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Jewelry Sale!

I've updated a bunch of items in my Etsy shop that you may want to check out. I've had some handmade jewelry listed for quite some time and I want to sell out of it and make room for different items. To that end, I've reduced the prices on all my jewelry and reduced the shipping costs to the US and Canada as well. (UKers and Australians, I do ship internationally, but unfortunately I couldn't reduce that cost.)

Here's a sampling. Click on the picture to go to that item in the shop. Hope you find something you like!






I also have a couple vintage patterns available, gorgeous collections of Victorian calling cards that would make a great statement framed and hung on the wall, and a newly-made apron from a great 1940s vintage pattern.

These would all make wonderful gifts for Mother's Day. If you buy today I can ship today and get it there in time for Mother's Day!

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Time to Explore


It's finally nice enough to get outside and explore the great outdoors. And there is something really special about doing that with an almost-three-year-old.


It's when I spend time with Calvin outdoors away from all the toy trains and cars that I see myself in him most.


When we followed these wild turkeys and they hurried away from us, I told him that they were afraid of us because they didn't know us. Calvin suggested we hide behind a tree so they couldn't see us. So we did.


Calvin has been adopting adult poses like this lately.


All in all we had a very satisfying evening that included sightings of turkeys, vultures, turtles, a snake, a woodchuck, robins, red-winged blackbirds, and cardinals. We also heard the loud chorus of frogs by the pond and felt the strong winds of a coming storm system through our hair.

We're planning a return trip soon. Gotta keep an eye on those turkeys.

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In Order of Importance

I think I have finally come to understand that having a small child means that everything you try to do gets broken up unto many smaller parts due to "interruption" by said child. What I mean to say is, I have been experiencing this and noticing it for nearly three years now, but I have only recently accepted that this is not a problem.

Generally, I'm a marathoner when it comes to tasks. When it comes time to put my catalogs together for work, I would normally procrastinate a bit and do just about everything that needed to be done in two or three 14+ hour days. When it comes time to do the spring cleanup in my yard, I would normally be outside for a whole day getting up all the old leaves and dead remnants of last year's garden and then it would be done. On another day, I might clean out the squirrel-ravaged garage, transplant perennials all over the place, and trim all the trees.

These days are gone. And while the last couple years I longed for uninterrupted time to get things done, especially outdoors, this year I have finally accepted that these tasks must be done a half-hour here, an hour there, stretched across perhaps two months rather than done in two days. And here's the crazy part: I have found that finally I really don't mind it this way.

On five or six different occasions for the last six weeks I have worked on the gardens and garage, cleaning up the detritus of winter. A bit here, a bit there. And I'm okay with that. It doesn't bother me when my son wakes up from his nap and my productive time is over. In fact, it usually seems like a fine time for a break with a boy who makes me laugh.

Rather than thinking of my son as interrupting my "real" life of work, keeping house, and hobbies, I've finally settled in to the right frame of mind, the one I should have had all along, that my son is life. He is not an add-on to my life but a central part of it. He's more important than the bulbs that are coming up. He's more important than the dress I'm sewing or the bedspread I'm quilting. He's more important than that sentence I was in the middle of writing. He's more important than my filthy garage. He's more important than the book I was reading.

Everything I do with my time can be taken up again if I get interrupted. I can pick up the needle, turn to the paragraph I was reading, start typing again. But my son and his relationship with me are always in the process of being formed. He needs my positive attention. Not to say that there are not times when he needs to learn patience and wait for me to finish something.

Of course learning that you are indeed not the center of the world is something all children (and many adults, I dare say) need to learn. But most of the time I need to be available to him. He is learning how to treat people by watching how people treat him. If I'm obviously put out that I have to stop my own activities in order to attend to his needs, won't he grow into a selfish adult who puts himself before others? Is this what I what for him? Of course not. I want him to value other people and to treat them well. I want him to have concern for others and to serve others. I can model that behavior for him in the way I act toward him and my husband, first and foremost, and then how I act toward others.

By my actions, I need to show him that people are more important than things. They are more important than lush lawns, pristine flowerbeds, clean cars, a dust-free home, or a perfectly-cooked meal. They are more important than a favorite TV show, a great play during a football game, a song on the radio, or all the other silly things we hush our kids in order to watch or hear.

I want my son to know that he is loved and that I like spending time with him. Because I really, really do.

