Snow and dreams

Yesterday we strung twinkly white fairy-lights across my window in a cheerfully haphazard fashion.

They make me happy.

And ease the wintery chill that sneaks in through the single-glazed panes and mocks the broken radiator next to my desk.

Now when it grows dark I see stars in this cold, smog-choked city. About fifty of 'em, shining for me.

Or so I like to think :)

This morning London had its first snow of the season. It's not sticking, but watching it fall is still a lovely experience.

Besides, sticking would mean a long, chaotic journey home. I don't mind if it happens overnight - then we might get a snow day. (Ok, a work-at-home day ... but I'd still find time for maple snow candy).

************

I intended to keep a list of thank yous over the weekend to compile into a bumper post of sorts.

It didn't happen.

Honestly? I struggled.

I climbed into a mental bubble of self-pity and stayed put. On the outside I seemed happy enough. I had a lovely shopping day with my mother. Spent another wonderful Sunday at church.

But inside, that quiet place no-one but God goes, there was discontent. Confusion. Worry.

So many decisions to make. So many dreams I thought had gone.

Yesterday I read a post by Sara-Sophia about daring to speak our dreams out loud. To be unashamed of having them. Unafraid to pray them true, come what may. Unafraid to take a step.

Then I realised.

Somewhere along the line I'd convinced myself that my dreams were silly. Selfish. I'd prescribed a good dose of sensible, swallowed it down with water and told myself to stop being so whimsical.

And I still do it from time to time.

I'm 26. I should be climbing the ladder of life the normal way, I tell myself. One cousin just bought a condo with her husband. Another had a home in the suburbs ready and waiting before she married. Both work busy, extremely highly-paid jobs. In fact, most everyone in my family - all of us cousins, the closest thing I have to siblings - does a good, sensible well-paid job. They have good, sensible dreams. House. Car. Stability. They have plenty of fun, find plenty of time to play. But the "important things" are firmly in place.

Me?

I dream of writing. Crafting. Folksy harmonies. Handmade and homemade love. Reaching out to people. They're fuzzy dreams. But they're my dreams. They haunt me daily; remind me that you can't fit a square peg in a round hole.

And I am very square.

I work a job that pays well below the national average, because I am passionate about it. Because I can say, with no vanity, that it makes a difference - however small - in the lives of the poor.

But it's not easy explaining this to people. It's not easy convincing them that I'm not being selfish. That I'm not too lazy to do a "high power" job. That my degrees weren't a waste of time and money. That I want to live my life passionately and sincerely. Do things I love, not things I "ought" to do. That I will eventually move onto to another job that inevitably pays better because of my increased experience. That starting "at the bottom" is the nature of my chosen work.

I'm tired. Of explaining. Of being afraid. Of doing nothing for fear it will all go terribly wrong. Protecting myself - and destroying myself in the process because it is His job, and His alone, to protect me:

"Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." Isaiah 41:10.

So?

I'll write - blog for my 5 followers; share my heart, get used to reading my words.
I'll craft - knit my simple scarf and breathe calm when it takes longer than it ought.
I'll sing - embrace my place in a barbershop chorus and harmonise to my heart's content; trust Him to take it further in His timing if He wills.
I'll give homemade love - cook for my beloved; hunt down the perfect Christmas cookie recipe for my sisters
I'll reach out - help show the developing world how science can lift them out of poverty sustainably; attempt to make friends in the blogosphere.

These are my small steps. Steps towards dreams that won't die.

When I'm feeling really brave? I'll sit down and pray clarity over my fuzzy heart-crys.

And I'll come here and declare them.

Out loud.

Pray for me?

Giving thanks. Because we may wallow now and then, but it's never impossible:

#216 Bright magenta coats that defy gloomy weather
#217 Vintage-inspired handbags
#218 Stargazer lilies slowly unfolding
#219 A warm, soft duvet
#220 An empty news inbox
#221 Stars in the window
#222 A crazy, colourful skirt that makes me feel like a fairy princess - and the realisation that it's okay if others don't understand
#223 'Mooli' - delicious Indian street food
#224 Embroidered felt
#225 Snow
#226 The Lovely Guide, which continues to inspire me and speak courage into my heart

And speaking of fairytales ...

This beauty is winging its way across the Atlantic to me:

It looks magical. 

I predict much dancing and twirling ... 

and that'll just be when I open the package ;)

I'll write more (much more!) when it arrives - all the way from New Orleans. For now, head over to CreoleSha and check out their 'Funky Eco Winter Wonderland Tattered Fairy Pixie Skirt' - how's that for a whimsical name?

They have a few that are ready to go but you can get one custom made, which is what I did. Big thank you to the lovelies at The Lovely Guide for the recommendation - and the encouragement to channel our inner fairy princess.

"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again." C.S. Lewis

Remember your fairytales (C.S. Lewis)

In speaking of this desire for our own far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. 

I am almost committing an indecency. 

I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you—the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence; the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves; the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. 

We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. 

We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name.

Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth’s expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. 

But all this is a cheat. 

If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. 

The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. 

These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

Do you think I am trying to weave a spell? 

Perhaps I am; but remember your fairy tales. 

Spells are used for breaking enchantments as well as for inducing them. And you and I have need of the strongest spell that can be found to wake us from the evil enchantment of worldliness which has been laid upon us for nearly a hundred years. 

Almost our whole education has been directed to silencing this shy, persistent, inner voice; almost all our modern philosophies have been devised to convince us that the good of man is to be found on this earth.

Mother-daughter day

A couple of times a year, mum gets the urge to visit Harrods - Britain's largest department store, crammed to the rafters with luxury goods. So we make a day of it, have lunch somewhere nice (usually the Lebanese restaurant in-store - seriously, this place is *huge*) and stop off for a stroll through Covent Garden on the way home - which is lovely any time of year but particularly magical approaching Christmas.

It's become something of a tradition for us. We always say we'll try something different next time but, right down to the choice of food, I think we secretly like the routine. Maybe because it makes it seem more like our thing? I don't know. We actually queued at a Tuscan restaurant when mum started shuffling. "This place is really ... cramped. I think we should go to the Lebanese place. What do you think?" Cue big grin from me.

We only came away with a CD and an orange blossom macaron from Laduree that mum said tasted like perfume (I tried to convert her, folks, but it didn't work), but navigating Central London on a Saturday - one of just four Saturdays before Christmas, to boot - has left me exhausted.

