Friendship Quilt

As a young adult, a dear friend introduced me to Anne of Green Gables. Anne pines for a bosom friend, a kindred spirit, whom she finds in Diana Barry. Maybe you have one Best Friend. Maybe you have a Friendship Quilt. Either way, we can be grateful for the friends in our lives.

Guest post: Kristi Grover

Many years ago I endured a hard season. I’d been quite ill and, even as I was recovering, doctors couldn’t give me any assurances that life would go back to the ‘normal’ to which I had become accustomed.

Additionally, my trusted inner circle of friends—small in number but strong in their support for me—had disappeared. Every single one. Each had moved away due to changes in work, family needs, or a sense that they needed to go now to pursue their life’s dream lest their window of opportunity forever closed. I could support each in their individual decisions and celebrate what they had contributed to the lives of those impacted by their unique gifting while here…but deep inside I felt (irrationally, I know) betrayed by their departure when I especially needed them.

On a long drive together, I finally shared this feeling with my husband—even though I was embarrassed by it and acknowledged how narrowly focused it was. And then I segued on to how I had always longed for a “best friend.”

In the books I read as a girl, the protagonist always had a best friend, someone who understood everything and was always loyal and stayed in their life for keeps. In childhood and early adulthood I heard others speak of their “best friend”—someone who was, even if they now lived miles apart, worth the effort to keep close and share life. Was it me? Was I somehow unworthy of having a “best friend”?

This was long before Facebook and cell phones and frequent flyer miles and email—all ways to keep in touch now (or keep others at a distance, but that is another story). My heart ached with lifelong accumulated losses. Perhaps it wasn’t a big deal when viewed from a distance: I kept abreast of national and international news and knew this was not a cosmic problem and was quite aware of how much I had for which to be grateful. And I was grateful. But it still touched a hurt place in my heart.

My husband, a very good listener who thinks before he speaks, heard and considered my outpouring. He responded: “Perhaps another way to look at it is as a friendship quilt. You treasure your grandma’s old quilts and value the stories behind each scrap of fabric. Maybe friendship is like that. Think over your life and all the friends you’ve been blessed with and the ones currently in your life, too, even though those pieces in your quilt won’t be as large as you’d like. In the end, don’t you have enough pieces now, and in the years to come, to piece together a friendship quilt? Maybe you won’t have one single blanket, a forever ‘best friend,’ but still, it will be enough to wrap around you and keep the winds of loneliness from chilling you.”

I was stunned—not for the first time and certainly not the last—by his wisdom and perspective. A friendship quilt. Instantly, my mind filled with new thoughts: from what I was losing as dear friends moved away to profound gratitude that they had been in my life, in rich and deep ways, in the first place. Thoughts of other friends through the years crowded my mind. Focusing on what I had, rather than what I had lost, changed my perspective.

A friendship quilt. Even then I could imagine the loving warmth as I pulled it close around me. And it gave me a sense of adventure about friendships to come, people I hadn’t met yet who would delight me and challenge me and deepen me in ways I couldn’t even imagine. A lifelong friendship quilt that would continue to grow throughout the years.

*****

Friendship Quilt: First occurring midcentury 1800’s, constructed with blocks (or stars or triangles or other shapes) made up of bits of fabric salvaged from worn out clothing. Individual blocks were created and often signed by each quilter as a way to express the love they felt for the person who would be given the finished quilt. Frequently given at times of change such as weddings or births or when someone was about to move away, they were a way to (literally) stay in touch with the circle of women who made such quilts. Until recent times, such a quilt given away at the time of a move was a way of recognizing that they might never again see one another. Sometimes fabrics from family members no longer living would be incorporated to remind the recipient that such precious bonds always remain close. A gathering to stitch together the individual pieces and quilt the top through the filling to the reverse side would be a time of joy and storytelling and often include hints of grief as participants realized that an era of life had ended. But the quilt would remain as silent, ongoing testimony to love and shared history.

some things that are true about me

My work in life is as a teacher and storyteller.  I take joy in many things – time spent with children and my family and friends, working in various ways for justice, hiking along high mountain ridge lines and walking in the woods and sitting quietly to stare at the ocean, hearing people share their life stories and affirming them, writing and reading, rainy afternoons by the fire with my small grey cat, listening to music and singing and dancing, intelligent conversation and laughter, making a home. These and other things are true about me but the truest thing is that I am a child of God.

 

Phoenix

It can be hard to find beauty as you walk in the wasteland… And some days, seasons, in our lives feel just like that: devoid of beauty, wasted, bleak. But there is hope, friends, always hope. My friend Kristi reminds us to look to the phoenix. Grieve the losses, yes, but look for the new arising from the old.

re:create recess #18: Kristi Grover

Phoenix: a beautiful mythological bird resembling an eagle. It burns to death at the end of its life cycle…and from the ashes another phoenix arises.

