inspiration round-up: courage

“Do we dare pay attention,
dare even mention
the mystery we find ourselves caught in?
And do we dare to remember
all that we have forgotten?”
– Carolyn Arends, “Do We Dare?”

courage. it is the word of the week in my little household. my first-born officially started a program for home-school kids that meets outside the home a couple days a week. to many children this would be an emotional blip on the radar, perhaps even a welcomed activity. for us, with all our anxieties and introversion and shyness, this has required new levels of bravery and trust. it has been good and hard work.

then there has been more courage in facing down my mystery illness and its brazen pain. i just keep listening to The Boss singin’, “hard times come, hard times go, hard times come, hard times go, yeah, just to come again…bring on your wrecking ball!” Mumford and Sons has also been a staple this week as Marcus Mumford wails, “And I’ll find strength in pain…I’ll know my name as it’s called again.”

courage. accepting peace in pain. finding strength and blessing in the fray. yes, these have absolutely been themes this week in moving me toward wholeness. many of the pieces in this photo were bits and bobs i held this week in my more nervous moments, standing at the kitchen sink fiddling with bumpy stones and raw silk between my fingers, thinking through scenarios and struggles and questions of “how are we gonna…” their coarseness spoke to me that there is deep beauty in the uncomfortable textures of our lives.

in the flurry of school starting and some pain-filled days, i’ve not had as much space to create. but this fermata in life’s opera has been good. i always come back from intended and unintended breaks refreshed and inspired. i did have a chance to do some invigorating work on my packaging and the presentation of my creations this week. that’s what the bird stamp image is all about at the bottom of the the photo. the pendrops bird has been with me from the beginning, my very own design. perhaps i’m too biased, too close to her, too tied to her. but i don’t care. she is the beauty mark on the heart of pendrops couture and it felt good to make her more of a centerpiece in my packaging while polishing my presentation.

looking at the photo this week, i see largely matte and muted colors and finishes. greys, taupes, ivories, earthen tones and textures. and yet there’s this one sparkle, one bling. that old clip-on earring that keeps finding its way to the top of piles on my work table. i love it because even in the drab and dingy-ness of life, i have so many sparkles. the melody of my daughter’s constant stream-of-consciousness ramblings and lilting. the hums of my son as he plays the Star Wars Theme over and over in his head. the touch of my husband’s hand as we sit at the dinner table. a stranger’s kindness. a friend’s compassion. and laughter. so much laughter. these days are hard. and they are good. and i can do hard things.

and then, there’s Buechner.

for the past couple weeks, i’ve been reading Frederick Buechner’s “Telling Secrets.” i’m actually reading it twice, which is to say i’m reading one section and then reading it again, all with tear-streaked face, chiseled underlines, and illegible scrawls in the margins. his words have always applied a sort of healing bandage to the wounds of my mind, heart, and soul. but “Telling Secrets” has offered a balm i didn’t know i needed to wounds i didn’t know i had. i have been utterly surprised by the lavish treasure in his words, pouring from his heart and mind, about the depths of pain and bravery, particularly in regard to parenting and love and healing the deepest self. i just happened to begin reading this next book in the Sacred Journey trilogy, but what i’ve found in these inspired and earthy pages is something i’ve needed to hear for over fifteen years. excerpts like this:

“The fearsome blessing of that hard time continues to work itself out in my life in the same way we’re told the universe is still hurtling through outer space under the impact of the great cosmic explosion that brought it into being in the first place. I think grace sometimes explodes into our lives like that – sending our pain, terror, astonishment hurtling through inner space until by grace they become Orion, Cassiopeia, Polaris to give us our bearings, to bring us into something like full being at last” (p. 25).

the Alanis Morissette song “Thank You” rings in my ears as i read Buechner’s words:

“Thank you, India
Thank you, terror
Thank you, disillusionment.
Thank you, frailty
Thank you, consequence
Thank you, thank you, silence.”

so, with that, i’ll ask: what inspired you this week? what were the hooks you hung your jacket, your satchel, and your heart upon? what ushered laughter or tears in? a conversation, a song, a movie, one of those moments where the late summer air lifts a dark green leaf on its wing? it is these spaces, the skies where we circle in holding patterns, where we find our lives. and grace. i sincerely hope you caught glimpses of that this week.

and so, may we be present, even with our fear and cowardice, pain and uncertainty, in these beautiful and messy places; and may we be patient with our hearts as we take courage to heal and receive the fearsome blessings of our stories.

peace, friends…

inspiration round-up: how we spend our lives

i’m not going to lie. this was a rough week. i experienced so much physical pain at the hands of what my doctor is guessing is an autoimmune disease plus a possible digestive disorder. aches from head to toe have stopped me in my tracks, made it tough to get out of bed, and have muddied my thoughts. and yet, in the middle of pain and uncertainty, so much love has chased me down and held me steady, even by way of these inanimate objects and the lovely and loving people they represent.