To top it all off, it is *freezing* here. You'll have to forgive us Londoners. Being situated in the south of England, we usually get the fairer weather. We don't do well with snow - a few inches and our transport system is pretty much crippled. I kid you not.

And tonight? really feels like the white stuff is headed our way. I am sitting here in a big, fluffy red robe shivering. A spot under the duvet, head and all, has my name all over it.

But I digress.

I'm so thankful for today; for the quality time that I got to spend with my mother. I treasure days like these, which - I'm ashamed to admit - have gotten fewer and further between since I started working.

I leave you with three pretties I came across on our adventures. I think mum's would fill more than a page. Mainly because they include, y'know, grown-up pretties - like placemats and table runners and vases :)

Nannarific fairisle = love. Look at those gorgeous, rich colours

These shoes are pure magic. And the fact that they're flats makes it
all the more amazing - heels usually get all the fun

This perfume smells *incredible*, and the French-style bottle
multiplies the loveliness ten-fold

Hope you're having a great weekend. Oh, I should probably explain the blog. While the sassiness of the old design was cute, it was starting to get a bit much for me. After a fruitless hour and a half of playing around, I decided on this until my brain loves me again.

PS: Steve Martin plays a mean banjo.

I heart Mexican food

Wahaca Soho. Sadly I didn't have my Blackberry on me
and couldn't find a picture of the chandelier online

I used to loathe Mexican food with a passion. Controversial, I know. But my experiences of it largely consisted of orange melted cheese slathered over everything.

Which really isn't my thing.

Every Mexican restaurant I went to, the menu was "Cheese with ... ". I would choose the least cheesy item I could find and either eat it or, occassionally, do away with the fromage and eat the "with".

A couple of months ago, my friends and I had dinner at a place in Covent Garden. Feeling a little unwell and knowing that, even at a push, my stomach wouldn't be able to handle it, I asked for quesadillas without the cheese (I know that melted cheese is the whole point of a QD but it was the only dish with a manageable portion).

Our waiter looked horrified. "With-OUT the cheese. Without the cheese??!!" A few people looked up. I swallowed slowly. "Yes. Without the cheese."

I'm pretty sure he sneered at me.

Some time later our food arrived. My little pitta bread quarters containing chicken, guacamole and not much else looked pretty tragic. The waiter made a point of setting it down and enunciating, "Quesadillas. No cheese."

Thankfully, I won't have to endure that kind of thing anymore. Because, friends, I have discovered Wahaca.

Apparently it's been around for a while (being a former Mexican cuisine hater, I would never have sought it out) but a branch just opened in Soho. My work colleagues and I checked it out at lunch today to celebrate the launch of our spotlight on nanotechnology for health.

Churros. You *have* to try it ...

Wahaca, which prides itself on 'Mexican market eating' is amazing. The yummiest, most affordable Mexican food I've ever eaten. If any of you visit London, we're going.

The place itself is spacious, well-lit and cheerfully craft-y without being pretentious - we sat on a slightly elevated table underneath a fabulous chandelier fashioned from banana boxes. This all provides a nice, laid-back atmosphere that's more friendly catchup than "work lunch".

And the menu. My word. They sell chargrilled chicken. Pork pibil. With spicy pickled onions. Rice. And no cheese!

But if you want cheese? (Like normal people). You'll get it. Lots of it. Here is the menu. Because I am that excited. Apologies to those of you who *have* tasted cheese-less Mexican dishes and are wondering what the big deal is.

I had the Baja-California fish tacos, consisting of delicious plaice goujons served up with rice and spicy slaw. And for dessert?

Churros.

Crispy fried doughnuts sprinkled with cinnamon and served with a little jug of warm chocolate sauce for dipping. I saw Nigella Lawson making them on Saturday and had been craving them ever since. Mission accomplished. They are so bad for the waistline. But so good for the soul. And getting to eat them with your hands makes the experience all the more blissful.

I officially heart Mexican food. Or maybe I just heart Wahaca ...

And as an added bonus? Their business cards are Serrano chilli matchstick seeds. Guess who's going to do some gardening on her windowsill? :)

Encouraged

In the six weeks or so since I started a public blog, I've "met" some lovely people and had the privilege of reading their wonderful blogs. As I mentioned to Kandace, in so many things I felt alone ... and then I discovered an online world of like-minded sisters striving for the narrow path. It has been such a blessing to me I sometimes wonder whether I'm dreaming.

Yesterday, several posts spoke directly to my heart. Beautifully-written posts that had the very stamp of God on them. From the encouraging to the magical, they warmed my soul and lifted my spirits.

Chantel, who hosted the fabulous GreaThings 2010 blog hop - I'll join next year, promise! - spoke about counting our blessings and looking for little things to be grateful for each day.

" ... sometimes the biggest blessings can be masked in the form of the little and almost obscure moments of our day. It can be raindrops on pine trees, or the call of a loon over a still lake, or the smile of a stranger, or the warmth of a cup of tea and the comfort of a favorite verse. It can be anything that speaks of God’s love, anything that warms our hearts, anything that reminds us that He cares. Because He does.  And we should be grateful for all these things."

The chaos of my life was put into perspective through Elisabeth's lovely post, which reminded me that God himself tenderly knits together my days and that, although far from perfect and sometimes filled with such pain, my life is *good* because He is in control.

"I thought of this life God has put together for me – of it’s gorgeous and unique busyness, craziness, relationalness, messiness, happiness, weariness and … blessedness ... And I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Melissa's sweet post exhorted me to do small things with great love when seeking ways to bless and encourage. Not content to merely read, I put her words into action by posting some love to a dear friend currently overseas (more details below).

And The Lovely Guide continues to draw me into its whimsical bubble and inspire me to pursue the pure and the beautiful -

Sara-Sophia's encouragement for a fairy princess afraid to love brought tears. And Ashleigh spun an adorable, soul-warming tale about a newlywed named Ellie Kate and her baking magic.

Ladies, thank you for your words.

Today is my mother's birthday. I brought her roses and lilies, and we feasted on her homecooked love. She looked *breathtaking* in a ruffly blue blouse, a string of delicate pearls and the chunky bracelet I gave her last Christmas. We gifted her with a year's membership to the National Trust so that she can come on countryside adventures with us ... and practice her motorway skills to boot.

