Good Friday Creations

I had planned to have a more spiritual Good Friday.  I looked up the times for the Good Friday services at the National Cathedral.  I wrote them down to remember.

Maybe I will watch them today.  

I kept Good Friday in mind all day, as I did chore after chore, hoping to get ahead.  I went to the eye care place that takes my insurance to see if I could order contact lenses--but more importantly, to see if this insurance has any use at all as we approach the time of annual decisions about whether or not to keep this insurance.

I was able to order contact lenses, but it was clear that the insurance was barely worth it this year, and it will not pay for itself next year.  Later in the morning, I brought my spouse back to the eye care place to order his glasses.  Now we are ready to cancel that insurance that my eye doctor had never seen before.

I wanted to get to the grocery store before it got crowded, and I did.  I wanted to get gas so that we're ready to go to Bristol tomorrow, and I did.  I wanted to create shortcake and whipped cream to go with the beautiful strawberries that I bought on Wednesday, and I did.

I also thought about approaches for Easter.  We will be reading Luke 24: 1-12 for Easter Sunday, and this gives me the perfect opportunity to talk about Mary Magdalene.  On Thursday, I decided to focus my youth sermon on her, and over the next 24 hours I got the idea to make red eggs out of cloth as something to give the youth to remember her:

The eggs aren't perfect, but that's the fine.  I had the red scraps and stuffing on hand, and I enjoyed creating them. 

I wanted to print the picture in color, but the printer wasn't cooperating.  So now, I have a coloring sheet for the youth.  

I ended the day sewing, and I started the day by icing the sugar cookies that I made for my students on Thursday.  I wanted a Good Friday/Passion kind of vibe, and I achieved it:

In short, it was a good day.  And maybe my creating yesterday led to my poem this morning.  It's in process, but here's a bit.

Holy Saturday

The scent of burial spices in my nose,
the last of the death wrappings unbound,
I leave this grave.

The weather, with its wintry insistence,
does not deter me, a daffodil
bulb who has known the earth’s protection.

I weave a web, I weave

a net.  I can catch

what I need for sustenance.