Being, Being, Being . . .

Easter Sunday has come & gone, and it was an amazing week of actively reflecting on the cross. What an incredible symbol of God's perfect Love.

It almost doesn't make sense, and yet, it's so beautiful.

The day started with church duties, and I took it upon myself to "film" our service for a future Part 2 to the Shoreline Documentary I've been archiving footage for. There is something I love to hate about filming, and that is the "work" part. When I am filming, I don't get to be a part of what is happening, I have to stay "behind" it. But inevitably, as soon as I get over that sulky part of my self-inflicted responsibility I start to see things through a different lens. Instead of being "in it" and not noticing every detail, I am observing and therefore capturing it all on a medium that will never fade away. It's pretty cool. Or at least it will be one day when we all get to look back at "the early days" and grow nostalgic and laugh at our outdated clothing and hair styles while watching our actual church body morph and grow into whatever we turn out to be in the future.

The rest of the day I spent time with my Aunt, cousins, and Grandparents and my Aunt nonchalantly pointed to a finished quilt she'd been working on - for 13 years! For ME! I unfolded it shocked to see my literal life flash before me presented in cotton cloth. It was a memory quilt about my childhood. My entire first 18 years on earth.

Looking at this storybook masterpiece was at first unnerving. There were pictures of old friends stitched into it, past pets, and childhood poses. There were letters and pictures I'd written to people about simple things like my favorite chores and animals. There were pieces of me stitched all together to make this Queen-sized story about "being me" from birth to adolescence, and I'd forgotten so much about her.

My sister and I took time yesterday to unfold it in my bedroom and gaze over it - commenting on the hilarious high bangs we had, the braces, my brother's lanky build, and the acquaintances we no longer keep track of. In between we admired the stitching work and the details that my Aunt brought the story together with. We mused over the pieces of fabric she'd selected for every border, every color scheme, and how amazingly detailed she was in piecing it all together. I looked at my former self, and I almost didn't recognize me. My hair was straighter, lighter. My skin was darker, my interests and friends were strangers, and images of some of the people in my life then, have now passed away.

Somehow after the initial shock of seeing a quilted snapshot of "this is your life" wore off, I was able to look back and admire the many paths, journeys, friends, and interests that have since been stitched into my life after being 18. How enormous my life's quilt has grown to be since then. Full of stumbles and triumph, growth, seasoning, career paths, friends, and many additions to our family . . .

Jaime snuggled into it for warmth while nursing an aching stomach and I think about how my quilt- stitched with images from my past- was a literal comfort to my sister. Sometimes I try so hard to shed who I used to be out of pure embarrassment. I never thought of allowing it to be a comfort once in awhile- let alone a masterpiece.

I can not express the intense amazement I felt to receive such a special and personal gift (for no real reason) on Easter Sunday.

It almost doesn't make sense, and yet, it's so beautiful.