After the festivities had ended, I crept upstairs to do magical secret things. Yesterday I discovered the 'World's Smallest Postal Service'. It is possibly the most adorable thing in the universe. For just $10 (plus shipping) you can send a loved one a teeny tiny letter/card (complete with a folding magnifier so they can actually read it. Oh yes.) Or a sweet little package like this:

The label reads "You are as cute as ... "

Someone close to my heart has a whole lot of love heading her way. I can't wait for her to receive it. Happy days.

What I now know

I was the talkative, politely inquisitive little lady as a child, safe in her happy bubble of innocence.

Somewhere along the way I lost that and morphed into a sullen teenager with homemade bangs and a candle to Daria Morgendorffer, desperate to prove her individuality and find something to be angsty about.

And then my twenties arrived ... and I learned more about myself in the ensuing six years than I did my entire lifetime.

I know it's customary in these 'A Thousand Gifts' posts to count about 10-20 things in your ever-growing list. But I want to start with one big thank you (#205).

I am thankful that I am finally learning to be me.

Not that I spent my childhood and young adulthood as an imposter. But I wasted so much time looking at other people's lives.

Trying to keep up. 

Comparing. 

Despairing. 

And it was hard work. Sometimes I was literally exhausted from trying to fashion a life out of thousands of others. It was like making the biggest patchwork quilt in the world by hand, all. By. Myself. 

Turns out I could only do it for so long. There came a time when I had to let go and let God. When I had to look into the mirror and face it. This is me. It wasn't easy. In fact, it's still a struggle. Coming clean and being yourself sometimes costs you friends. Respect. Certain privileges you may have been been used to.

Your own flesh and blood may think you strange. May not understand why you march to an entirely different drum.

But it is so much easier in the long-run.

I know how much happier I am when I let my curls run free. When I fawn over pretty hair accessories and brooches. When I watch Little Women for the umpteenth time. When I dance in bookstores. When I potter in the garden. When I go National Trust-ing. When I sit with friends drinking tea and knitting. When I relish quality conversation and the fusing of hearts. When I choose to celebrate my birthday with a vintage tea party.

And when I do it all in my own uniquely British way.

I can sometimes feel the effervescing within me as my heart bubbles over with joy.

I used to try and swallow it down, hoping no-one would notice much more than a hiccup. But now? I've given up fighting it. Making peace with myself is healthy. And healthy is good.

Counting down little hallmarks of me - and giving thanks for the revelation of who I really am.

#206 The red sparrow on my coat 

#207 Browsing Red Velvet Art with the open-mouthed realisation that, in their world, cute is very, very in

#208 Brainstorming for a pop-up shop and buying Craft Inc. to read up on the reality behind the dream

#209 Spirals that won't behave and insist on falling everywhere

#210 Tea and cupcakes ('Dad's Favourite Apple', with scarlet and white swirls) at the Buttercup Cake Shop

#211 Glowing after delicious Thai food and much laughter with my church family

#212 Dresses with doily collars and notebooks with pretty birds

#213 Secretly planning what a friend has nicknamed a "love cake" (homemade banana bread for my beloved, who's got a hard week ahead)

#214 Leaving a little bit of my heart on favourite blog posts

#215 Hunting secretary dresses on Etsy

PS: 50 posts and counting :)

Why I'm thankful for blogs

I left the following comment on a lovely blog I recently discovered, and I post it here because it sums up pretty well one of the reasons why I am so grateful for blogs. Monday gratitude post coming up later ...

“I’ll come back and they will be safe, well fed, and extremely dirty.”

I absolutely loved that comment. I loved the sweet honesty of it. I loved the refusal to feign perfection.

One of the things I love about you (and I don’t even know you!) is you don’t pretend to have it all together. Instead you blog lovingly about the chaos; about the God in the middle of the chaos; the love and commitment in the middle of the chaos; the joy in the middle of the chaos.

When I think about my life stretched before me – my life as a wife and mother if He permits it – I sometimes get scared. I lie there long in the dark, softly wondering “How?”

And then I read blogs like this. Blogs not about Stepford Wives but about sweet, young mamas who try their best and drink in the rain of His grace. And I breathe out. And understand that I don’t have to have it all figured out. I just need to trust Him and commit myself wholly to my family. The rest will figure itself out.

My humble blog would love to have you over for tea and cake sometime if you’d like.

Wishing you a beautiful day full of sparkles.

Monday macaron magic

Can you mix the decadent frivolity of Paris macarons with the mundane madness of Monday?

Yes!

And can you eat said macarons for lunch? As lunch??

YES!

I've had one of those Monday mornings where the rain is pouring and the crowds are raging and you arrive at your desk, ready to sit down and breathe, when your boss informs you to keep your coat on because you're going to a press briefing. Now. Sans preparation, just a few papers thrust at you.

Oh, and it's already started.

You're rushing down the street, zig-zagging through Christmas shoppers, Blackberry pressed to ear as you try to negotiate a late arrival. Your faux-ribbon shoelaces come untied. You bend down, do them up, carry on zig-zagging. And it happens again. Bend down, do them up ...

You then realise that the bus you thought could take you there doesn't go anywhere near there. So it's back on the Underground. Down the steps, through the barriers, down the escalator, onto the platform ... whoops, that's northbound. I'm not going home yet.

All you can do is laugh. You know, one of those mornings.

On the way back from the briefing, head spilling over with ideas, phonecall to boss just made, I realise I'm going to be passing Burlington Arcade. Home of Laduree. The Laduree, of Paris macaron fame. Should I?

I peek through the window of the tiny boutique, all shiny gold decor and multicoloured circles of joy.

I should.

I squeeze inside, and my mouth forms a childlike O. The gentleman in front of me, purchasing sugary treasures for his loved one, smiles. Pinks and yellows and greens and purples and caramels and creams. How. Does. One. Choose? There are two small tables outside and perhaps one day I'll come back with my beloved to stay and savour. But this is my moment now. I am only guaranteed the present.

I gaze upon stacks of gift boxes and rolls of ribbons, and I am giddy. The imagination comes alive and I am in Paris. Pretty frock, cute shoes, satchel ... and not a care in the world. Then I remember I'm en route to the office, not on holiday.

