Barefoot Communion

Last night we had our last summer 505 church service outside on the lawn. The weather was absolutely perfect. The sun was low in the sky, the breeze was light, the temperature was just right - not too warm, not too cool. As I listened to Becca's sermon, I heard the small, quiet voice in my mind say, "remove your shoes, you are standing on holy ground."

Taking off my shoes sounded like a super idea. In general, I think people should be barefoot on the grass. The grass just seems to draw us to take off our shoes. Maybe it goes back to childhood, maybe back to our ancestors who traveled across the landscape without shoes. But our feet were made to touch the ground. When I took off my sandals, the grass was cool and prickly. I felt free, and a little bit naughty, this was a church service after all and I was breaking the dress code.

For a moment I thought about how spiritual it would be serve communion later in the service in bare feet. It felt right. It felt holy and sacred and perfect. Removing the shoes that separate me from the ground, that protect me from things that might hurt, that comfort me from pain and provide support, that cover the not-so-pretty parts. I wanted to shed all those barriers and just meet the Holy in my bare feet on the grass and feel God's green earth under my feet. I wanted to stand up there breaking bread (and the dress code), serving communion, and experience that sacred ritual a new way.

But my inner critic spoke up and asked what that would look like to the observer, and how I would be judged? I looked down at my 48 year old feet, the bunions, the slightly red, raised calluses from years of rubbing the insides of shoes, the DIY toenail paint job, and then I replaced my sandals.

I regret that now.

I want to know people authentically and to be known authentically myself. I want to worship authentically, and be able to authentically offer communion - even in my bare feet. Yet I was more concerned about the judgment of others (during Communion of all times!), and the appearances of having my shoes off - as if that would somehow communicate that I was making the sacred less so by being barefoot when actually the opposite would have occurred. It is clear that I need to diminish the voice of my inner critic and amplify the small, quiet voice of the Holy Spirit.

I've learned my lesson; I know better now.

Next time I have the chance, I will serve Barefoot Communion and it will be spectacular!

The Bald Eagle Shrug

First, thanks for all the positive feedback on the crocheted shrug I made this week. A few of you have asked for the pattern, so I'm putting together this little blog post to provide links to the original pattern, as well as the alterations I made to mine, and some photos, and tips.

I saw this shrug pattern online and was totally enamored with the snuggly, soft look of it. However, I wanted mine to be shorter, more like waist length, and maybe just to the elbows. At least for starters, I wanted to start small, see how it went.

Lion Brand also has free patterns for a variety shrug styles. And there are free patterns available on Ravelry.

So, here's the pattern for the one I made this week while camping at Bald Eagle State Park in Howard, PA:

Supplies:
About 500 yards of super bulky #6 yarn. I used Lion Brand, Heartland, Thick & Quick, the color is Katmai #151.
9mm or 10mm hook (the original pattern calls for a 10mm, but I accidentally used the 9mm and the shrug came out quite thick).
A measuring tape
Stitch markers
Tapestry Needle
Scissors

Steps:
1) Measure on yourself the length you want the shrug to be. I measured from my neck to my waist which was about 25 inches.
2) Measure on yourself (you might need a friend for this) the width from just above your left elbow to just above your right elbow while your arms are held out to the sides (imagine you are the letter T). Mine was about 28 inches.
3) Chain as many stitches as required to measure the length you chose in step 1 (neck to waist). Mine was about 55 stitches. Do not stretch the chain, let it be loose.
4) Single Crochet (SC) into each stitch of the chain until you reach the end.
5) Turn your work, chain one, and SC in the back loops only to the end.
6) Repeat step 5 until your work reaches about the width you measured in step 2 (elbow to elbow).
7) When I had still enough yarn left to do a couple more rows, I opted to turn my work 90 degrees and SC along the entire outer edge of the shrug creating a neat crocheted edge along all four sides.

8) Once the rectangle is complete, lay it flat and fold the corners down toward the center until the long sides (soon to be the arms) meet. It should look like this:

9) Measure about 5 inches in from the outside edge and place a stich marker on the top and bottom panels. You will stich together the arm panel next.

10) Line up the ends of the arms panels, and using the Tapestry Needle, stich the two rows of SC together, working from the center toward the armhole. Stop at the stich markers and either knot the end or work the yarn back to the center in an opposite manner (which is what I did below, it sort of formed an X). 

11) Repeat step 10 on the left side of the shrug. You should have the same number of stitches within each arm hole. 

Voila! You've made a shrug!

I'd love to hear how yours turns out, or if you have questions or comments about my instructions.

Love & Peace to you & yours!

~Jen

Conflict and Resolution

(Originally written in May 12, 2016; published April 22, 2017)

I ruminate about so many things but I don't often come to any conclusion and so the ruminations just piddle away. Sometimes they return and we spend some more time together and then they wander off again. It's like being visited by an old friend. We rehash the familiar, question what's new, rant about what's wrong and then go our merry way having resolved nothing except that we will do it again sometime soon.

I like resolution. I don't often get it, though. Pity.

Two days ago I resolved an old itch and got a tattoo. Which resulted in a huge conflict with my ten year old son who apparently has much higher standards than I taught him. I found out that he finds my tattoo to be embarrassing - to him! Selfish little beast. Who taught him that? Since when do we judge people by their tattoos? And this from the kid who can't stand to hear swearing - just wait until you get on the middle school/high school bus next fall, kiddo! Seriously, you can't even say "crap" without getting, "Hey! Don't say that!" from him. I've started saying "Carp!" when I'm annoyed.

When he came home from school and saw the bandage around my wrist, he stormed up to his room, slammed the door and refused to come out or speak to me. He ate dinner in his room. He refused to speak to me and his Dad. He was not messing around. The kid was pissed. He's still pissed.

I picked him up from school (an after-school art class), and we drove to a parking lot where we could talk. I explained that one of the things kids should learn as they grow up is how to resolve conflict. This was one of those situations. We had a big conflict and we needed to resolve it. I resolved ahead of time that I would not exactly win this conflict. Neither of us would. The tattoo will stay - obviously. And so would the betrayal and the hurt and the disappointment he felt. But what could be resolved was the way we dealt with our response to those feelings.

Since his response was to shut me out, that needed to change. And since my desired response was to get defensive and explain all the ways I was right and he was wrong - that would not be allowed to happen.

I gave him time to say everything he needed to say: how angry he was, how betrayed he felt, how embarrassed he is, how he hates my tattoo. And that was it. All I asked was that he not give me the silent treatment and shut down the communication. I didn't ask him to change his mind about the tattoo. I didn't tell him he was wrong.

He is speaking to me again. In fact, we're laughing and wrestling, and being silly again, almost like it never happened. But the tattoo is still there, a visual reminder of the pain he feels, a pain which I now feel, too. And now I must resolve my own inner conflict: if I had it to do over again, would I do it?  Yes, no, maybe. I don't know yet. I'm still ruminating on this one.