Monday, April 11, 2011


As I mentioned last week, we've been in a flurry of shifting rooms and beds and stuff around here.  And by we, I mean mostly Beve, with a little help from E, and far less from me. Unfortunately, Spring Break ended before the shuffle could be completed, as is often the way of things with us.  Beve's waiting for help from a rather harried, busy friend who is much better mechanically than either of us could ever dream of being, to assist in the Murphy-bed set-up, so in the meantime, my sewing area is here:
Yep, smack-dab in the middle of our living room.  And most of my sewing projects, fabric, etc is here:
piled high on the dining room table.  And yes, that is Jackson's collar of shame perched on the corner of a chair, as well as a towel slung over the back of another.  A table runner RE made for me hangs over another, and...well, apparently I've let things pile up along with the fabric bins. Sigh. 

This is not to say that I've been a total slacker.  The project on my sewing table turned into this:
Weeks ago, Beve asked me to make some quilts to put on our large sectional in the TV room.  Here's a sordid confession: we've long had an old comforter I cut in half laying over our beautiful sectional.  And here's the reason:
Yep, we let our dogs get on the furniture. I know some (most!) of you are shaking your heads and quivering in your boots at such a thing, and believe me, there was a day when I was right beside you pointing my finger at such pet-owners.  Dogs did not belong on couches.  No way, no how.  But then I spent a year on a couch.  And one of my great pleasures that year was having Jemima, my beloved, beautiful lab, lie at the end of the couch at my curled feet.  It wasn't long before Jackson was creeping up onto the loveseat across the room, and who was I to say it was okay for her but not for him.  And pretty soon it was Johnny bar the door, and our dogs were climbing on our beds as well.  And frankly, I just didn't have the energy to stop them.  Thank God (really!) our children were so well trained by then, or we'd have had three hellions on our hands, I'm sure.  Anyway, to protect our furniture, we came up with the old quilt method, until this last week.  Now we have the beautiful new quilt method of protecting them.  And it makes me very, very happy.  I've HATED those old quilts.  But these two long narrow quilts do the job and appeal to me.  So I made a couple of pillows to match.

And the other project of my week was this bed quilt for my sister, RE.  She actually bought all the fabric and sent it over to me.  She'd liked the pattern when I made it for SK two years ago (wow, how time flies), so wanted one like it.  Knew she's too busy to do it herself, so I said I'd do it.  Here's the one I made SK:
And here's the one I just finished this afternoon for RE:

So that's my Spring Break in a nutshell. 
Well, that and a HUGE kafafel with Grampie and his perscription insurance.  It makes my head ache to think about it.  Hours on the phone, miscommunication, intractable laws and inflexible insurance.  A person with dementia can be his own worst enemy and there's no protection for him.  Someone asked the other day when I'm ever going to get a rest.  When I was talking to RE today and told her that, E overheard me and quipped, "You can rest when you die, Mom."  See what a thoughtful daughter I have?  And what great perspective!

But she is right.  The notion of retirement and rest, that we are owed this--it's a western construct.  Not a biblical one.  In the Kingdom of God, we are called to work and labor--whatever that means for each of us--until He calls us home.  However we are meant to be used, we should be used up.  To the very end.  But somehow, in our culture, we think otherwise.  Now I'm not saying--please understand this--that one must stay in their corporate or educational or hospital or whatever job until the day he or she dies.  However, I absolutely believe that once the years of service to a particular company or field are finished, it does not mean a person is finished being useful to God.  Or should just sit in a rocking chair watching the butterflies and the folks passing on the road.  Or play golf (or watch golf, though wow, wasn't that a great Masters?  I love watching it!).  The end of one kind of work means the beginning of a different kind.  Doesn't it?  And perhaps that work will only take place (as mine does) from a chair in your living room, with a Bible, a computer, and time to pray. But it's vital-to-His-Kingdom, real work.  I believe that. 

Sabbath is good.  And even a year of Jubilee is good. But He has something for you, even at the end of your days.  You can rest when you die.
Right, E?

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