I go with a box of eight minis and don't know what to choose. Finally I decide on a selection of Rose & Ginger, Vanilla, Salted Caramel, Pistachio, and a deep purple spiced wonder called 1001 Nights. Into a pistachio-green box they go, one by one. Ohhh. And back to Paris I go ...

Is it for a gift? The shop assistant's lovely French accent shakes me out of my daydream.

I smile to myself. Yes.

Why can't we give ourselves gifts now and then? And go the whole hog and tie them up with ribbons? I choose purple, then go with pink when we discover the empty roll.

My box of delights is placed into a matching gift bag and I walk away swinging it in the November breeze. The rain has subsided and my heart is lifted. I smile at everyone I pass.

Back at the office, I steal a moment on my lunch break to photograph my double-decker beauties. I consider heading out for something sensible to eat; you know, like a sandwich. It's raining again.

Macarons for lunch it is.

Besides, they are sandwiches in a way - chewy meringue-based exterior, gooey filling. Just very sweet ones ;)

The Rose & Ginger is a little overpowering, but the rest are delicious. My favourite by far is Pistachio, which has an almost coconut-y kick to it.

I'm wondering whether I should make Macaron Mondays official.

A dash of whimsy

It's Friday again. How'd that happen?

The working week seems destined for forever when I'm in it. But then another Friday rolls around and I realise that, actually, it's flown by. I just know that Christmas is going to sneak up on me. Don't ask me how that happens. Christmas comes earlier and earlier with each passing year and yet it still takes me by surprise. There's the initial excitement of Christmas lights and red Starbucks cups. But then I go back to normal until I'm shocked into frenzy with a week to go.

There are cards to make and cookies to bake. I found a Nigella Lawson recipe for gooey Christmas chocolate cookies that I can't wait to try.

Yesterday I wore my new dress, the navy blue nannarific one with the doily collar and the tan tie-belt. And I paired it with my new tan brogues, which I absolutely love. I am officially a brogues convert, even if I do have to stick with the tamer pump-like varieties.

The outfit made me feel like a shy Amelie type who spends her time reading in dusty corners. This was the vision I had in mind as I scurried in the rain to Foyles on my lunch hour under a butterfly umbrella.

Is it too whimsical to admit that my brogues gave me a craving for books?

There's just something about them that screams bookish. In the best possible way. Is it because they're old-fashioned? Serious-looking? Brown?? I don't know.

As I wandered through row upon row of poetry and prose, I was very much the English grad student taking a break from her thesis on Romanticism in nature literature (not as far-fetched as it sounds - my own Master's thesis covered similar elements but applied them to a science documentary).

And I had an urge to buy a book.

Not just any book, mind you, but 19th century fiction. I'd decided that was the kind of book the outfit called for. EM Forster's A Passage to India seemed to fit the bill. Long, sprawling and epic - and I found an edition with a gorgeous cover printed with pink batik swirls and dark purple bicycles. I started reading and decided that something lighter was called for. A Room With A View pulled me into its chuckle-inducing world of repressed Edwardian England from the first sentence, so much so that I had to force myself to stop reading, pay for it and head back to work!

That was my dash of whimsy for the day.

Life can get so cumbersome, with its cares and concerns and obligations, that I sometimes get the urge to just shake out my curls - in all their wild, Romantic glory - and retreat into my imagination or do something a little bit whimsical. It's not that I neglect my duties; far from it. I just take time now and then, be it on a lunch break or during a spare hour in the day, to allow myself to breathe and have a moment of "sparkle" (for want of a better word :))

Do you ever have moments like that?

When they don't write back

I sometimes feel like I'm looking inside a bubble of loveliness, longing to join the party but unsure where to begin.

So I shyly leave a comment here and there, hoping to find a friend. Sometimes I even go so far as to send an email - occassionally bearing a little more of my heart than is safe.

Sometimes I get a reply. And often, I don't.

I recall emailling a certain blogger twice and waiting for her to write back because I felt very strongly that, as Anne might say, we were kindred spirits :) She never replied - and, yes, it stung a little. Particularly because this blogger claimed to be a shy soul too, claimed to have known the wounds that females are capable of inflicting - not by their actions, but by their words. By what they say ... and don't say. Loud, brash insults cut deep. But so do the silences of Not Wanted. Not Included. Not Part Of Our Group.

It is easy to misunderstand innocent silences as the rejection many of us may have experienced in the past; to allow self-pity to slip in ("Maybe it's me; I'm not good enough, not interesting enough; not ... lovely enough"). And it's even easier to begin to judge ("I bet she's not as shy as she claims"; "She seemed so sweet and kind ... I guess appearances are deceiving").

What's often difficult is to stop and consider the reality - that these are busy women with busy lives. Those lovely lives we read about don't come about without much prayer ... and much prioritising. Many of these women are wives, some of them mothers too. There are morning devotions to have, husbands to encourage, children to nurture, pets to feed, home businesses to run - in addition to all the other household chores. Some may even work a full-time job to boot.

This means that they may only allow an hour a day for blog-related things, perhaps even less. And maybe their hour includes everything - emails from family and close friends as well as correspondence from 'blog friends'. Not to mention actually writing something :)

Our tendency to get upset and assume the worst when we don't get responses reveals a deeper issue - pride.

We want to be part of the inner circle, we want lots of comments on our blogs, we want awards and accolades, we want to set up a page on Facebook and have at least 50 "fans" ... the list goes on. It gets more prideful - and more ridiculous. Who are we writing for?

If we are writing for God, nothing is ever wasted, as a lovely online friend once told me. A post that does not receive any comments or recommendations is not a failure. Nor is a blog that never makes it onto a list of recommended links. But if we are writing for the approval of man, we will measure the worth of our words by the number of comments they garner. We may even change those words - words flowing from the very depths of our heart - to see if it makes a difference.

For every 'famous' blogger, there are (at least) 10 who blog under the radar - they may have beautiful, wonderful things to say. But, as providence would have it, they never get more than a handful of followers and the odd comment now and then.

Should they stop writing? Stop sharing their lives? No. Because it is a pure offering for Him (and if it hasn't been up until now, it certainly can be with prayer and repentance). A quiet declaration of "This is who I am in Your eyes. I will not flaunt it, but nor will I hide it."

And we must remember that the majority of well-known bloggers never expected to become so well known. Most of them started their blogs under the radar. If you had told them that they would one day have thousands of followers and a book deal, they would have looked at you with wide eyes and wondered where you got such a crazy idea.

