Aunt Syl's Rug

Some things are simply meant to be. 

I was a busy mom with a full-time job, three children, a husband who had long hours and an even longer commute, an aging mother and a small farmstead with animals and gardens to care for. It was a good and full season of life but one in which most fiber-related outlets were either memories from the past or dreams for the future. I also had two aging aunts, sisters of my mother whom I enjoyed very much. These three had weathered the depression as girls, loss of spouses as adults, limited incomes and health difficulties and now in their last years enjoyed each other and the comfort of their shared past and family ties. They had such a bond that I always felt a bit of an outsider when they were together but they were kind and were happy to draw me in through their stories, their quilt making and rag rug weaving on an ancient floor loom. 

One day one of the aunts handed me a folded and scratchy piece of unpromising looking burlap and told me, “You should learn to hook rugs.” I opened the burlap out and saw a lovely pattern drawn on the fabric. I had no idea what hooking rugs involved or how one would go about it. My aunt herself didn't hook but she valued all things traditional and she had a knack for picking up cast off treasures and recognizing their intrinsic value. I don't remember how I responded to her challenge. Probably I said something like, “Maybe someday....” This aunt had an old neighbor who could work metal and she had him craft a metal hook with a wooden handle. That was the tool I was supposed to use, another nudge toward hooking that pattern. Like seeds planted in the ground, the pattern and hook went into a sewing bag and rested there, awaiting germination. 

Years passed. The children grew up. The aunts and my mother were now long gone but still sorely missed. I found that once again I had a little time in my life for fiber-related interests. One day I was at a craft festival and I walked past a woman demonstrating rug hooking. It was the first time I'd ever seen someone actually hooking and I felt drawn to it like metal to a magnet. I stood and watched her for the longest time and knew in my heart it was time to learn this lovely skill and fulfill my aunt's prophecy. 

Like many things in life when there's a deep wish in your heart, a series of strange circumstances occur to bring fulfillment. I was led to someone who knew someone who hooked rugs. Through her I was introduced to a hooking group. I finished my first piece and knew I had to continue. There were starts and stops over the years but eventually I started hooking consistently. And all the time that piece of burlap was still buried like a seed in the sewing bag. It was a large pattern and I'd never hooked anything that big before. I was daunted by the size and challenge of color choices. Through all my projects I felt that somehow I was working up to tackling “Aunt Syl's rug”. 

This past year a dear hooking friend took me by the hand and helped me over the hurdles. We transferred the design from the old burlap onto linen, made color decisions, searched out wools, did some dying and finally in May I began the hooking. As I worked I wondered – how did my aunt know this was a craft for me? Where had she gotten this pattern? How long had she had it? Who had designed and drawn it? I wanted to know its history and stories but there were no markings on the original burlap and no answers to my wonderings. As I worked and wondered, I also imagined my aunt smiling approval on me for finally bringing the rug to life and making the roses on it bloom. 

Six months later, the rug was done. With those last loops and binding stitches I felt I had completed a circle, one that began many years ago. That scratchy old piece of burlap opened a door for me and has given me a gift far beyond it's material value. I wish my aunt knew how much I appreciate that gift and the road she started me on. Somehow I think she does. It was meant to be.

God With Us

When I mentally step back and take a bird's eye view of salvation history, one of the most awe-inspiring thoughts to me is the fact that God interacts with man. Beginning at creation when God created man in His image and walked and talked with him in the garden, through the Fall when sin created the unbreachable crevasse of separation between God and man, and then on through the ages when God longs to fellowship with those whose hearts will respond to Him in faith, the fact that God desires and pursues intimate relationship with His creation is simply mind-boggling. The God of the universe, the Creator of the world and the galaxies, the infinite, eternal, holy God wants fellowship with his creatures. If this truth weren't undeniably revealed to us in holy writ, the presumption of the idea would be monstrous.

In the old testament we see God begin the epic work of restoring the relationship lost at the fall. He gave His physical presence to the nation of Israel and dwelt with them through the exodus and years of wandering through the desert, a presence revealed by fire which dwelt over the tabernacle and which led them constantly. They experienced His presence in the fire, earthquakes and smoke of Sinai when they entered into covenant with Him. Later His presence descended on the temple built by Solomon in Jerusalem. This presence continued until the fall of Jerusalem to Babylon at which time “the glory departed”.

After centuries of silence, the story of the pursuit reopens in the new testament. Once again the glory returns, this time in hidden form, the form of a baby. The God of the universe, the Creator of the world and the galaxies, the infinite, eternal, holy God once again seeks fellowship with man, now coming as a redeemer and sacrifice, actually coming in human form to live among us and then die to restore us by paying for our sin and rebellion. It is wonderful beyond comprehension, the condescension and love of God that would cause Him to pay such a great price to have fellowship and communion with His rebellious creation. As the hymn writer cried, “How deep the Father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure!”

