New to both the town and the church, Ellen wanted to be involved, to give of herself, to share her gifts.  As it happened, the parish needed a new tapestry for one of the smaller chapels.

 

And as a seamstress, Ellen considered this a perfect opportunity.

She worked diligently, using colorful and delicate fabric, recreating a well-known rendition of Mary the Mother of Jesus.  Others who had seen it were effusive, affirming that what she had created was beautiful.

 

When the day for the unveiling arrives, Ellen presents her gift with an understandable sense of gratification and fulfillment.  The answer from the church committee is unexpected and brief, "We can't use this." 

(Because the tapestry was inappropriate or distasteful?  No.)

"The dimensions of the tapestry," they tell her in a very measured tone, "are not quite correct."  

 

 

As Ellen tells me her story, I want to laugh out loud, until I realize that she is serious.  And I can feel my exasperation with small mindedness.  "You're kidding," I say. Then, "I'm sorry. That must have felt crazy."  

"At first I was completely deflated," she says.  "But some time passed and then it occurred to me; I'm going to be okay. Do you know why? Because I didn't make the tapestry for them."

 

Yes, life can squeeze us.

Yes, people can be cruel and without mercy.

And yes, the "system" can be crippling.

I can assure you that in her situation, I could have found a way to nurse a grudge.  But here's the deal: If we don't learn Ellen's lesson, in the end we become encumbered, because we will cede our identity and our power -- which means that we give up our ability to choose, to create, to be intentional, to be generous, to be big-hearted, to forgive and to change.

 

 Eleanor Roosevelt

 

I can smile now.  However, in a world that squeezes us, it's easy to get lost. To no longer be in our own skin.   

To, literally, give over our identity.  

 

In a national magazine, an ad for the Humane Society minced no words. Above an adorable puppy and kitten, the ad read, "It's who owns them that makes them important."
So I wonder.  Who or what owns us, that tells us whatever we have done or given is "not enough?"   

 

That is one part of the story--our tendency to not hear the music while nursing our fear of missing the right notes.  So, our fear becomes a taskmaster.  And it hits me that the tapestries I create are no longer about what is in my heart, but about who I need to please or impress or even amaze.    

There have been times this year when I have been pushed or pulled toward exhaustion without being aware of it.  And I have felt empty, in a place where it is easy to believe the whole world is colored by gloom.  When we are given over to fear, we cannot rest, or absorb, or create, or take delight.  And it is easy to forget Ellen's poignant wisdom; that tapestry making is about living the moment--this moment--wholehearted, and without need for approval.

 

Here's the other part of the story--what started as an obstacle (impediment or hindrance) literally becomes a place from which her world (and mine) is transformed. Let's face it: more often than not, we resist and even resent obstacles.  We no longer see the tapestry, but only that which diminishes and belittles and shames.  We can feel overwhelmed and it is easy to be jaded. It is easy to quit.  But what if beautiful tapestries are born in these very places where we are ready, literally, to give up?  

 

Which takes my mind to jazz. Last week was Charlie Parker's birthday. Early in his career, he received the nickname of "Yardbird," and then he became known as "Bird."  My favorite Parker quote, "If it ain't inside of you, it can't come out of your horn." Parker (like Dizzy Gillespie) was known for improvising long lines at blazing speed. Parker used a lot of flatted fifths, and jazz players used the word "bebop" to sing a flatted fifth, but Parker didn't like to be put in a box. "Let's not call it bebop," he said. "Let's just call it music." Parker explained, "I realized that I could play what I heard inside me. That's when I was born."   

 

Yes. That's where the beautiful tapestry is made. 

 

So where do we find this reservoir that gives us the courage and strength and spirit to move forward?  I am certain of this; overcoming obstacles is not the goal.  As if we must "defeat" someone or something.  Ellen's story is not about who "won" or "lost."  It is about being at home in your skin and living from your heart.  Knowing that each day we are able to continue to weave the tapestry of our lives... with a purity of spirit and intention. 

 

So.  The antidote?  Filling the reservoir?  Perhaps we need the permission to feed (or fill) what is already there, and letting the gift of ordinary days wash over us.    

Meaning that it's not just choosing to create the tapestry, it's that we choose to give up being afraid...  

Of not being enough

Of not measuring up

Of being judged as insufficient   

 

Summer is still with us. I want to stay on the patio until well past dusk, and soak up as much of this air--an intoxicant--that I can. An Old Garden English rose, just off the patio is in its second flush, canes heavy with blooms, exquisite and unabashed. I drink it in, this beauty, and let my prayers of gratitude float up into the steel blue sky.