what a great experience it would be to travel back in time and live in the ancient period. Now I get the hebejebees just reading about ancient times. Most of the books I picked are rich enough in other material that I can get through them, but Plutarch sets out to define good leadership through biographies of great men. He goes into the nitty gritty of their ideas and governments and general lifestyle. He lays it all bare for us to admire, but with my modern eyes I am often appalled. I could manage this more easily if there were less of it, but three inches, phew. 

The Sun’s Lament

 Promise in the shadows

That’s all I’ve ever been

If you want to see me

Bring the light

I only know the dark

The dark is where you leave me.

Dried Squid

My grand ambition as a child was to be a missionary in Africa where I would teach young students how to read. My family had ambivalent feelings about my ambitions as the rare bits of news that reached my hometown from Africa were generally worrisome if not down-right terrifying. “Anywhere With Jesus” we would sing, but in their hearts the hope was, “not there.” All of this seemed to be a long time before it needed real worry, so whenever they served something they knew I wouldn’t like they would challenge me that I needed to learn how to eat it and be grateful, because who knew what kind of food people in Africa would serve me. (I had an African roommate, and she served me amazing food.) 

I never got good at that, but I still try occasionally. I have fallen in love with anchovies. I have to restrict them to once a week, and I’m always looking for ways to cheat. Such a surprising new favorite has led to some experimentation. Sardines are out, but I plan to give mackerel a try. I rediscovered tuna and canned salmon. At my Costco they offered dried squid, and it intrigued me. I gave in and bought it and was surprised to find it sweet. I had imagined a sea-weedy saltiness, but the dominant flavor is sweet. It was a pleasant flavor, but not crave-able—or so I thought. It kept haunting me in the final moments of reading or stitching. I found I wanted it. I have been won over, and I recommend it to you.

 

The Terrible Thing about Tiggers

 

I love a schedule. I like to lay out my goals and divide up my time and settle into “getting-it-done.” Left to my own devices I would seldom change anything as long as I was making progress on my goals. This summer I experimented with schedule quite a bit, and found one that mostly functioned. I was quite pleased not realizing that school was coming and that it still has the power to shred my plans. I am bereft, confused, watching my goals get further away. I am also connecting with my kids in new ways as they still need my help for running to and fro. A starting time for my day is now non-negotiable, I can stop dithering between my Puritanical side and the practical side of my life. 

I suppose I was a well-risen Pooh bear and the Tigger of school time knocked down the dough. I shouldn’t worry all those yeasts will make sure I rise again.