But the crowning chapter of God's progressive pursuit of fellowship with His creature comes at Pentecost. The even more unbelievable step of actually indwelling the creature was realized. In every heart that is willing to submit and believe/accept His atoning sacrifice for their sin, God seals the covenant relationship by coming in, by the inexpressible condescension of actually indwelling the creature and making His home in that person. This time there is no earthquake and smoke, no fire (although at pentecost there was the appearance of flames, which would have been loaded with meaning for the Jews!). Just as after His resurrection He “was ever wont to glide, unheralded, into the midst of His disciples through unopened doors”*, He now gently enters our innermost beings and begins the work of transforming us through His presence into what we were meant to be, what we could never become apart from His presence in us. And whatever our stage in that transformation, He fellowships with us in the deepest and most satisfying ways.

Bernard of Clairvaux said it this way:

He entered not by the eyes, for His presence was not marked by color; nor by the ears, for there was no sound; nor by the breath, for He mingled not with the air; nor by the touch, for He was impalpable. You ask, then, how I knew that He was present. Because He was a quickening power. As soon as He entered, He awoke my slumbering soul. He moved and pierced my heart, which before was strange, stony, hard and sick, so that my soul could bless the Lord and all that is within me praised His Holy Name.”

Man, made in the image of God, is now recreated from the inside out through His indwelling presence. He goes about the work of re-creation and establishes the fellowship He has longed for from the beginning. Our hearts can now join with the Psalmist who says, “Lift up your heads, O gates, and be lifted up, O ancient doors, that the King of Glory may come in!” (Psalm 24) Truly He has entered through the gates of our lives and brought His Glory with Him. May our hearts respond in loving submission and obedience to His benevolent reign, purchased at great price for us. What peace and hope and inexpressible joy – God with us!

*FB Meyer, The Secret of Guidance.

Feasting at the wrong table

In 1886, Frederick B. Meyer, a British pastor and evangelist, wrote these words to those who desired to culture a devout spiritual life:
     We must be still before God.  The life around us, in this age, is preeminently one of rush and effort.  It is the age of the express-train and electric telegraph.  Years are crowded into months, and weeks into days.  This feverish haste threatens the religious life.  The stream has already entered our churches, and stirred their quiet pools.  Meetings crowd on meetings.  The same energetic souls are found at them all, and engaged in many good works beside.  But we must beware that we do not substitute the active for the contemplative, the valley for the mountain-top.  Neither can with safety be divorced from the other.  The sheep must go in and out.  The blood must come back to the heart to be recharged, and fitted to be impelled again to the extremities.
    We must take time to be alone with God.  The closet and the shut door are indispensable.  Happy are they who have an observatory in their heart-house to which they can often retire beneath the great arch of Eternity, turning their telescope to the mighty constellations that turn beyond life's fever, and reaching regions where the breath of human applause or censure cannot follow!
     It is only in such moments that the best spiritual gifts will loom on our vision, or we shall have grace to receive them.  It is impossible to rush into God's presence, catch up anything we fancy, and run off with it.  God's best can not be ours apart from patient waiting in His Holy Presence.  The superficial may be put off with a parable, a pretty story, but it is not given such to know the mysteries of the Kingdom of Heaven.

As I read those words I wondered what FB Meyer would think of our lives today - with not just the "feverish haste" of express-trains but automobiles in which we race from activity to activity.  Not just electric telegraph but each of us with a personal phone through which we constantly access the entire world via a huge web of apps.  I'm sure 30 minutes exposure to this flood of stimulus and media would overwhelm rather than impress him.  And if the spiritual life was threatened by the "feverish haste" of his day, how much more, exponentially more, is that true for us?  Somehow I don't think he could relate to the One Minute Bible.  

This necessity to seek God in the stillness, like a melody repeated in different movements of a symphony, has come to my ears many times over the past few years.  FB Meyer but also Ken Gire, JP Moreland, Richard Swenson, Dallas Willard, Brennan Manning, AW Tozer, Amy Carmichael, Brother Lawrence - just a few of those that point the way back to seeking the better part.  Indeed, this is what has set apart the true spiritual in every age.  To experience the real spiritual riches of God Himself, we MUST make room in our lives for Him.  We can only make room if we are willing to disengage for a time or times at least, from the lesser things.  God does not do anything in haste; He does not pour out the riches of His marvelous truth and presence to the casual inquirer.  It's possible we could go through our entire lives and be only dimly conscious of what we are missing.  We might feast richly at the "fast food" table of this physical life but entirely miss the richer and true delights of God Himself.  "You have let me experience the joys of life and the exquisite pleasure of your own eternal presence."  Psalm 16:11 The Living Bible

Eternal message of a short life

I confess that Abel, of “Cain and Abel” fame, is one Biblical character I've never given much thought to. Actually, no thought whatever beyond a passing glimpse as I re-read the tragic story of his murder by his jealous brother. For me, Abel was shrouded in a cloud of unknowing and not understanding. It seems he appeared so briefly on the stage of history and was plucked up so quickly from it. What in the world did his life have to say?