i’ll start with the sweet taupe scrap of fabric cinched with a piece of sisal twine. in searching for a new silk provider for pendrops couture, i stumbled on Darn Good Yarn on Etsy. the seller, Nicole, is my kinda lady. in the package of my silk, a sweetly written letter told me i’m a hero for purchasing this silk and considering the women who gather it. it explained that their lives are exponentially improved as they are treated with dignity and paid more than a fair wage for their work. i love Nicole, i love Darn Good Yarn, and i love knowing that i’m helping to care for our sisters and our earth. i can’t wait to begin creating with this generous, creamy latte silk.

next is the sweet vintage fairy print my mom gave me from her years spent living in Great Britain. i’ve been reading a lot more lately and it dawned on me why that is: my closed Facebook account. as anxiety continues to chase me, i’ve had to shed those things that seem benign and even good to so many. while i feared withdrawal from this social connection, within hours of saying good-bye, i found myself devouring books that have been collecting dust on my shelves for years. i love this fairy picture because it came from a vintage, discarded children’s book and i love children’s books. not just “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” and “We’re Going On A Bear Hunt” fare, but books like “The Chronicles of Narnia,” “The Mysterious Benedict Society,” and “The Wrinkle in Time” series. gritty, genuine, honest, often banned children’s book. there is something that seems so true and hopeful, innocent and real in the pages of books like these. i’m grateful for the time i’ve freed up to re-discover them.

speaking of free time, a necessity of healing for me in recent weeks has been more rest and meditation. when i was pregnant with my first child several years ago, i began practicing the guided imagery meditation of Jane Ehrman. one of my favorite practices then and now is her guided meditation on creating a safe haven. this week, i did that meditation several times to help me breathe through physical pain and a couple stressful events. the Japanese fan and the wine cork are the symbols of that fresh and flourishing place for me.

and while i’m speaking of refreshing things, it has been so exhilarating to begin writing in earnest again. this week, i began slowly setting up shop for freelance writing and editing projects. with a love of grammar and words that i’ve had since i was a little girl, a Bachelor’s Degree in Writing and English, and nearly 20 years of diverse writing and editing experience, i couldn’t ignore the pull to share my passion and skills any longer. it’s been exhilarating leafing through my old copy of “The Elements of Style,” “On Writing” by Stephen King, and every Annie Dillard book i own. i’m so very curious about where this stretch of journey will lead.

the linchpin of every week for me is the hope that i have loved and lived well, that i have shared beauty, grace, and love in all the ordinary and even painful moments. it is, in fact, Annie Dillard who says in “The Writing Life,”

“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

these little odds and ends from my week, these threads pulled and fraying, strange and mismatched are the tapestry of my life. they are the cross-section that, when it is all said and done, represents the heart of me.

so what inspired you this week? what did you carry around with you in your backpack or leave out on your kitchen counter or find on that table by the front door? what crumpled movie ticket from six months ago fell out of your jacket pocket and somehow told you a story as you picked it up to throw it away? what coin from a foreign country did your fingers brush over as you cleaned out your wallet this week, bringing with it a flood of memories? what book did you find hiding on the bottom shelf, dusty and dogeared and holding that same treasure it had for you a decade ago?

i’d love to hear what you carried along your journey path this week and what inspired you. in the meantime, may we spend our days and our lives chasing love and letting her catch us with her strong and gentle hands.

peace…

inspiration round-up: shadows and light

inevitably, the remnants and relics that follow me through any given week make their way into a pile on my dresser, an end table, or the kitchen counter. this week was no different. it didn’t take much effort to gather my trinkets from the past seven days; rather they followed me around, grabbing my attention in the quiet and the chaotic spaces. and in their shy but unavoidable presence, i discovered, again, that nothing is ordinary.

and yet, what could be more ordinary than a humble #2 pencil. school has begun in our part of the country, marked by the increased decibel levels of cicadas and the ever so slight change in shadows and light. it is my time of year. summer is nearing her end, ushering in my three favored seasons that bring with them a type of internal harvesting, a necessary death to the chaff, and, finally, abiding life.

and since i’m on the subject of abiding life, i’m thrilled about reintroducing matcha tea into my life. i say life rather than “diet” because there is something about matcha that transcends the digestive system. i cut it out for a short time because of my caffeine sensitivity, but have found that its benefits far outweigh this mild sensitivity, which i can work around with calming herbs like holy basil. it is this vibrant green tea that so tenderly brings me a sense of well-being, ushers me into meditation, and gives me the zest and zen with which to walk through my days. my heart is grateful for this drink.

the various golds, greys, taupes, and purples scattered about comprise the pendrops couture autumn palette that i have begun creating with this past week. i look forward to handcrafting spools of scrappy ribbon, ivory gift enclosures, and espresso brown journals with deckled edges in the weeks ahead.

