The Watched Pot . . .


It takes an awful big leap of faith to plunge a newsprint and craft paper bundle of blood sweat and tears in the form of brilliantly dyed and painted silk from out of the hands of a group of spirit-led artisans into a steaming kettle.

Walking away for two hours, leaving said package to bubble and boil unattended was punctuated by the profound temptation to cheat on the designated waiting period. Frequently peaking into the vat of boiling water, my ability to see was grossly hindered by the steam; the whole scary procedure was doing absolutely nothing for my sense of security, and further accentuated my inability to stop fretting about what might happen to the beautiful silk panel.  Breathe, relax, breathe, bccame my mantra as I relinquished all control midst the boiling uncertainties now covered deep inside my old canning kettle. This was a wonderful exercise in letting go and turning the process over to God in prayer.

This is the sacred found in the ordinary, a kettle full of hopes and prayers, the Holy Spirit in the form of steam, swirling round yards of painted and dyed silk creating a richer, more vibrant palette that would ultimately become permanently bonded to each panel of silk.


The final courageous test, rinsing the steamed silk in a tub of cold water.

Brilliant colors now drowning in what 24 hours ago would have had a disastrous  result, the beautiful dyes, co-mingling purples with golden yellows would have created a marbled muddiness. This is the moment when after a deep cleansing breath, followed by a sigh of relief upon realizing that the colors are no longer renegade but fixed, a gasp of awe can be the only possible response as each panel is pulled from the icy bath. Thank you Lord, for the patience, the trust and the lessons learned at my kitchen sink.

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