This year as I undertook to memorize Hebrews 11 Abel suddenly stood front and center on the stage, the leader of all those in that great hall of fame of the faithful. In this beautiful passage of inspired Scripture, the writer talks first about faith in general, then creation and then the first person he mentions by name as living by faith is Abel: “By faith Abel offered to God a better sacrifice than Cain, through which he obtained the testimony that he was righteous, God testifying about his gifts, and through faith, though he is dead, he still speaks.” Hebrews 11:4 NASB

I'm so grateful for Hebrews 11 because it gives us a lens through which to interpret people and events of the past. All of history, actually.  When I look at Abel I see someone who enters the stage and then quickly exits it. When GOD looks at Abel, He sees a person of faith who actually has the longest speaking voice of anyone in history! I've been challenged and encouraged by that last phrase of verse 4: and through faith, though he is dead, he still speaks. Yes, Abel was on the stage of life for a short time. But his faith during that short time has given him an immortal voice. And what he has had to say through all those long millennia of time is significant. Bruce Waltke, speaking about how God rewards the faithful in various ways, says this: Abel believed God, and he died. Enoch believed in God, and he did not die. Noah believed God, and everybody else died...the first three heroes of faith celebrated by the writer of Hebrews (11:4-7)...experienced radically divergent results from their faith. The common denominator of their faith is that they all pleased God.¹ One of the important truths I learn from this verse is that faith does not guarantee a long life but it enables whatever life I'm granted to have significance in terms of pleasing God and giving him glory. And since giving God glory is the purpose of life, faith enables me to fulfill my purpose regardless of the length of my life or visible outcome of my service. Faith enables every person, regardless of their circumstances, to please God and to have significance in His eyes.

Instead of looking at Abel as a “tragic” figure, I now see him as someone who fulfilled his purpose in God's kingdom in an incredible way. His example shows me that faith doesn't necessarily guarantee justice in this life. It also teaches me that the outcome of my faith doesn't end when my life does. It shows me that every act of faith is significant in God's eyes. Abel's act of faith and God's testimony about it earned him the murderous wrath of his brother. Nevertheless, his life has borne testimony for thousands of years and will continue to speak to encourage people of faith through all time. It is hard to imagine that a long and peaceful earthly life for Abel could have produced a more fruitful outcome than the short one by which he glorified God! His father Adam certainly had a much longer life (930 years) and yet Abel, not Adam, is the one who leads the parade of faithful in Hebrews 11. Faith, not any other criterion, is the measure of my significance. And this is eminently logical when we realize that our significance comes not from how much pleasure we extract from life, how many things we accomplish or experience but from how much glory we give to God whose ultimate purpose for the world is “to glorify himself by establishing his universal rule over his volitional creatures on earth through Jesus Christ and his covenant people.”² My faith aligns me with that storyline, establishes God's rule over my life. And Abel's short life still speaks those truths to me, even though he has been dead for thousands of years.  For me, Abel, no longer shrouded in mystery is now shrouded in wonder.

1Waltke, Bruce K. with Charles Yu. An Old Testament Theology: an exegetical, canonical, and thematic approach, 1^st ed. 2007, Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan. p. 287

2Ibid, p. 144

Uglies to Ruglies

As a child, you kind of take things in your home and family for granted.  When I was growing up, our home was filled with colorful rag rugs that were made by my grandfather on an old, handmade floor loom.  I guess I assumed everyone's grandpa made rugs.  My grandmother would take old clothes, cut the buttons off them, remove any zippers and rip or cut the cloth into strips which she would then wind into balls.  Gramps would take these balls of strips and weave them into sturdy rugs.  There were stacks of neatly folded rugs of every imaginable color and combination in their house.  Some were given as gifts and the whole family was supplied with them.  It was always fun to look through them and pick out which designs and colors I liked best.   I still have a number of those rugs and treasure every one.  I don't think Grams and Gramps ever heard the word "recycling" but they certainly had the concept mastered.

Back home on the farm (in Illinois) waiting for my return is the same old loom.  It's been moved a few times but ended up back where it started (although it was old when it came to our family so who knows where it started or how old it is).  It's set up in a big sunny room on the second story of our garage.  I used to help my aunt warp it for her rugs so I learned how she did it.  The method was effective but very time-consuming.  I figured there had to be an easier way if one only knew it!