Instead of focusing on presenting the perfect image, just be yourself. And write. Whether it's something encouraging, something about your day, something fun, or even just about a pretty flower you saw the other day. Write.

None of us are born lovely. Through sanctification we strive for it. And as we seek Him and write words that glorify Him, that striving will shine through. You don't even need a particularly pretty blog to aid it along (although by all means have one if you want!) Even a plain black-and-white blog will radiate loveliness if it is God-centred, sincere and unconcerned with getting a response.

And when they don't write back and the flesh pricks? Remember their busy lives. And remember Who you're writing for.

Bits, bobs and thank yous

At my Tuesday lunchtime knit session, my crafter-extraordinaire friend told me that I might not be knitting accurately. Oops.

Dress from Bershka. I'm swapping the
boots for brogue-pumps to make the look
less western and more library girl.

The scarf looks fine, if a little tighter than you'd expect, but apparently my unintentionally bizarre technique (which leads to twisted yarn - I have to be honest, I can't tell) may cause difficulties when I start learning to purl.

I'm going to finish this scarf the Yarnbelle way and then my friend will deduce exactly what I'm doing wrong and help me out a bit more than usual when I do the next scarf (which will hopefully be moss stitch - one knit, one purl. Eep).

On the plus side, the transition from blue to red went smoothly. Hurrah. We're onto the final ball of yarn now - am hoping to have the scarf wrapped up (I found some lovely navy gingham tissue paper on Saturday) and hidden away by the end of the month. Then it'll be time to buy more yarn! I can't wait.
 
Speaking of purchases, I bought a new pair of shoes (needed) and a new dress (not needed, ahem) yesterday and plan on debuting them at the next Cake & Crafts meet-up on Thursday. I should point out - especially taking Saturday's splurge into consideration - that I'm not usually this indulgent :) But the dress was so utterly me that I couldn't resist (grainy photo above).

It's longer on me and a bit more fitted (long, willowy limbs I do not posssess!) but it looks lovely. Instead of boots, I'm going to wear it with these:

To brogue or not to brogue? To brogue-pump.

To brogue or not to brogue has been on my mind for some time. With ballerina pumps too summery, Converses too casual and boots too ... much, I'm left with few alternatives for nice covered shoes that work with dresses *and* jeans.

I finally concluded that while I definitely wouldn't be able to pull off proper brogues, which are too chunky and boyish for me (it would mean wearing dresses and skirts all the time, which is lovely but currently unrealistic), I could probably manage a pair of brogue-style pumps (softer and a bit more feminine). So voila. I'm sure they'll look just fine with my new dress, but wearing them with jeans might take some getting used to.

All this talk of stuff is making me think it's time to give thanks. Because there is so much to be thankful for. And a day late is better than never.

#191 Soft natural curls; subtle magenta lips; cosy grey knitwear - simple get-ups on simple Saturdays
#192 Avoiding the London Underground
#193 Slowing down and letting go of tightly-gripped plans
#194 An oasis of pretty in the middle of a concrete jungle
#195 Damsons
#196 Spending time in my own company
#197 Orange spice and cinnamon - the smell of Christmas in the air
#198 Planning festive surprises for loved ones
#199 John Rutter's hauntingly beautiful verson of The Wexford Carol
#200 Girlie fellowship at church
#201 Smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels, and scones, at tea
#202 Writing some copy for my crafting friend - and hearing she's thrilled with it
#203 This morning's devotional (Luke 17:1-4, JC Ryle - quote below)
#204 A smooth stripe at last :)

"An inconsistent believer, whether he knows it or not, is daily doing harm to souls. His life is a positive injury to the Gospel of Christ.

Let us often ask ourselves whether we are doing good or harm in the world. We cannot live to ourselves, if we are Christians. The eyes of many will always be upon us. Men will judge by what they see, far more than by what they hear. If they see the Christian contradicting by his practice what he professes to believe, they are justly stumbled and offended. 

For the world's sake, as well as for our own, let us labor to be eminently holy. Let us endeavor to make our religion beautiful in the eyes of men, and to adorn the doctrine of Christ in all things. Let us strive daily to lay aside every weight, and the sin which most easily besets us, and so to live that men can find no fault in us, except concerning the law of our God. Let us watch jealously over our tempers and tongues, and the discharge of our social duties. Anything is better than doing harm to souls. 

The cross of Christ will always give offence. Let us not increase that offence by carelessness in our daily life. The natural man cannot be expected to love the Gospel. But let us not disgust him by inconsistency."

All the fun of the fair

Red gingham ribbons and twinkling fairy lights, handmade soaps and Christmas decorations, tweed and cashmere, charming English cottage homeware, more vintage knick-knacks than you could shake a stick at, beautiful fabrics, the smell of orange and cinnamon in the air ... I could go on and on.

The Country Living Christmas Fair was wonderful. Even if the crowds were overwhelming.

I was expecting the venue to be packed but nothing prepared me for this - it was even more crowded than last year. Still, I managed to get round to almost every stall and make some lovely purchases. (And a slightly bizarre one - only at the Country Living Christmas Fair would I buy a knitted alpaca hat that resembles a tea cosy).

The frenzy was made a little more bearable by the nice, slow start to my day. An extremely tiring week worsened by frequent travel delays meant I stubbornly refused to set foot on a tube this weekend :) So I took the overground to Hackney Downs and a bus to Angel.

I've found that changing plans (in the I-refuse-to-be-a-control-freak sense, not the broken promises sense) and choosing to slow down often leads to little surprises. In this case, I realised that a bakery famed for its seasonal-produce cupcakes that I'd been meaning to visit for a while was just a few minutes' walk from Hackney Downs train station. I never stop in this area and had wondered how, if ever, I would make it to Violet - a trip for the sake of it seemed a little too frivolous, even for a cake-monster like me.

And then I chose to go slow.

Scarf update

As promised, latest pics of the scarf ... *drumroll*

Not the best angle at all, but just wanted to give an idea of the length. You can see the loose cast-on at the bottom

I love this close-up, even though the shades aren't entirely accurate

Looks much more scarf-y from this angle. Cath Kidston knitting bag in the background :)

Once the blue yarn is all knitted up, I will add another ball of red. It's going to be quite a long scarf, but my beloved can wrap it round several times so that it's nice and snug.