As a young child I was absolutely fascinated by the phoenix myth I encountered through story. As an adult I continue to be intrigued by the imagery. I can look back over my life and clearly see many parallels when I consider various eras, relationships, and energies as they emerged, blossomed, and later flamed out—some slowly and quietly and others in a sudden whoosh of flame, leaving behind only ashes.

Yet, each time, those ashes held the promise of re-creation. Ashes are, after all, soil for new growth. They may appear to be a dull, gritty waste but they are in fact rich with nutrients and conducive to vibrant new life. Re-creation.

In the story I read as a child the protagonist is a young boy who has experienced a series of losses. He is lonely, suddenly living in an unfamiliar place, and not clear about what to do next. He strikes out on a solitary, aimless ramble in the woods and comes across a tiny phoenix emerging from what looks like a campfire. They become friends and share wondrous adventures until one day when the phoenix disappears.

The boy’s search for his trusted companion leads him eventually to the same place they first met. He witnesses the flames engulfing his dear friend, and grieves as he accepts that their time together has ended. Eventually he gathers himself to leave until a small sound causes him to look back and he sees a tiny new phoenix emerging from the ashes. Suddenly there is hope and the promise of new adventures.

In my life I have seen this pattern repeat in various ways. A good friend moves away or some other change causes the end of a once close relationship. A dearly loved family member dies. A move severs connection on many levels. A health challenge suddenly arises which effectively closes off meaningful work.

Even good, happily anticipated changes hold some significant loss. I was overjoyed as I anticipated being married to my beloved one, yet also privately needed to grieve significant losses as my life changed quite dramatically. As my children grew into maturity and moved off into lives with their own families, friends, and work, I could rejoice in the new beauty I saw as they grew into the promise of early years, yet there was also bittersweet acknowledgement that a precious window of time closed—family life on this particular level. What helped me in these times, and others like them, was knowing that a new era of life would open up eventually with its own extraordinary beauty.

Each time I needed to accept the change, grieve what was lost, and honor memories. And then I needed to wait patiently until it was time for a new beginning. As a woman of faith, I needed to trust that God was working things out in ways beyond my understanding and that He would bring into my life new relationships, work, or insights which would open the way to new adventures in my life journey with Him.

It is hard to wait, harder still to wait in hope with an open, trusting heart. I have often thought at such times of the answer I would give to young children in my care when, school day over, they waited while all the other children were picked up by a parent or led off to another activity. “When is my mom coming?” they would ask, sometimes with tears. And my answer would always be, “She’ll be here at just the right time.” For young children, waiting is very hard, even agonizing.

Even a two-minute delay feels like forever when everyone else has someone to be with or something wonderful to do. But Mom or Dad or Nanny or Grandparent always did show up eventually and they’d embark on new adventures together, grief eclipsed by the promise of excitement ahead.

In my “wisdom years” now, I’ve lived with chronic pain, cancer, tough challenges to my marriage, deep concerns for my children’s safety as they headed off time and again into dangerous places to do the work they believed God had called them to do, the end of relationships with various family members and friends due to death, moves, changes in work, and many other challenges.

Each loss has needed a time of grieving: remembering the good and trying to learn from the difficult. And always, always, at just the right time—not necessarily the time I would choose but the right time—new opportunities, new challenges, new relationships have emerged. I am given the opportunity to be “re-created” once more. The ashes of loss are real but the promise of new adventures ahead is also real.

I will choose to both honor the beauty of what is gone and welcome the beauty of what lies ahead.

some things that are true about me

My work in life is as a teacher and storyteller.  I take joy in many things – time spent with children and my family and friends, working in various ways for justice, hiking along high mountain ridge lines and walking in the woods and sitting quietly to stare at the ocean, hearing people share their life stories and affirming them, writing and reading, rainy afternoons by the fire with my small grey cat, listening to music and singing and dancing, intelligent conversation and laughter, making a home.  These and other things are true about me but the truest thing is that I am a child of God.

 

Love as Creative Energy

I don’t dance well but, when the music and mood strike, watch out! And I have danced with today’s guest post author; together, we have joyfully boogied at a friend’s wedding celebration and at concerts in the park. She danced with my kiddo first, though…she was one of his fabulous PreK teachers and, though I didn’t know it at the time, I’m sure he regularly moved between observer and participant during “Friday dance.” What I did know, what was abundantly clear, was that she loved him. She loved her students and she loved their parents. Her quiet wisdom draws us all in and keeps us there. I wish everyone I know could spend at least an hour soaking in Kristi’s generous presence, listening and being heard, learning and sharing, praying, laughing, dancing.

Create Challenge #16: Kristi Grover

“Love is the Energy of creation.”–Dorothy Sayers, Mind of the Maker

One of my mentors has often told me how, all her life long, she loved color and shapes. When she discovered paint as a young girl, it brought her great joy to use this medium to celebrate color and shapes on paper and canvas. Though she lived in a community that viewed such artistic expression as wrong and sinful, her father was held in high esteem; under his protection, she had freedom to paint. Moreover, her father was highly creative in his own way and encouraged her to express herself, to grow as an artist.