Fast forward a few years to living here in California.  I discovered a local adult ed program offered weaving classes.  There aren't many places where you can learn to weave any more so in January I started the class.  My hope was to learn more about looms so I could work with our old loom better.  The class has been great and I am working on a smaller loom there but the principles will all carry over.  I'm looking forward to getting the old loom up and running again when we move back.  There's just something about weaving that appeals to me.

To that end, I thought I'd clean out my fabric stash and get ready to make my own rag rugs.  Most people who sew have a fabric addiction to one degree or another and I'm no exception.  My stash fills a good sized armoire.  In sorting and organizing my fabrics I came across a number of pieces that made me shake my head and ask myself, "What was I thinking when I bought that piece of fabric???"  But now I've started a fabric recycling project that I call my Uglies to Ruglies Project.  I'm taking the "What was I thinking?" fabrics (and other remnants) and ripping them into strips which I wind into balls.  Eventually they will find their way into rugs.  Even the most heinous fabric design will work when it is scrunched up and woven into a rug.  One quilter I know says, "If it's still ugly, you just haven't cut it small enough yet."  The same goes for weaving - rip it into thin strips and it works.  Here are some of my balls of "uglies" that are waiting to become "ruglies". 

And here's Mary and me learning to use a warping board at our class.  It's a simple but brilliant invention.  

And finally, the loops and braids of warp ready to be tied on to the loom.  Unbelievable but it really worked!  Gramps would be proud of me.

The home stretch for this trip

The sands of time are running out on this visit to Illinois.  I said to Pete at dinner, "I wish we had just one more week here."  He said, "We'd never leave if we did."  So I guess it's good we're leaving on Wednesday.

We had to get up at dawn today and this is what I saw out the west window.  Can you see the two stars?

And this is what I saw out the east window.

We hustled through some chores to be ready when the guys came to blow in insulation.  They added 10 inches of cellulose above the living room and kitchen.  When they were done, Pete fired up the new carpet steamer (same model we have in CA) and I started boiling water for it.  I had to go upstairs in the garage to search for something to heat large quantities of water.  I felt like I'd "stuck in a thumb and pulled out a plum" when my eye lit on these old treasures.  They haven't seen the heat of a stove for many a decade but two of the three were water tight and served perfectly to heat many gallons of water.

While Pete was steaming the carpets and I was boiling water, I decided to take the second oven door apart (I'd done one already) and clean all the glass.  That led to cleaning both ovens.  I also cleaned the concrete floor in the basement one more time.  Then it was off to town for lunch.  We spent the afternoon setting up wireless internet for Maynard and Sue.  And Pete put up new doorbells on the front and back doors.  Tonight we want to install blinds and wash the basement floor.  Then we'll be done with the big projects for this trip.  

I had a burn pile going out behind the pig house this morning.  Lots of construction bits, boxes, dead branches from the yard and old stuff to burn.  It just wouldn't have seemed right if I hadn't had at least one big conflagration.  One of the joys of country life.  

We've been in California seven and a half years now.  I just re-read some of the blog posts I wrote when we were newly transplanted and it brought into sharp focus some of the changes that have occurred - internally as well as externally - in our lives in these last years.  

There hasn't been a time during the years here that I haven't felt the desire to be "back home" on the farm.  From the beginning, however, we made the choice to embrace the life God has given us here.  And from today's perspective, I cannot imagine my life without the experiences and relationships that have HUGELY blessed and enriched my life out here.  God has deconstructed and reconstructed so many aspects of my life, accomplished so much healing, and given so many opportunities for growth.  Just like the California sunshine causes things to flourish, these years have been a flourishing season for us, not because of the climate and location but because of God's work.  The relationships He's given us have made us immeasurably richer and for that we are immeasurably thankful.  These have been golden years in the Golden State. 

We aren't leaving California and our life here yet.  But somehow knowing there is a definite end in sight gives a different perspective on life.  I think it's what Moses was talking about in asking God to teach us to number our days.  For many years I've had that verse framed above my desk:  "So teach me hourly to contemplate the fleeting character and brevity of my lifetime, that I may present to you a heart of wisdom."  I think that must be Keil and Delitzsch's translation of Psalm 90:12 because it's not any recognizable version.  Life is fleeting and brief and during that short interval we must somehow cultivate a heart of wisdom.  We can only do that if we gain an eternal perspective during this short earthly sojourn.

The other day I mentioned to Pete that when I look back over my life I have so few regrets but the one regret I do have is that I didn't trust God more.  He immediately agreed with me and said, "Amen and amen!"  For the life of me, I can't understand why that has been a struggle.  But perhaps that's sort of like a healed blind person trying to remember what it was like to be blind.