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Good News

Last week I attended the funeral of a 14-year-old boy who shot himself. I didn’t know him personally, but I do know a close family member who was grieving and I wanted to be there for her.

I have been to many funerals as a pastor’s wife. Most are for elderly people who have died of heart disease, cancer, pneumonia, and other things that come with living a long life. One was for a man in his early 20s, my husband’s cousin, in fact, who had died in a car accident. But this was the first funeral I’d attended for a teenager and a victim of suicide.

I suspect many people at that very well-attended funeral were questioning. Why did he do it? Could I have done something to stop him? Where is God in all of this? Did this young man go to heaven or is suicide something that keeps us from entering heaven?

A funeral is a unique ministry opportunity. Funerals are attended by people who otherwise don’t set foot in church. A funeral like this one is attended by many young people who haven’t made up their minds yet about God. They are excellent chances to share the truth of God’s love and salvation with people who need to hear something hopeful, something good.

But these opportunities are often missed. Ministers or priests fail to take advantage of the fact that they have a room full of people who may not have an opportunity hear the Gospel until the next time someone dies. They talk about the person who died, extolling their good qualities, glossing over the bad. They might mention that God weeps with us in our pain and loss, which is true. They might talk about death as a natural part of life (which, by the way, it isn't).

But does that really, truly give us hope? No.

I left that funeral very disappointed that the priest never shared why this boy was in heaven and how the rest of us could look forward to seeing him again; that he never talked about the Christian hope, which is a bodily resurrection, not floating around on a cloud as an angel playing a harp. Were I not a believer, I could have left that church with no more hope than what I came in with, which probably wasn’t much due to the circumstances.

Then as I thought about this missed opportunity, I remembered that I miss these opportunities as well. I let the chance to share the hope I have in Jesus slide by too. I’ve mentioned church and God in a blog post here and there, but I haven’t ever taken the time to explain much.

I don’t assume that the readers of this blog are or are not Christians (or Muslims, or secular humanists, or militant atheists, or anything else). Anything I know about you is drawn from your comments, your own blogs, or, if we’re lucky enough to know each other face to face, our conversations. So I’m going to take this opportunity to explain to you, if you’ll read it, why I know I will be in heaven when I die, why I know that I will be resurrected when Christ comes to judge the world, and why I am confident and secure in my standing with God. If you’re curious, if you’re wondering if there is more to Easter than tacky decorations and rabbits and eggs, if you’re skeptical about the whole thing . . . read on.

***

It is obvious to anyone with half a brain that there is a lot of bad in this world. Headlines depress us, reality TV shows us the worst that people can be, kids are mean to one another, earthquakes and tsunamis kill tens of thousands of people, wars kill even more. We experience conflict with family and coworkers, loved ones die, people say hurtful things, our expectations are not met. From the far-reaching to the mundane and everywhere in between, things are not perfect.

Where is God in all this? Why doesn’t he do something? Why won’t he cure my mother? Why won’t he keep those kids from bullying each other until suicide seems the only way out? Why has he abandoned us (if he was ever there to begin with)?

For many, this is the relationship they have with God. They are angry with him, they feel let down, abandoned.

Or we might ask why God has so many rules for us. Why does he care what I do? Why do Christians seem so exclusive and bitter and hateful? Why should I consider going to church when those people judge me and look down on me? Why would I hang around that backward, uneducated crowd of brainwashed idiots?

In my experience, these are the big concerns that keep people far from God and far from church, that keep them guarded, that make them close their minds to considering who Jesus is. Let me tell the story of the Bible for you in just a few paragraphs and then we will return to these concerns.

God is perfect. If he were imperfect, he would not be God. He created the universe from nothing (I’ve already lost a couple of you, haven’t I?) and when he created it, it was perfect. If he is perfect, he would not create an imperfect world, right?

But the people he created in his own image, with God-like capacities and a mandate to care for and populate the world, disobeyed him. They sinned. And a perfect and holy God does not overlook sins, even when they are unintentional or when they didn’t seem so bad to us. He cannot allow sin in his presence.

But he did not abandon his image bearers and condemn them. He immediately put into action his plan to redeem his people, to give them a way to be forgiven and be holy again, and to come back into his presence.