Eventually she fell in love with a wonderful young man and, after marrying him, moved far from home. No longer under her father’s protection, painting was no longer permissible. While she rejoiced in new love with her husband, she also experienced a private sense of loss and grief.Sunflower_Cosmos

Slowly she found new ways to create beauty which were acceptable within the community: a garden with wide splashes of overlapping color, dramatic stone anchors, and an interplay of light and darkness; quilts and rugs and blankets fashioned of fabric bursting with innovative design; meals which celebrated the senses; a home which brought joy to all who entered. These gave her outlets for her creative energy and yet there remained an essential loneliness–she yearned to paint, and that was not allowed.

One hot summer day she canned fruit and vegetables from her garden. As the day ended and suppertime drew near, all kitchen surfaces were filled with cooling jars of produce. Where could she prepare their meal? She cleared space by stacking several jars on the window sill. As she turned to collect supper supplies, she suddenly saw a brilliant painting on the wide white kitchen wall. The setting sun burned through the varicolored jars and projected purples and reds and greens and oranges in a spectacular display. She stood still, transfixed by beauty. Smiling, she adjusted one jar to make the colors flow better. Then, in a burst of energy, she cleared them all off the sill and pulled together a different creation. After that, she said, “Every afternoon God and I would paint together.”colored light

Eventually the young couple found a different community in which to honor God, where each could celebrate the unique artistic gifts they had been given. It has been a joy to witness their creative life journeys, and yet I have returned again and again to this particular story as an encouragement when I feel alone or stuck in my creative journey as an artist.

I am not a visual artist. I work with words and with the lives of others as I interact with them as teacher, mentor, friend. What I take from my mentor’s story is that creativity flourishes in an atmosphere of love. Everyone is creative, as we each reflect the image of God, so then I choose to love those with whom I am in contact and rejoice in how they uniquely celebrate God.

For the many years I taught young children, “Friday dance” was a tradition in my classroom. At the beginning of each school year I explained that I would play music at a certain time each Friday and those who would like to dance could do so. There was also a place where those who opted not to dance could sit and chat with friends, but I made it my own challenge to find music which would entice the most dance-resistant individuals to participate.

Occasionally I had a student who would fold his or her arms and stubbornly say, “I don’t dance.” That just made the challenge more interesting. Since the variety of music played through the year included classical, movie themes, rock, international folk, and country, even the most recalcitrant would eventually choose to dance, would even feel compelled to dance.

One student in particular stands out. He sat stubbornly with folded arms and rolling eyes for months. “I don’t dance!” he would say again and again.

“I simply haven’t found your music,” I would think.

And then, one lovely rainy Friday, he danced. The music that week, I had told the children, was warrior music; when it was originally played the warriors in a community would leap and lunge and swing swords and enact a battle as they danced. As the music’s first few notes began, I could see my reluctant dancer fighting to hold still. Suddenly he leapt out and, slashing with an imaginary sword and grimacing as he faced imaginary enemies, he danced and swirled his way in and around the other children.

When the music ended he stood, chest heaving and light of battle still in his eyes. He looked at me and slowly smiled. I smiled back. As the next song began, my warrior dancer leapt into the fray once more.dance kids

I truly believe we have all been gifted with unique creative abilities. Some individuals, it is true, use theirs in inappropriate, destructive ways. But many haven’t yet discovered their particular ‘medium;’ they haven’t yet found the music which makes their heart dance.

A friend of mine had recently been named to head a large industrial facility which had experienced dramatic loss in both output and morale. She heard my Friday dance story at a dinner party and told me later, “I need to find the ‘music’ which compels each individual member of my executive team to dance.” Obviously she did not envision her executive team dancing as they worked–given the nature of their work, a chemical research plant, the mind boggles at the thought–but rather she wanted to inspire each one to find joy and fulfillment in their work and then inspire those who worked under them to discover in their own ways a similar joy and fulfillment.

When I have lost the creative spark, I know I need to be quiet so I can once again hear my own music in my heart. Eventually I know I will turn around and be amazed at the beauty of the colors on a once white wall of my life as I hear the unique sound of the love song the Creator sings over me. And then God and I will again create beauty together. His energy and love will inspire creativity as we work together in the lives of those around me.

some things that are true about me:

My work in life is as a teacher and storyteller. I take joy in many things – time spent with children and my family and friends; working in various ways for justice; hiking along high mountain ridge lines, walking in the woods, and sitting quietly to stare at the ocean; hearing and affirming as people share their life stories; writing and reading; rainy afternoons by the fire with my small grey cat; listening to music and singing and dancing; intelligent conversation and laughter; making a home. These and other things are true about me but the truest thing is that I am a child of God.