Unexpected (Day 6)

I did not expect that it would take me so long to blog our trip to the Holy Land. We returned on January 31st, and my first post went up March 7th! 

I did not expect that shortly after I started blogging about world travel, the world would be up to its armpits in worry over a pandemic that has hit more than 180 countries and territories. 

I did not expect that I would see a pandemic of this proportion in my lifetime. Yes, the flu has killed more people than most single pandemics...but coronavirus has infected so many, including people in my country, my state, my town...this pandemic is relevant and it is changing my life. 

A host of unexpected things happen to us all in a lifetime, for sure. I suppose this is just one more to add to the list. So, rather than struggle with the fear of what could happen next, I will take it one day at a time. While I do, now is as good a time as any to show you some of the unexpected things we encountered on our vacation!

I did expect to see old buildings and learn many things that relate to the history of my Christian faith. 

I did not, however, expect to find new and exciting pine cones!

I expected to walk where Jesus walked, and to see many churches built on or near significant historical sights, like the Church of St. Peter.

I did not expect that we would be walking up and down so many steps to access the actual, original streets that Jesus trod upon, 

or the endless scaffolding needed for maintenance and restoration of these sights. (I should have expected it, if I had done my homework before the trip, but I just did not.)

I expected to feel like I was in a "high-church" setting in some places, that there would be candles and stained glass windows for light, pews to sit in, roped off areas and special altars to look at. 

I did not expect that so many of the church sites would be so ornately decorated...gaudy at times, even.

And I did not expect that I would be touched by the lighting of a candle and a simple prayer. 

I expected that I would visit the place where Jesus was born, or a traditional site, like the church of the Nativity.

I did not expect that I would stoop through "the eye of the needle" to enter that church,

or be hustled and bustled in a giant crowd down a curved and narrow staircase opening

to see a 14-point star atop the place that might be the ground upon which he was born.

I expected that I would see new sights, and old cities and friendly faces.

I did not expect that my heart would be so moved by seeing the teaching steps at the temple

or the mikvahs (ritual baths)

or by forging new friendships along the way!

I expected that this would be the trip of a lifetime, and it was! 

I did not expect that having been in Israel would have strengthened my faith so intensely. I mean, I have read my Bible...I read (or listen to) a portion of that book nearly every day. I know the stories, and I believe them. I believe that Jesus is the Lord, the Son of the Living God, and He is my Lord and Savior...this has been a truth for me for almost 25 years. But this trip, touching stones Jesus may have touched, walking streets he surely walked, seeing the places that he actually said those words...what is it the kids say? Mind. Blown.

Just like any history lesson, being there takes it from a thing I know in two dimensions to a 3-D, theater-in-the-round experience! The sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures enveloped us as we walked in the square of Jerusalem, through the streets of Cana, into the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem! 

And I didn't quite expect that. 

As we continue through the unexpected, here's a new way to look at this pandemic world:

Someday, you and I will have a story to tell about this year and these experiences. Our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren will study this event in their history classes, and they will want to know what it was like to live through it. What will your story be?

Thanks for stopping by. As you write your story, I hope you will also Knit in Good Health (if you knit)! You can tell a story with yarn too, ya know!

Unfinished

Yesterday, I was talking with a new friend, as one does when one makes new friends. This friend knows some of my story, of course, but I always struggle with how much of my story to share with new friends, and when. I am sure that we all have the same struggle, because we all come from some kind of crazy...sooo, how much crazy does one share at the first lunch?

In my experience, as of late, the first lunch is a perfect time to talk about struggles with food and other addictions...for me, that means all of the crafts! Hahaha! Yesterday was no exception, and my old quilting habit came to mind as we talked about the things we have started in our crafting rooms and never quite finished...like this piece:

You see, back in the mid-90s, I thought I was a quilter. Well, I was a quilter, I have made at least 5 honest-to-goodness quilts...with pieced top, a layer of batting and backing, all quilted (stitched) together and given as gifts. In recent years, I have made t-shirt quilts with fleece backing...super cozy, and less actual quilting required. The t-shirts were fun, and I will probably do more of those at some point, but my heart was really stolen by my first quilts and sewing projects early in my marriage. In 1997, I decided that I liked quilting so much that I would make a "signature quilt" to record family history and hang on the wall, and this is what I came up with:

I know. It is not hanging on the wall. It is not even finished. As a matter of fact, you can see that, while my intention was to stitch over all of the sharpie signatures, I fizzled out in the middle of my own name!