For millennia he revealed more and more of this plan to his people, showing them how to be holy and to be reconciled to him. Ultimately, when the time was right, God sent his son Jesus. The sins that we should have paid for, and that all those who lived before us and who will live after us should have paid for, our debt, Christ bore on his own shoulders so that God’s righteous judgment would be satisfied. God cannot ignore sin; sin must be punished. And that punishment that was meant for me and you and everyone else (because we have all sinned) was meted out on Jesus, who lived a sinless and perfect life, so that we could be forgiven.

Jesus was crucified and died and was buried. But, and here’s the important part, he didn’t stay dead. He rose from the dead, not as a ghost but as a whole person with a body and a soul, and in that act he conquered death. Whoever believes in him will be saved. Saved from the punishment we deserve, saved from eternal separation from God, saved from Hell. Not only are we forgiven our sins, we are adopted into God’s family, we have the power to live ever more holy lives that are pleasing to God and helpful to each other, and we too will be raised from the dead when Christ returns to earth to judge us all.

I believe this. And I’m not backward. I’m not brainwashed. I’m not an idiot. I’m actually a highly educated, intelligent, and generally skeptical person. I try my best not to be judgmental, and by the grace of God I’m getting better at it. I don’t always take advantage of the opportunities to do good that I am presented with, but I’m trying to do better. I’m not perfect, but I am being made more holy each day by God’s grace alone.

I know, without a doubt, where I am going when I die. I know that I will see my dead loved ones again if they too were believers. I know that I will rise from the dead one day with a new body and that I will live on a new earth in which there is no pain, no war, no fear, no disaster.

I don’t just hope. I know.

If you think that sounds crazy but still intriguing, I hope you will find a good, Bible-teaching local church to start attending and a Bible to start reading. The whole story of God's love for his people is much richer and more amazing than the one I’ve summarized here, but it’s sometimes a little bewildering if you don’t have other people around to bounce ideas off of and ask questions. You don’t have to believe any of it to start going to a church and just hear more about it. I hope you’ll find one that welcomes you with open arms and that you won’t stop looking if the first one just doesn’t work out.

God does not want anyone to perish. He does not want you to live a life apart from him or to die apart from him. He wants you to live fully and abundantly now and he wants you to be with him after you die. He does not glory in natural disasters or war or discord or tragedy. He does truly weep that the perfect world he created has fallen to such a state. But he doesn’t mean for us to go it alone.

Here’s what that priest should have said: It is absolutely tragic that a 14-year-old would feel so hopeless that he took his own life. We in the church should be ashamed that it came to this because we are charged with encouraging each other and building each other up. We should have been there for him and reminded him that God loves him even when other kids at school may not. We should have told him that he was worth something because he was a child of God.

But as tragic as his death is, it is a wake-up call to the living that we will also die one day. What happens then? If you can’t answer that question with confidence, you have a big problem, my friend. And because death comes when it will, it is a question you can’t afford to leave unanswered. Because some day it will be too late.

Why doesn’t God just intervene in our sufferings? Why doesn’t he stop the earthquake or the bullet? If Christ is coming again and his coming will end all this suffering, why doesn’t he just come already? He tarries because he is giving you a chance to come in before he judges you. He is allowing us more time so that more people might be saved. His seeming tardiness is actually merciful.

And as we come upon the days of Good Friday and Easter, it is a perfect time to reflect upon this. Why did Christ have to die? What does it mean that he now lives? Is he calling me to a new life?

There is a church in Lansing, Michigan, called Judson Memorial Baptist Church where my husband is the pastor. If you’re nervous about trying out a church or just don’t know where to start, you can listen online to nearly every sermon he’s ever preached. I encourage you to check it out. Get a Bible in a readable translation like the ESV or NASB or NIV or GW. You can even read online. Start with the four gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, which are found at the very beginning of the New Testament. Then keep reading. It may change your life—and your death.

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Life's Little Surprises

Ah, the surprises that each day brings! We are going along in life at a certain pace with ideas and goals and desires, and then all of a sudden . . .


. . . life pokes you and gives you something to think about. For instance, I have plans to try to work through my fabric stash while sewing this spring and summer. Then on Sunday a woman in church brought in massive amounts of fabric for my friend Valerie and I to look through and take for free. Who can turn down good yardage, especially in shades of blue?


Dear me.