Did some knitting at Drink, Shop & Do tonight, t'was lots of fun. There were 3 of us, our biggest group yet! A friend pointed out that seeing as we're meeting on Thursdays anyway, I might as well arrange the first Cake & Crafts meet now. We can always trial Saturdays from January as originally planned.

Cake & Crafts: What it's all about

So, as I mentioned in my previous post, I officially launched Cake & Crafts.

I don't want to give the impression that I think my idea is an original one - I know that there are hundreds, thousands of crafting clubs all over the globe. Cake & Crafts is merely a first for my small corner.

Many of my friends secretly love doing craft-y/old-fashioned things but would never admit it in public. And I think that's a shame. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. One friend used to affectionately tease me about being a member of the National Trust and vowed never to join - despite her passionate love for the countryside. She has since given in, but I get the impression it makes her cringe. It's for this very reason that I want this club to happen. Why are we afraid to march to the beat of our own drum? Provided it isn't unbiblical, we should be happy to do so - Soli deo Gloria.

Who knows, maybe Cake & Crafts will start a quiet revolution :) Another friend and I have an unofficial knit club and when she Facebooked about it, one friend deemed it "very rock'n'roll" and another said she knits too ... and now the two of them are going to do some knitting next weekend.

Here's what I posted in the Facebook group:

"Slow down. Make something. Eat cake.

Okay, I finally admit it - I'm old-fashioned. And I'm inviting you to join me :) I've had the idea to set up a crafting club for a while now and I think it's time to turn it into reality.

The concept - We get together to craft, catch up and eat/drink (I will most likely binge on cake but you don't have to!)

The reason - It's not about recreating the 1950s or anything crazy like that. It's about taking time to slow down, in the middle of the hamster wheel that is life, and do something calming and productive that requires thought (I'm sure we're all tired of running on autopilot).

Proposed details:

Date: The last Saturday of every month (launch date 30th January 2011, but we can do a pilot one earlier than that)
Time: 12-3pm
Place: Drink, Shop & Do, 9 Caledonian Road, King's Cross (2mins away from the tube station)
Cost: Whatever food and drink you buy at the venue

The point of the club is to make something, HOWEVER I am more than happy for it to just be a space to chill and do something nice. So if you just want to bring along a book, notepad or sketchpad, that's totally fine too - as long the rest of us yapping won't disturb you!

Now and then we might even do a group activity (e.g make Christmas cards).

I'm keeping numbers small for now, hence the secret group.

I will send reminders from time to time but you are under no obligation to join in. I just thought of you ladies when I was dreaming this up!

PS: D and I also have an unofficial Thursday Night Knitting Club from 6-9 at the same venue, which you're welcome to join. At the moment it's weekly but this may change."

We'll be knitting away tomorrow night, and I imagine there'll be plenty of cake. Maybe some of you will join us one day!

PS: I know, I broke my scarf photo promise. Tomorrow you shall see my newly-striped creation.

Some things to get excited about ...

1) The scarf is coming along nicely. It is by *no* means perfect - any knitter can spot the wider bottom (from casting on too loosely), the imperfect colour transition and the odd stitches. But it is handmade. By me. With (lots of) love. And I cannot wait to give it to my beloved come Christmas. I will take some photos and add them to the post tonight, promise! It's about 60% finished - getting ready for the next transition, which will hopefully be smooth this time :)

2) While browsing Meet Me At Mike's, I discovered Dawn Tan Wenyi and her blog +handmadelove+. She specialises in lovely painted prints of recipe ingredients and has made up one of them into a tea towel! Just look at this. And then look at the little bundles she's preparing to send to customers. I think I might actually burst from the sheer adorable-ness - I am a total sucker for beautiful packaging. *This* is why everyone should buy handmade, if financially feasible. I've already placed an order ...

3) Craft club a gogo! After shyly dallying with the idea for weeks, I finally put some feelers out and set up a group for my craft club on Facebook. It's called Cake & Crafts and it's (for now) a secret group as I want to keep numbers small to begin with. I think I mentioned the club in an earlier post? I will probably put up a brief post with more details but the concept is simple: gal pals crafting together once a month over cake and conversation. I've invited 5 people and most of them say they're on board. I don't know what God has in store for Cake & Crafts but I'm looking forward to it either way.

4) On Saturday I am attending the Country Living Christmas Fair. I went last year, with a work colleague, and had a fantastic time. I didn't buy very much, but this year I'm hoping to find a few Christmas pressies and maybe some nice gift wrap too. I need to be careful at things like this - it's so easy to get carried away with the concentration of loveliness. Although last year was relatively inexpensive, I was with a friend and we were able to keep eachother under control! This year I'm flying solo ... I think I may need to set myself a budget and take that amount in cash.

... And speaking of Country Living, the Christmas issue is on sale. Oh yes.

Rejoice and be glad

NB: This post was written at various stages of my day

There are days when you do everything wrong and it all turns out okay. And then there are days when you do everything right (or, at least, everything you can) and it all goes so very wrong.

I'm writing this on a bus, stuck in heavy traffic. The overhead trains that take me to my nearest tube station are severely delayed.

So I decided to take the bus. And now, as we crawl through rainy, smog-choked streets, I'm wondering whether I made the right choice.

I went to bed early enough, I woke up early enough and I left the house early enough. But God had other plans.

It happens sometimes. For me, it's a much-needed reminder that I am not in control of my days.

Nothing I do, or fail to do, can thwart what God has ordained. This does not absolve me of responsibility. But it does mean that there is no point getting frustrated or having an anxiety attack when my plans for my day are foiled.

This isn't how I wanted my Monday to begin. I wanted a fresh start. But what was it I said this morning?

Simple Saturday

I spent all day in jeans and a fleece. It was great :) I enjoy getting dressed up when the occassion calls for it but, if I'm being honest, I'm often happiest gadding about in casual clothing.

The car boot loaded up with goodies

Today I finally got round to tackling the garden. It was hard work, partly because we were racing against the clock (we're back to GMT here, which means pitch black by 5pm) and partly because it had been neglected for so long.

The mangled beans that, if picked on time, could have made some tasty chutney were a sad sight. But it's a new season, and I have to move on. And on a cheerier note, I got to use the new gardening tools and gloves that my workplace gave me for my birthday.

