Progress - piling from here to there
I'm listening to www.ucb.uk.org - Brits playing Christian music, a lot of it American stuff. Early this morning (5am) I was debating whether to lie in bed or get up to work on my room, and the winner was, "Get up already! You've been lying here an hour."
Relaxing to the music, the floor under my desk is empty for the first time in years. Out came the picture frames, empty or filled with old favorites that no longer fit their rooms. Those went onto a closet shelf - Melissa mentioned she needed some frames. (The girl can shop here and then we'll sort or toss the rest.)
Out came a bag of large sheets of printmaking paper. I labeled the bag "Print" and tucked it into the art papers box in the closet.
I'd forgotten about the huge drawing portfolio with my charcoal work from class and the thick pad of newsprint waiting for inspiration. That is leaning against the closet.
Last and best, a box with my beloved monotype press and manual. To make a space for that, I moved a box lid from under the art table. It is full of carefully wrapped shards of bone china: the top of the delicate 4-armed candalabra smashed as they were snagged by the careless toss of a sweater. I'm thinking of offering it to the china repair specialist who wanted $3000 to fix it (seamless, he said, you'll never know it was broken.) It's worth nothing after breaking, and I won't spend that money on it, no matter how sentimental it is. (Dad bought it for me when he still had lots of money.) The repariman might as well have it to play with. w disagrees - wants me to check how much it would cost in the depressed market before giving it away.
No more crafting. I moved a box of cardstock to W's office. The papers and stamps tucked in the closet and under the art table have been piled into the center of the room. At this weekend's women's conference, God place a Texan card-maker to the table next to us. She sold cards to raise money to combat human trafficking. I asked, "Would you like cardmaking supplies?"
"It would be God's gift," she replied. God's gift to her maybe. To me certainly. I will mail everything to her this week. All in His flow.
The room is catastrophic with every piece of purging. The heaps come and go. There's a brief tranquility before I move to the next part of the room. SO much still to do. I will try to do another corner later this morning. W is leaving to teach a class - the triathalon I was supposed to be cheering on was cancelled: the girls have colds and can't compete.
God has given me a morning of rest. I accept it as an unexpected gift: I am exhausted from working the booth and being around so many people (600 women!) The conference theme was Intentional Living, and several spoke to me about balancing my life with spiritual priorities for rest, work, and play. They must see what I know: this season is overwhelming with obligations. I thought of showing up at church, and was checked in my spirit. "Not today."
So I will read scripture and listen to God's voice. We have a faculty barbecue to which I will go for 2 hours. (I can't stay 5 as scheduled - but W can stay the whole time.)
Relaxing to the music, the floor under my desk is empty for the first time in years. Out came the picture frames, empty or filled with old favorites that no longer fit their rooms. Those went onto a closet shelf - Melissa mentioned she needed some frames. (The girl can shop here and then we'll sort or toss the rest.)
Out came a bag of large sheets of printmaking paper. I labeled the bag "Print" and tucked it into the art papers box in the closet.
I'd forgotten about the huge drawing portfolio with my charcoal work from class and the thick pad of newsprint waiting for inspiration. That is leaning against the closet.
Last and best, a box with my beloved monotype press and manual. To make a space for that, I moved a box lid from under the art table. It is full of carefully wrapped shards of bone china: the top of the delicate 4-armed candalabra smashed as they were snagged by the careless toss of a sweater. I'm thinking of offering it to the china repair specialist who wanted $3000 to fix it (seamless, he said, you'll never know it was broken.) It's worth nothing after breaking, and I won't spend that money on it, no matter how sentimental it is. (Dad bought it for me when he still had lots of money.) The repariman might as well have it to play with. w disagrees - wants me to check how much it would cost in the depressed market before giving it away.
No more crafting. I moved a box of cardstock to W's office. The papers and stamps tucked in the closet and under the art table have been piled into the center of the room. At this weekend's women's conference, God place a Texan card-maker to the table next to us. She sold cards to raise money to combat human trafficking. I asked, "Would you like cardmaking supplies?"
"It would be God's gift," she replied. God's gift to her maybe. To me certainly. I will mail everything to her this week. All in His flow.
The room is catastrophic with every piece of purging. The heaps come and go. There's a brief tranquility before I move to the next part of the room. SO much still to do. I will try to do another corner later this morning. W is leaving to teach a class - the triathalon I was supposed to be cheering on was cancelled: the girls have colds and can't compete.
God has given me a morning of rest. I accept it as an unexpected gift: I am exhausted from working the booth and being around so many people (600 women!) The conference theme was Intentional Living, and several spoke to me about balancing my life with spiritual priorities for rest, work, and play. They must see what I know: this season is overwhelming with obligations. I thought of showing up at church, and was checked in my spirit. "Not today."
So I will read scripture and listen to God's voice. We have a faculty barbecue to which I will go for 2 hours. (I can't stay 5 as scheduled - but W can stay the whole time.)