Another example. By late April we Michiganders have started to let down our guard vis-à-vis snowfall. We did already have a snow in April, after all, and while we know that we're due one, we don't really think about having another two weeks later. But then you wake up and raise the shades and . . .


. . . your flowers are huddled under a white blanket.



Ah, well. By the end of the day, most of the snow will have melted. Already it's gone from the lawn and most of the garden. It's essentially fluffy rain, right?

And just a couple days ago I was wishing there was a thrift store closer to home so it would be easier to drop off my donations (which ride around in our cars for weeks on end because we never pass by a thrift store in our everyday travels). Then today there was a flyer in the door announcing the opening of a new thrift shop just a few blocks away. Perfect.

Life has been surprising me a lot lately, in mostly quite pleasant ways.

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Stash-Busting for Summer


It's too cold to wear this thin summer dress now, but I'm in stash-busting mode at the moment, and once I got McCall's 6123 (again for $0.99) I found the perfect bit of fabric waiting in a drawer. I'm fairly certain this was a clearance item, but I can't be sure. It's unembellished, though the pattern calls for ruffles and bands of contrast fabrics; I thought simple would be best for this modern print.

Here's a better indication (though still not quite right) of the actual colors. Seems like greens and blues behave so badly in photographs.


I'm feeling only very slightly sheepish that I didn't bother to iron this before photographing it.

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When You Really Want to Say "Spring"


I've never in my life made, owned, or worn anything that said "spring" louder than this little number. I made the shirt back in early February when we Midwesterners start to feel a little desperate about winter. I said back then that I wanted to make a flowy skirt to go with it. Lo and behold, waiting for me at Jo-Ann's was a lightweight, almost filmy cotton in a print I would never have gone for if it hadn't seemed like it would match that shirt. I took a gamble that the lightest shade of green in it would work and saw when I got home with it that they are pretty nearly exact.

The skirt is the shorter version of McCall's 5056, which I got for $0.99 on sale. It came together very quickly and, if not for the crazy long hem done by hand, it would have been done in a matter of a few hours. I know I'll be making this skirt again soon. I've already designated some great fabric for it that will really represent branching out for this fairly conservative seamstress.

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Reading Children's Verse


I do love children's books. Even before my husband and I considered creating a smaller version of ourselves we had a large and growing collection of children's books, including those from our own childhood and new ones we had purchased simply for the love of the artwork or stories. And lately I've been looking for vintage and antique books of children's stories and especially children's verse to add to our collection of picture books and chapter books.


As a child I enjoyed reading the verses and stories in two of my parents' college texts. Both of my parents majored in education in college, but when they graduated teaching jobs were scarce and they never did teach. But they both kept their anthologies of children's verse. I'm so glad they did. I spent many, many hours flipping through nursery rhymes, morality tales, and nonsense verse of many lands.


One of the most wonderful things about old books of children's verse are the charming illustrations. Many are so very enchanting that they stick with a child far more tenaciously than the verse or story. One illustrator whose pictures I remember from my father's treasury of children's verse happens to be Kate Greenaway whose work was extremely popular in the 1880s and 1890s.


I ran into a book of hers at an antique shop this winter, not knowing that I knew and enjoyed some of her other work as a young girl. The verse often leaves something to be desired but the illustrations make you feel the soft spring breeze and hear the rustling of dresses and wind through the trees. It wasn't until I was flipping through my father's old textbook that I realized many of her poems and pictures were part of my childhood.


Another recent find (the same day, in fact, as the Greenaway book) was a thin volume by Walter de la Mare called A Child's Day.


The whole book is one long poem about a little girl named Elizabeth Ann who does things any child would do: gets up, eats breakfast, plays outside, gets into mischief, takes a bath, etc. Not only are the illustrations utterly lovely . . .


. . . the poetry is actually really good despite being made up of rhyming couplets (which can sort of feel plodding after a while). Every other page contains a few lines of some of the most quotable poetry I've read in a while. De la Mare truly captures the feeling of wonder and possibility and simplicity that we feel as children and long to recapture in our adult existence.


But not all the children's stories of the past are charming and sweet. Many of them are bizarre, confusing, or downright frightening. I haven't read the story that goes with this next illustration, but the caption is hilarious.


