Gathering: Homespun Essays from Beech Tree Lane

There are hands that lift up, hands that hold; hands are often the heart of her handiwork. I sat amazed, eyes wide, listening to her. So at home with her art hanging on the wall. She feels so deeply and is so easily moved to create and make and do and recreate and remake and undo. Her grandmother’s house dresses always had safety pins, she says, and so does this quilt – right here. See?

They were always at the ready to keep it together. The grandmother and the pin.  There is a whole lot of Jesus in her art. There is a whole lot of soul. There is a piece of self-expression with threaded words written onto cloth and a young woman with a microphone. She is affirming, loving, classy, independent, caring. She is self-affirming. She affirms us all. There is finished work she sells. There is finished art she shares and packs up and hauls back home.

There are the unfinished pieces she carries with her in her bag. This woman, so old and so young, timeless and beautiful, is a work of art.  She created a purple sky with dove and sun; blue water and golden sand. In this story, there is a woman robed in white, dark cocoa-faced, at peace. This is my favorite story to see on the wall. 

She will not part with it. It is her best-spun yarn as well, the woman at peace.