We planted red, magenta, pink and white cyclamen in the main flower bed; beautiful, delicate flowers that herald colder days ... and Christmas. And we got the bulbs in - a new tulip bed, with funky pastel shades instead of last year's classic brights; and a variety of hyacinths in containers. I'm hoping the daffodils will bloom again, along with the mixed bulbs patch where our cherry tree used to be.

I love cyclamen

We went all the way to Stanmore to get our bulbs, from specialists Jacques Amand, as I figured local garden centres would be running out by now. But when we popped into one of the two we frequent to get the cyclamens and pansies, I saw that they had a wide selection - and they were cultivated especially for small gardens like mine. Oops.

As gorgeous as last year's tulips were, they flopped over prematurely as they were so tall - and they were from Jacques. Next year I think I'll keep it simple and stick to my local. Ah well - the drive there was gorgeous, thanks to autumn and its heavenly colours, so I maintain that it was worth it! It actually felt as though we were in the countryside until we were rudely awakened by a roundabout.

Winter pansies to bring some cheer
on dark days

I've still got some winter pansies to plant, which I'll tend to either tomorrow or Monday morning. They're hardy little things and I'm sure they'll be quite happy under our garden bench for a day or two. And the mixed patch needs weeding. The leaves I don't mind so much - it's the blotches of unwanted green that concern me.

On a random note, I found rosehips in my garden! Not enough to do anything productive, but it was exciting because I'd always wondered what they were ...

Me sparkling away - and looking
a little Michelin in my fleece!

In the evening we had a few sparklers to toast (yesterday's) bonfire night. It's not a big celebration for us but sparklers are always fun. We stood there in the cold, trying to write and draw with them while more impressive fireworks lit up the sky around us.

I managed to get some knitting done in between. It's a secret project so I have to find creative ways to work some rows, but my beloved needed a couple of hours to go home and get some work done so I took the opportunity to get out the knitting bag and wind some love while watching The X Factor (I know, I know - but it's good knitting TV!)

All in all, a good day. Simple, quiet and productive - the perfect Saturday after a stressful week.

Searching out silver linings

Firework-themed cupcakes from The Hummingbird Bakery.
They were messy, especially the blue one, but worth it!

When we find ourselves struggling more than usual, it's the little things that make the difference. Hence the crazy themed cupcakes above, which put a smile on my face at lunchtime.

Everything has felt uphill today; most of the week, in fact. And yet, still, there has been much to be thankful about.

I can blog about the intense workloads, the relational tensions in the office, the sardine-crammed journeys home, the dreary weather ... and my rollercoster emotions to boot.

Or I can share my gratitude for the blessings that found their way into the madness.

It's not about wearing a mask - despite the sunny layout of my blog I am honest, and as open as is appropriate, about my struggles on the narrow path.

But we don't have to wallow in the dark place. He died that we might live; not have an easy life, but live - purposefully and joyfully, come what may. We can take our burdens to the Cross and leave them there. And, our load lightened, we can pour our hearts into searching out the silver linings that the enemy tries so hard to steal or hide.

So, I know it's not Monday but I'm sure you'll forgive me if I offer up an extra batch of thank-yous ;)

#166 Post-work knitting and a coke float
#167 Striping by myself ... and accepting the mistakes as part of the learning process
#168 An unexpected, much-needed phonecall from a dear friend
#169 A relatively stress-free journey on the day of a city-wide tube strike
#170 Breakfast with my best friend
#171 Catching up with sisters from my old church; conversation and laughter that nourishes the soul
#172 Finding out that the girls I used to mentor at said church are on BBM - and having a group created in honour of my getting a Blackberry *blush*
#173 The heart-stopping beauty of autumn - in particular the three little trees decked in red, orange, yellow and green that I passed on the train
#174 A tidy desk in preparation for a more peaceful start to the week
#175 Fireworks flying up from the balcony across my office
#176 A seat on the journey home
#177 My mother's homecooked love
#178 A simple evening of family gameshows
#179 Freshly laundered sheets
#180 Another follower on this humble journey

When the wind blows ...

It's been one of those days. Everything fell on top of me at once and I found myself having to bite my tongue several times, lest the Jo March in me flare up. A couple of posts I wrote some years back sum up well what I'm feeling and perhaps they will be of some encouragement. The pictures accompanied the original posts so I've kept them here.

November 7, 2008

When the wind blows

When the wind of my emotions blows, and threatens to develop into a fierce storm, help me to lean firmly upon your Word and toss my feelings aside. As that pang of rage rises, teach me to be still, to submit and then to release.

Direct me to your Word, especially in times such as these, so that I may obey you even during my trying season. Remind me that I am not as helpless as I might think, that I am not as helpless as I might like to think.

Help me to remember that it is always possible to obey you, even when my hormones rage, that there is no excuse for unleashed anger.

“Choices will continually be necessary and—let us not forget—possible. Obedience to God is always possible. It is a deadly error to fall into the notion that when feelings are extremely strong we can do nothing but act on them.”
                                                     – Elisabeth Elliot

“Oh the havoc that is wrought and the tragedy, the misery and the wretchedness that are to be found in the world simply because people do not know how to handle their own feelings!”                                    

                                                       – D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones

Remind me that feelings are fallible; that, more often that not, our feelings lie to us, convincing of something that is not real – something that is not there.

But in all this, your Truth stands firm. Above all else, teach me how to come to you and be satisfied, particularly when I feel as though my needs are not being met in man. Remind me that man is not there to meet my needs, that ultimately that task belongs to you.

November 10, 2008

Times of anxiety

“Sit still my daughter, until thou knowest how the matter will fall” - Ruth 3:18a

It’s getting to that time again, and I can already feel myself starting to get restless and agitated. Funny looks are being misunderstood, innocent acts of carelessness are cutting deep and there is a general feeling of weariness and can’t-be-bothered with regards to what lies ahead. Last night, about to get into bed, I suddenly realised that I haven’t been particularly pro-active with regards to job-hunting and this set off a stomach-knotting inward panic.

The verse in Ruth is a great reminder that my all but giving myself a heart attack is of no value whatsoever. God has ordained my days. Certainly, I have a part to play, but rushing around and taking control does not guarantee fulfilment of the desires of my heart. Patient trust in God is the only way forward. I pray that I will remember to take this week slowly, concentrating only on the most important tasks. Satan has a way of using up my energy with little “botherations” that tend to multiply in significance during this season, and I must fight these distractions by focusing on that which is true.

