Perfection

"All good gifts around us
Are sent from Heaven above
Then thank the Lord, thank the Lord for all his love... "
-Godspell

So rarely in life do we look at something and say,

"Perfect."

One little word, yet it looms so large in our minds.

Even though we almost never expect it of others, we all too often expect it of ourselves. We hold ourselves to tougher standards than we would ever subject the rest of the human race to.

The Amish sometimes purposefully sew a mistake into their quilts. Called an Amish "oops," these irascible errors serve as a reminder that none of us can ever achieve perfection. The Amish leave that to God. They would not presume.

How many times, have we read a blog post featuring an absolutely gorgeous creation, only to have the craftsperson point out a tiny flaw? Does the flaw somehow diminish the work? Or does it stand as an admission of our mutual humanity?

It might appear to others that I spend a good deal of time here in Short Stitch land, patting myself on the back. I know I have a tendency to hyperbole!

NO! REALLY!?!?!

And I often gush over the beauty of whatever knitted object I am working on.

I want to reassure everyone (or at least the everyones who visit) that I, in no manner, intend to glorify myself. The creativity that crosses these pages is not mine to own. It is mine to share. It does not flow from me, but rather through me.

It is a gift from God, pure and simple.

Now, that doesn't make me special in ANY way. I believe God gives equally to all her children. Some are given to become leaders; some are given to quietly toil in the garden. Some can weave rugs of spectacular color and beauty; some can wipe away the tears of children. Some can invoke the Gods. and some can whisper in an another's ear and listen to another's heart.

When I heap praise upon the work coming from my hands and heart, it is not to promote myself. It is rather an outer indicator of the inner delight with which I behold the gifts God has given me. I am always astounded at what springs from my soul and I know, without a single doubt, that I could NEVER dream of these things alone. Really. Truly. No question.

It is a daily revelation, in both senses of the word. It feels as if these ideas, like the Great and Powerful Oz, are hidden behind a curtain, awaiting the fullness of time when they shall be revealed. And, when they are, I revel in them - not as their originator- but as their receptor.

That being said, after a full weekend of work on Morocco, I can almost say,

"PERFECT!"

Almost...

There is not a single thing I would change about the end border. It is precisely what I envisioned and more than I had hoped. The texture of the Persian lace is lovely, and the modifications made to accommodate the beading were well worth the effort.



I love the little line of beads on the side edges.












I love the beaded fringe on the end.










I love the way the lace and beading play off of each other.

It makes me happy just to look at it.








And the body of the shawl, two pattern repeats in, is shaping up nicely as well.


I haven't felt this giddy since junior high, when I had a crush on Bobby Sherman and spent my days paging through fan magazines, gazing at posters, and dreaming of the day (or forbidden night) when he would somehow get past my over protective mother, materialize at the foot of my bed, and whisk me away to his Hollywood mansion.

I gaze at this border, I caress this border, I could eat this border up with a spoon. I could marry this border. And we could definitely "get a room."

Cherry was a beautiful summer fling, but Morocco is the real deal, folks.

I'm in love.

But not with myself.

Oh, no.

With the magnitude of the gift.

Deo Gratias indeed.