The Look

Last weekend, I caught a tiny bit of the pre-Oscar hoopla. “Who are you wearing?” was the buzz-line as the rich and famous strutted their stuff on the red carpet. The flash bulbs popped and the crowd ‘ooohed’ and ‘aaawed’. Now, please don’t get me wrong – I like fashion as much as anyone – but this was over the top.

I thought about some of the getups I wear – especially for chores. What about my little Wind River number – a cinnamon brown, very earthy, yet with a the right accessories, it works! And what about the basic navy ski pants (with that divine little tear from an honest-to-goodness barbed wire fence!) – well they are just darling!

But the entire look wouldn’t be complete without the snow boots – still within those earthy tones in forest green. They just scream ‘look at me.’ If I have to run from a mean cow, I’m finished – but at least I’ll go down with the ‘right look’.

Everyone on the red carpet knows that accessories are everything. Today, I’ll choose a splash of colour with the 1971 vintage red hand-knit toque (a birthday gift from my sister). It’s made the rounds – me, mom, nieces/nephews, and now back to me. When I pull that toque on, I know it completes my look; and if Fashion Television ever wants to feature my kind of fashion, I’ll be ready. (But don’t hold your breath!)

The Bible has some great advice for us on the topic of clothes:

And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith. So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ for the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. (Matthew 6:28-33)

“Father, when we are tempted to worry about how we look, remind us about the lilies and your care. It’s not about how we look; it’s about whom we look to…”

Patching

It was six years ago, that I pieced my first quilt (pictured above). It was for my niece’s new little baby daughter, Morgan. I remember giving her specific instructions: “Please use this quilt – don’t put it away in a closet – I made it for her to use. And when it falls apart, ship it back to me, and I’ll fix it.”

Now, these six years later, my niece, Marcie, came for a visit. She brought the quilt, because "the dog snagged it, and it needs a couple of patches."

I could hardly believe how shabby and worn the quilt had become.

The once-vibrant colours had faded. The once-plush blanket had settled into a paper-thin rag. The back was filled with holes of all sizes, and the binding should have been redone. But there would be little sense in doing the back and the binding, because the front was in almost the same condition.

It was so bad, that I told Marcie to put it in the burning barrel, and I’d make another one. But, you know how some kids are about their blankets -- Morgan wouldn’t part with it.

I found some leftover fabric in my stash, and I began to patch.

I patched. And I patched. And I patched.

It doesn’t look very pretty, but I did the best I could.

Morgan's quilt has been returned to her, and she probably cares far more about having it back than how it looks. I guess it's a good thing that it didn't go to the burning barrel (at least for now).

This patching process made me think about how everything wears out. When I looked for a picture of that quilt when it was new, I found about 35 years of pictures showing all kinds of ‘stuff’ we gathered along the way -- stuff that has long since found its way to the Thrift Shop or the burning barrel. All of our possessions get old and wear out. And we are left with only pictures and memories.

Did you know that Revelation 18 tells us that all things will burn at the end of time?

Father, thank you for supplying my needs while I am here. Thank you for the reminder that I need to hold loosely the 'things' and 'stuff' in my life, and tightly to what really matters.

Apostrophe Catastrophe

Okay – it’s official – I am officially (certifiably?) an ‘apostrophe loon.’

Maybe it’s because I sit at this computer day after day grading students’ writing assignments, that I have become obsessed with apostrophes – or maybe it’s the apostrophe errors that I am obsessed with. I mean ‘with which I have become obsessed’ – I don’t want to end a sentence with a preposition – even in my blog!

Monday morning hubby and I got up at 3:30 am (ugh!) to drive into the city airport so that he could catch a flight. Although we packed coffee with us, we both needed another shot when we arrived, so we headed upstairs for coffee and crullers. On the way, I noticed an apostrophe error on a large wall sign. If you are remotely interested – it was shown as a possessive, but needed to be a plural possessive. Anyway, I mentioned it to hubby; I can’t remember his verbal response, but I do remember the shaking head…

After he went through security and boarded the plane, I walked by the sign again, and decided to report the error so that it could be corrected. But to whom should this information be given? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rather official-looking fellow in a uniform; he must be the one. I followed him (at a reasonable distance) until I saw him walk into the Customs Office. Apparently he wasn’t a member of the ‘apostrophe police'. I looked around for someone else.

It’s a good thing that hubby had gone --he would likely have kept walking (pretending he didn’t know me!) if he were still there. But, as you have probably determined, this topic is near and dear to my heart. Even Hubby's abandonment wouldn't deter me.

The Calgary Airport has a group of volunteers who are identified by their red vests and white Stetsons. They offer help to airport visitors and are most approachable. I took my concern to a ‘white-hatter’.

Here is our conversation:

Me: I’m just wondering who is in charge of this airport.

Nice Lady in White Hat: Well, that is the Calgary Airport Authority. I can’t give you individual names, but I could get you an address, if you like. Or perhaps there is something I could do for you?

Me: I just wanted to report an apostrophe error on a sign upstairs.

Nice Lady in White Hat: Silence
(I’m used to this reaction when I bring up this topic)
Eventually, she said: Really? Where is it?

Me: It’s in the play area.

Nice Lady in White Hat: You must be a teacher.

Me: Yes. But I’m only reporting it because I wouldn’t want children to be exposed to it.

(I can’t believe I actually said this – but I did. I told you that I’m obsessed! And you're probably thinking by now that Hubby's response would be perfectly natural. You'd run, too!)

Anyway, the conversation went on. Nice Lady told me she was a teacher, too, and had walked by the sign several times. Although she felt uneasy with it, she hadn’t yet determined the error. She assured me that she would forward my concern to the ‘powers that be’. Then she shared her own ‘pet peeve’ – redundant phrasing.

I felt so much better. Someone cared. Someone understood.

Maybe Nice Lady was pleasant with me because she was trained to deal with all kinds of concerns. But I do think this may have been her first ‘apostrophe report.’

All the way home, I wondered if I had done the right thing. It is quite picky, and really doesn’t matter to others the way it matters to me.

Colossians 3:10b (Living Bible translation) says “In this new life one’s nationality or race or education or social position is unimportant: such things mean nothing. Whether a person has Christ is what matters, and he is equally available to all.”

Wow, does that ever put it into perspective! It seems silly to get all excited about apostrophe errors when I look at the ‘big picture’.

Father, it’s not about apostrophes or any other details that tie us up in knots. It’s all about our relationship with You. Help us to keep that in mind.

All the days ordained for me...

I’m a Bible-marker. I know that to some that might seem wrong -- but I like to underline verses that speak especially to me, and I like to record times and events in my Bible. I especially like to go back through the pages and remember…

Today I celebrate another birthday, so perhaps more than other days, I’m mindful of the passage of time. As I looked in the Psalms, I found this passage underlined:

For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
When I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
Your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
Were written in your book
Before one of them came to be.

In the margin I wrote, “Gracie, February 5/07” Our little granddaughter was born the day before my birthday two years ago.

What a special birthday gift she was; and she continues to be a blessing. How wonderful to know that God knit her together in her mother’s womb and that all her days are written in His book even those that have yet to come.

Even more powerful: this is true for all the generations, past and future.

I found baby pictures of my dad, myself, our son, and our little Gracie to share with you today.

My dad, held by his aunt, Jean...

Myself, taken around my first birthday...

Our son, Nathan, in my arms...

Little Gracie, held by her parents...

Each of us began our lives with that truth – we are fearfully and wonderfully made, our frames are not hidden from Him, and our days are written in His book.

Thank you, Father, for all my days. And for the circle of life…Help me to remember my days and make them count for You.