Living intentionally

There's a tube strike today.

The last time this happened, I got caught in the bus crush outside Liverpool Street and arrived at work almost two hours late. Determined to not let that happen again, and excited about travelling in with my beloved (who has a training course minutes away from my work), I stumbled out of bed around 6.30am and was out the door for just after 7.

We were blessed. The portion of the Victoria Line we needed was working so we arrived at our destination at 7.45 - leaving plenty of time to get some breakfast. I chose La Pain Quotidien, one of my favourite restaurants, where I had French bacon and eggs (prosciutto instead of regular bacon) with toast and my beloved had porridge with fruit compote. We had fresh orange juice too, from actual oranges there and then.

After a slow walk to my workplace, it was still only 8.50. This was strange. I'm used to rushing around, power-walking through the door flustered and totally unprepared for the day. Instead I had a whole hour to myself to get ready for the day and finish off tasks in time for our team meeting.

I could get used to this. I know it's *much* better for me. But I just can't seem to shake my night-owl tendencies.

Handmade air mail

I made my first Etsy purchase ten days ago and today I received a package in the mail ... all the way from Taiwan. It's a beautiful made-to-measure case for my Blackberry and I love it.

Being new to the crafting world, it still amazes me how much joy handmade products bring. Having seen my case, maybe it's not so surprising.

I got to choose the fabric, the cut and the button placement. And such love and care went into the finished product, from the contrasting lining to the little thank-you card enclosed. It was worth waiting for, especially as - even with shipping - it cost the same as a regular case from my local mobile phone shop. The perfect surprise at the end of a long day.

Another Monday, another opportunity to say thank you

A work colleague ordered a pair of black-and-white brogues from Net-a-Porter and they just arrived in an elegant black bag with a big bow. I found myself stealing two minutes to browse the website, gazing folornly at beautiful things I cannot afford.

I think it's time to offer up some gratitude.

No sin ensnares me like covetousness, and I suspect I'm not alone. JC Ryle has some encouragement for those of us battling the sickness of Want. 

Greatness and riches are a perilous possession for the soul. Those who seek to have them know not what they seek. They lead men into many temptations. They are likely to fill the heart with pride, and to chain the affections down to things below. "Not many mighty, not many noble are called." "How hardly shall they that have riches enter intothe kingdom of God" (I Cor. 1:26; Mk. 10:23).

Do we envy the rich and the great? Does our heart sometimes say, "oh, that I had their place, and rank, and substance?" Let us beware of giving way to such feelings. The very wealth which we admire may be gradually sinking its possessors down into hell. A little more money might be our ruin. Like Herod, we might run into every excess of wickedness and cruelty. "Take heed, and beware of covetousness. "Be content with such things as ye have" (Lk. 12:15; Heb. 13:5).

We are most of us far too ready to "seek great things" in this world: let us "seek them not" (Jer. 45:5). To have a place and a title and a position in society is not nearly so important as people think. It is a great sin to be covetous and worldly and proud: but it is no sin to be poor. It matters not so much what money we have, and where we live, as what we are in the sight of God. Where are we going when we die? Shall we live forever in heaven? These are the main things to which we should attend.

And on that note - giving praise for the blessings, big or small:

#156 Two weeks of sibling love for a weary father
#157 Glorious blue skies inviting another autumn cycle through the park
#158 Buying lovely things to give away
#159 Pie and mash - hearty soulfood after a long day of errands
#160 Communal Sunday lunch and tea - sharing life as well as food
#161 Tea and knitting on a manic Monday
#162 Much-needed encouragement to live intentionally
#163 A warm place to come home to
#164 Homecooked love
#165 White chocolate and raspberries

The Yarnbubble

Just spent my lunch hour knitting in Yumchaa, a cute tea shop near my workplace. It was a lovely way to pass the time, particularly on this cold, busy Monday. I managed to get another 6 rows done, in between bites and sips (chicken pesto sandwich and 'Gentle Giant' tea, a calming gingery concoction). Hopefully I'll be able to get through this first ball of red yarn by tomorrow so I can start on the blue - I'm striping the scarf, oh yes.

I've been meaning to find more productive ways of spending my five lunch hours for a while now. Unless I'm meeting a friend, I tend to window shop (the pitfall of working near London's shopping district) and, despite window intentions, I just can't seem to walk away empty-handed. My purchases are rarely large - we're talking a book rather than a pair of shoes. But even spending "just" a tenner means up to £50 that I could be saving.

So I've decided that my lunch time would be better spent crafting or catching up on reading. And today confirmed that this is a very good idea. As well as making good progress on the scarf, I felt much more peaceful as I headed back to the office to face a long afternoon. I think I might make Yumchaa my regular hangout as it's so nearby and reasonably priced - and it seems like the kind of place where you'd be allowed to bring your own sandwiches as long as you bought some tea or cake.

I'm really enjoying knitting so far (okay, I can only cast on and garter stitch - but I'm still a knitter, right?!). What I love most about it is that, especially when you're learning, it forces you to concentrate. To keep your mind on your task and not worry about what's going on around you. For someone like myself, this is a very good thing. As well as being extremely self-conscious, I'm easily distracted. And these two traits are very unwelcome when you're crafting with sticks and string.

I can't afford to look up when I hear someone laugh or worry about whether I ought to have occupied a smaller table (after all, I would happily move if need be). Doing so means I might forget where I was and botch a stitch. I need to disappear into my yarnbubble unless spoken to. And, as long as it doesn't make me inconsiderate of others' needs, this suits me very well.

Of course, this is just knitting. If need be, I can unravel the yarn and start again. But far more important areas of my life could benefit from this practice of running my own race; of concentrating on the task at hand and not worrying about what others are doing. The latter in particular has been a stumbling block for me, and I shudder to consider the time I must have wasted concerning myself with others' races.

It's time to embrace where God has placed me and start getting on with my own life. And knitting, of all things, is proving invaluable in teaching me this!

On a side note, I rediscovered an adorable blog called My Milk Toof. It's about the adventures of two milk teeth and, as childish as that sounds, it's actually really sweet and funny. The still below links to the blog. There are better ones, but I thought it would be a bit cheeky to copy an entire series here and this is one of the only stand-alones I could find ...

Fair Play!