You can also see that green corduroy holds onto dust pretty securely. 

How can you wash an unfinished quilt that has been sitting, folded, on the banister for at least the last 10 years? That's right, you can't...at least not until someone finishes quilting my name...but I digress. That green corduroy was from a pair of overalls I stitched for a stuffed bear when the kids were small. The pink and blue sashing, where the names are signed, is from an Elvis quilt I made for my mother.

There are Elvis fabrics in there, too...Wal-Mart had a sale, and I bought 5 different fabrics for her quilt. Wal-Mart also sold gambling fabrics, which I used for my mother-in-law's quilt...she likes to go to Vegas.

One Christmas, I brought the quilt with me to the family gathering, and I got a lot of signatures...nephews (my kids' cousins):

Siblings, aunts, uncles:

And even my hubby's Grandmother, who was a crafter herself!

Fun fact, Grammie was the first person to teach me to knit. That lady will always hold a special place in my heart, and her handwritten name will always be on my quilt.

Circling back to the crazy of sharing over the first lunch with a new friend, the reason this quilt came up is that we were talking about all our stuff...you know, the stuff the kids will either want to keep or toss when we are gone, someday far down the road (I am sure). I have no way of knowing what their decisions will be, on this piece or any of my stuff, but I thought it would be nice to take some photos and tell the story of where this started anyway. Once upon a time, Mom thought it would be cool to have a permanent record of the family, in quilt form. Crazy? Maybe. Crafty? Definitely. Will she ever finish what she started? Only time will tell. Hmmm...I wonder if the story of the quilt can be finished if the quilt itself is not...? 

Stories of where we come from are cool. Knowing the players makes the stories better, and we are all writing a story with our lives every day. Some are sweet, some are crazy and some are tragic at times. Whatever your story is, remember that it is yours. The milestones, the memories, the mannerisms your family shares (or tries to overcome)...they are part of your story, and they shape who you are today. 

The greatest thing about your story is that you are in charge. Knowing where and who you come from is just the start of your story, but you have the power to really change it up as you go. So think about it: What is YOUR story? Does it need to change? How? What is one thing you can do today to start to make that change? Change is a challenge, to be sure, but you can do it. In fact, you are the only one who can change your story. Go for it!

That seems like enough photos and unsolicited advice from me today. If you read to the end, thanks for sticking around. Thanks for stopping by at all! I hope that your day is a good one, and I look forward to hearing more of your story.

Now, Knit in Good Health!

The rest of the story...

I used to listen to Paul Harvey, and I loved his tagline, "and now you know the rest of the story." It has been ringing in my ears since I began to blog about our recent family tragedy. Now, nearly 2 months later, I am ready to blog the rest of the story... 

I've written that my husband's sister and brother were victims of a violent crime, both killed February 5th. The rest of that story is that the man who killed them is also their youngest brother. The three lived in a home together, a house owned by their parents (who live about 2 miles away, in another home). I am not 100% sure which of the boys moved in first, but I am sure his sister was the last to join the household. 

For as long as I have known them (some 32 years), I have seen evidence that these siblings did not always get along. Even though it was not uncommon for some combination of them to be living together before their most recent living arrangements, they often quarreled. Family gatherings usually brought up questions like, "Who isn't coming to Christmas (Thanksgiving, etc.) this year?," or "Who is fighting with [name of sibling]? We might not see them this time..." The inquiries were coupled with lighthearted jokes...the squabbles usually seemed small, and they passed quickly. However, even with the frequent quarrels between them, the siblings also regularly socialized together, going to the local bar, playing cards, and poking fun at one another. 