This may be just a silly story, but other stories could keep you up at night as a little girl or little boy. Even the ones we've sanitized and made less scary become more sinister with the right illustrator. The story of Red Riding Hood is actually pretty gruesome (as were many of the tales we make cutesy movies of today). To people in earlier times, the woods and the creatures in it (wolves) were not simply scary because they were shadowy and dangerous, they were physical representations of evil. This illustration does not capture that:


This one certainly does.

*shudder*

Today, of course, we don't believe wolves or snakes or creepy crawly things are inherently evil (or at least I don't) and we don't teach our children that demonic forces are at work in the woods. But the story of Little Red Riding Hood is still seriously scary. Modern retellings might even omit the part about the wolf eating the grandmother.

We ended up with a modern Weeble Wobble version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears that came with a toy I got for my son at a garage sale. In this version, the bowls are filled with mac and cheese (c'mon, who eats porridge these days?) and Goldilocks doesn't break any chairs and when the bears come home they aren't angry at all. Instead they invite someone who invaded their home and stole from them to come have more mac and cheese with them, smiles all around. Needless to say, we didn't read this sanitized version to our son and the book has "disappeared" somewhere (like the trash can).

Some of these scary fairy tales we will eventually tell our son. They generally teach good lessons (don't steal, respect others, don't take candy from a creepy old crone in the woods, etc.) and they are a foundation of learning to love literature. But for now we'll skip any scary stories and focus on the fun stuff. Maybe tonight, in addition to his books about cars and trucks, I'll read a little bit of verse from the books I cherished as a small child.

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A 1940s Dress for Easter


Over a year ago I bought some silky blue floral fabric and tucked it away for a yet-to-be-determined special project. I wanted to save it for just the right pattern. Every once in a while I would flip through my huge and still growing pattern collection and look for the right one, but nothing ever hit me. Then last month when my mother was over helping me spring clean the kitchen I was schooling her in how I find patterns on eBay and we saw this one.


Perfect for my blue fabric and perfect for Easter. After cutting the pieces out I let them sit for awhile, busy with other things. Also I had looked over the first few steps of the directions and realized that deciphering exactly what I should do might be challenging and I didn't quite have the energy and brainpower to tackle it. After all, I have tried to sew while tired and uninspired before and it always has the same result: dumb mistakes. So I resolved I would not get involved with sewing this dress until my mind was completely in it.

Even then, it was slow going. I really didn't want to mess up and irreversibly mar this fabric and I didn't have much leftover to correct mistakes on the larger pieces. I think it must have taken me two weeks to get the bodice done. Looking at it now I think that's sort of pathetic, but oh well. I did it (mostly) right.

The tabs over the gathered fabric were far more complicated to make than you
would suppose at first glance, plus the bound buttonholes took a long time.
What I didn't do right at first was the side drape. In fact, I did it completely backwards so that it would have worked to put it on the right side of the skirt, but then the line from the bodice to the drape would have been ruined. I barely had enough fabric to correct this error, and I had to piece the facing on the back to make it work.


I also learned a new skill with this dress: bound buttonholes. I won't take the time to explain them, but Wearing History has a good tutorial on them. I would alternately stare at the "directions" for bound buttonholes found in the pattern directions and the online tutorial, trying to get my mind around the wording and not make any irreversible errors. Finally that part was finished, and after that (besides the drape snafu) it was smooth sailing. The buttonholes are not perfect (far from it) but they aren't really noticeable behind the pretty vintage buttons (which don't quite match, but are just dressy enough that I don't really care).

I'm very happy with the end result. I still love the fabric, I like the neckline, and that side drape fancies it up nicely for church. Now I just need to locate a navy belt to finish the look. Oh, and I need to find my navy shoes!

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Short Hair

If you've known me long or read this blog for any length of time you know that I sport many different lengths of hair. I've never settled on a forever style like some people seem to. I love to mix it up. And there's a certain point at which I feel I must get a haircut. That point is usually when my hair reaches my shoulders and can be put in a pony tail. Then it must go.


When I have longer hair, I always see women with short hair and think "That's so cute!" and when I have short hair I see women with long wavy hair and I think "That's so cute!" and so I cut it off or grow it out. But I really do realize that I look better with short hair. And my husband loves me with short hair. And short hair is easy.


So, my hair is short. No more falling in my face when I'm bent over gardening or washing my face. No more brushing. And drying will take all of one minute.

Do you tend to stick with one hairstyle? Or are you as schizophrenic as I am?

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