speaking of brown paper journals, the journal at the bottom right is one i made for my husband a couple years ago with all the significant moments of our dating and engagement, up to our wedding day, typed on a 1950s Royal typewriter. i usually keep it on the dresser, but brought it out this past week as we celebrated the tenth anniversary of our engagement. he sang “Grow Old With Me” on a vacant amphitheater stage that balmy August night. i have been joyfully surprised by the path our lives have taken these ten years, and by the depth of grace, strength, and authenticity of our love.

finally, Learning to Walk in the Dark. oh my. i started reading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book this week and have been undone. my threads had already been pulled by Buechner’s Telling Secrets late last week, so a good unraveling continued.

take this brief paragraph from the introduction:

“The problem is this: when despite all my best efforts, the lights have gone off in my life (literally or figuratively, take your pick), plunging me into the kind of darkness that turns my knees to water, nonetheless I have not died. The monsters have not dragged me out of bed and taken me back to their lair. The witches have not turned me into a bat. Instead, I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.”

as a young child, i was afraid of the dark. i remember the looming maple tree across from our house on a tiny mid-western avenue, melding with the dim light of a distant street lamp to send its frightening shadow on my walls. and the closet door with a creak that WD-40 could not fix. it didn’t feel safe to leave it open and it felt even less safe to close it. night lights helped a little, but sometimes went out and my fear of the dark persisted. silly as it may be, that fear persists today. there’s just so much that can happen when you can’t see your hand in front of your face. yet, even with fear and trembling, i’m hopeful about the riches this book will turn up as i dig through ebony earth in a starless valley.

as always, the fulcrum of each week is a hope that i’ve planted love, helped love grow, and better understood my own and our collective beloved-ness and belonging here and now.

so, what inspired you this week? i’d love to hear from you, friend. until then, may we live with awareness, quietness and confidence in our dark places, inspired by the prize we will most certainly find in shadowed and shaded places.

inspiration round-up: my moment of zen

as i reached for the various items that provided epiphanies and revelations, big and small, this week, i felt compelled to share the stories behind these items. this mash-up of bits and bobs from my kitchen table, my work table, and my purse have been a kind of hook that this week has hung upon. i have held onto these treasures – some for only a few seconds, some for much longer – at some point along my journey through these seven days. and they have transcended their ordinariness to become something like a guidepost.

without further adieu, i’ll start with the most poignant item for me – the small bit of paper at the bottom with type-written lyrics:

“darlin’, if you’re weary lay your head upon my chest
we’ll take what we can carry and we’ll leave the rest…”

lyrics from the Bruce Springsteen song, “Land of Hope and Dreams.” i’m hesitant to tout the wonderful-ness of celebrities, and yet i was so moved by Jon Stewart’s farewell episode of The Daily Show, capped off with my favorite Springsteen song to date, a song that has been in my top four favorite all-time songs since i first heard it. Stewart’s way of discussing horrifying and demoralizing news has helped me learn to look at the world with a different set of eyes, to ask more questions, and to be okay in the tension. and for that i’m grateful.

next, i picked up my copy of Mary Oliver’s “House of Light” and began reading again. her ethereal earthiness is unparalleled. the way she takes a perfectly mundane experience and turns it into an occasion for examining grace or belonging-ness or peace or joy is literally breath-taking.

“The salamanders,
like tiny birds, locked into formation,
fly down into the endless mysteries

of the transforming water,
and how could anyone believe
that anything in this world
is only what it appears to be…

– from “What Is It?”

[insert sigh]

even the weather inspired me this week as rains finally came and temperatures dipped into the upper 70s for a couple days. i couldn’t help reaching for my organic color-grown cotton yarns and my great-grandma’s wooden crochet hook.

the sweet and simple old ivory piece of tile with the fleur de lis is my symbol of the education i gave myself this week in French country decor, specifically Provence farmhouse style. it was utter joy to learn the history of these southern France farming communities and to discover that the beauty and allure of this style is born out of necessity and function. the items they use – sturdy linen fabrics, galvanized buckets, wire bowls, wooden tables, oversized glass wine bottles – all serve great purpose and, more importantly, last through several generations. the everyday objects found on these working farms are beautiful not because they are pristine or perfect, but because they are used, worn, and rich with story.

and finally there are several pieces of fabric, lace, silk, and mother-of-pearl buttons scattered about this week’s photo. i began creating scrappy bows for gifts this week, just one more option for making beauty, giving grace, and sending love with pendrops couture gift decor. i was invigorated at a new design challenge and a fresh way to use the exquisite antique and reclaimed scraps that fill my studio space.

always at the heart of every week is a desire to plant love, to grow love, and to better understand my own and our collective beloved-ness and belonging here and now.

so, what inspired you this week? i’d love to hear from you, friend. until then, may we live with eyes open to experience even the most ordinary moments, as moments of grace, teeming with life and breath and beauty. cheers…