Of course, it is not unusual for siblings to quarrel, to not get along, even as adults. Apparently, however, the scale of their malcontent was greater than any of us  had imagined. On that fateful night, around 2:30am, after the act was completed, the baby brother of the family called 911. "I just killed my brother and sister," he calmly told the operator when she asked what the nature of the emergency was. The call lasted 13 minutes, and it ended with my brother-in-law being arrested and taken to the county jail. My mother- and father-in-law lost 3 children that day. We lost 3 siblings that day. Our 3 nephews lost their mother and uncle at the hand of another uncle that day. 

For 32 years, I have done my best to love and honor this family I eventually married into. Each time we would visit, I would hug each of them warmly, often whispering to each brother-in-law in turn (after making a great show of caution, of not being overheard), "You know, you're my favorite brother-in-law!," which always made them smile. There is so much conflict within me, loving them and missing them, and dealing with one of my "favorite" brothers-in-law who is now in jail, awaiting trial for the murder of his brother and sister.

My husband has spent those same years distancing himself from his family of origin (as you do), a family where he sometimes felt small and unimportant as a child. With 5 children in the family and both parents working full-time, I am sure that they all took turns feeling that way when they were young. But through the past three decades, Sweetie and I have nurtured a strong, loving, life-long commitment to each other. Our love has brought us through the good, the bad, and the ugly in our past and present family and extended family relationships, as we clung to each other and did our best to honor our families of origin. Love is the choice we have made, and it has been a good one. I am sad to say that this kind of a relationship is not something that my husband's siblings have had.

Throughout these past two months, I continue to knit and cope with my grief and confusion in the best way I know how. My mother-in-law and our nephews plan to bury Cindy's and Randy's ashes in the woods, on their property. She asked if I would knit covers for the containers before then, and I have. The activity has actually been quite therapeutic for me. I have grieved with each stitch, and I have prayed for those left behind.

 

I have also created some trinkets to hang from my rear-view mirror, to help me remember the siblings we will not see again. I added a little teardrop to each one, because I will always mourn the fact that they are gone too soon, their deaths horrific and at the hands of their own brother...and there are still tears to be shed.

So now you know the rest of the story. Where do I go from here? I keep knitting and praying. I pray every day for each family member: mother, father, nephews, brothers (even that baby brother in jail), and all the extended family and friends. I pray for my husband, and I pray that we all learn to live and love well in our new normal. I pray for peace that passes understanding, and I pray for a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ to come to each of the surviving family members. I pray and I watch for others who may be feeling small and unimportant. I pray that I might bring some encouragement through a smile or a kind word, that I might brighten a gloomy day with the light of Christ, even if there is only time for a brief glimmer of hope to shine through. 

I know that this post could be seen as a bit of a downer, but I really don't intend it to be. I just wanted to finish telling what needs to be told, mostly for my own personal closure. I hope that you have found something encouraging in your day today, but even if you have not, it is still early. There is time. Be looking, and know that to me, you matter. You are important. You are loved. 

Thanks for stopping by. Won't you smile at someone today?

Keep your Fork...and your Spoon...and your Knife...

So, I have been busy, but this is really what I want to share today. I heard the following story in church once, and I loved it. I hope you like it too.

There was a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal Illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order", she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. The woman also requested to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?" came the pastor's reply. "This is very important," the woman continued. " I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That surprises you, doesn't it?" the woman asked.

"Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.

The woman explained. "In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork'. It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?'.

Then I want you to tell them: "Keep your fork...the best is yet to come". The pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman goodbye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming.

I found the story online here, so I copied it to share with you. It was one of the first things I thought of when I received my tiny knife, fork and spoon charms from CatChic on Etsy, as I planned what kind of knitting jewelry they would become. How cool to always be able to have your own silverware with you...especially with the holidays looming!

And, since I nearly always debut my new designs here, I really wanted to share the new counters I made yesterday with you all first! What d'you think?

Medium 20-row counters in the photos above and below.Small 20-row counter in the photo below.

So, save your fork, y'all! And knit in good health!