Blessings Come When You're Not Looking

I've been braiding rugs for our log home ever since meeting my braiding teacher at the 2005 Common Ground Fair. (Yes, that was the same day I took the mushroom class that turned me into a forager.)

This picture is a sample of my work. Like two lovers, rugs and quilts compete for my creative time and attention.

One morning last December, I was surfing cyberspace looking for rug wool. Wool has been replaced by synthetics in recent decades making it more expensive and increasingly difficult to find.

This particular day, I stumbled upon a Yahoo group for rug braiders. (Who knew?) A new post had just come in. It was from a widower whose wife had been a rug braider. He was looking for a local braider to give his wife's stash of wool to. (I know, don't end with a preposition.)

The operative word here is "give." With wool increasing scarce, "give" is not a word commonly associated with it. And seeing as how he lives in the Midwest, I did not even faintly resemble "local." So I wrote and offered to buy his wife's stash as well as pay for postage.

A deluge of Yahoo responses followed from other wool-starved braiders. I suspect he was overwhelmed by the numbers, since he posted a message to all saying he'd think about our letters and get back to a lucky recipient. (Sounds like the dating game, doesn't it?) Ever the loser in any game of chance, I forgot all about it.

Then in March an email arrived. The name of the sender did not ring a bell, but as I read the message I recalled the widower with the stash. He made a proposition (not that kind). He asked if I would finish a rug his wife had not completed in exchange for a box of her wool. He further offered to send the remainder of her stash once the rug was returned to him. I accepted.

A week or so later, a very large box arrived, containing beautiful wool in assorted colors, and Meg's (not her real name) little rug, with one unattached round of braid. That weekend, during a Nor'easter, I sat and butted that final round onto Meg's little masterpiece. Anyone who has ever finished or repaired the handiwork of someone whose creation has outlived them, knows what a spiritual experience this can be. Here's a picture of Meg's rug completed.

I returned the rug to the sender and as promised, two more cartons of wool arrived in a couple of weeks. What had I done to deserve such riches? How does someone take such a leap of faith to send a precious artifact and valuable goods across miles to a perfect stranger? And why did he choose me from all the respondents?

He told me he visited my website where he read my statement about placing a high value on creativity as a source of mental health. That made the difference.

So what's the point of this story? First, isn't it amazing that people interested in one of the earliest American crafts are using such seemingly contrary modern technology to find one another? And isn't it fascinating that you can put out some aspect of yourself not knowing how or when someone else will resonate with it?

So, maybe the lesson here is: allow yourself to be known to others. Let them know how you think and what you feel, and most importantly what you believe in. They will do the rest.

Copyright starfishdoc 2007

Control is Such an Ugly Word

I've been thinking lately about the word, "control." We toss that word around a lot. "You're trying to control me!" "She has control issues." "Have you got a control problem?" We tend to see it in strictly negative terms.

But there are different ways of looking at control. At one end there's abuse and domination. Seen in this light, there's nothing nice or good about control. But in the right context, control can have merit.

Consider the bonsai. If you've ever tried to raise one of these miniature trees you know what a challenge it is. You must attend to its roots, its trunk, its branches and leaves. You must give it just the right amount of sunlight. You must learn when to fertilize and when to water. And you need to know how much. And despite how you would like it to grow, it appears to have a direction all its own.

I've been told that some people consider the wiring of bonsai branches to be torturing the tree. On the contrary, this practice is essential to guiding the tree's proper growth. It's a loving form of control.

But there is a limit to the control you can exert on a bonsai. You cannot take a branch that wants to grow left, twist it, and wire it to go right. Rather, bonsai experts will tell you that you must study the tree and observe how it wants to grow. As Saburo Kato says, "you'll sense that the plant is trying to tell you something."

So healthy control has its limits. You cannot force a tree to grow in a direction it does not appear to want to grow. Rather, you can only shape the natural direction of the growth.

Nurturing a valued human relationship, be it with your children, your spouse, or a dear friend, is a lot like raising bonsai. You need to be open to what the relationship is trying to tell you about how it wants to grow. The control you employ must be in service of the direction the relationship naturally wants to take.

Copyright 2007 starfishdoc