Oh, what a wonderful Christmas we had.

It was a very ordinary Christmas, but that’s exactly what made it so wonderful. We were all together, all four of us under the same roof.

(Last year we were at the Ronald McDonald House, and Ben and I took turns going up to Felix’s hospital room where he lay in his crib, hooked up to oxygen, IV, and a heart monitor. Lydia hadn’t laid eyes on him in three weeks. This year? Well, just look.)

(All my favourites under the Christmas tree.)

Here are a few things I enjoyed throughout the month.

Books

Teaching Godly Play: How to Mentor the Spiritual Development of Children (Jerome Berryman): I think I love Godly Play. Unfortunately, this is the wrong book to learn about it. Turns out, this is a guide on how to run a Godly Play Sunday School program. I’m interested in how to incorporate Godly Play into home life, and I’m not sure what resource is right for that. (I probably need this book.)

The philosophy captivates me: the assumption behind Godly Play is that all children have experiences of God; our job is to help give them the religious language to explore them. They use the Montessori method to help children acquire that language. Sounds like everything I want in spiritual education.

Children’s Books: Christmas

(Wow, I take lousy photos)

We’re slowly building up a library of Christmas books to enjoy throughout Advent. So far, I’ve collected all of them from thrift stores. Here were the highlights:

Room For a Little One: A Christmas Tale (Martin Waddell) – This one gets an A+ for the illustrations. The gorgeous images have a luminescent quality. The Christmas story is told through the perspective of the animals in the stable.

How Many Miles to Bethlehem? (Kevin Crossley-Holland) – The highlight in this book is the richly poetic text. Each page offers the perspective of a different party — Mary, the donkey, the shepherds, even Herod. The images evoke Renaissance artwork. The whole thing has a mysterious, sophisticated feel to it. I wouldn’t recommend it for children younger than 4 or 5, as it’s very text-heavy.

Moon and Star: a Christmas Story (Robin Muller) – A completely secular but delightfully magical Christmas story about a devoted toy-shop dog. It has the feel of a modern fairy-tale or ballet. Very detailed, attractive illustrations. Lydia was obsessed with this book. It’s great for kids who love animal stories.

Children’s Books: Read-Aloud Chapter Books

Toys Go Out: Being the Adventures of a Knowledgeable Stingray, a Toughy Little Buffalo, and Someone Called Plastic (Emily Jenkins) – This book was perfect. Lydia (aged 4) loved it so much I could use it as a motivator for her to get ready for bed (“We can find out what happens next to the toys!”). It’s lively, imaginative, and funny. The characters are memorable (you will love Lumphy, StingRay and Plastic), the plot is exciting, and the writing is excellent. I can’t wait to read the others in the series with her.

Television

I finished seasons 4, 5 and 6 of Gilmore Girls, and I’m about to start the poorly-regarded seventh season. This show is addictive and entertaining. Also: frustrating. Why is Rory so stupid with guys? Why are Lorelai and Luke so stupid with each other?

Also: JESSSSSSSSS! COME BACK!!!! Come back and MARRY ME!!!!! (RORY, YOU ARE AN IDIOT!!!) (<– I am talking about season 6 Jess, not season 3 Jess, who was kind of a butthead.)

We’re also still getting a kick of out Big Bang Theory and Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

Movies

Movies are still a no-go in this household, since the time between 7:30 and 10:00pm with Lydia are chaos, and Felix still wakes up for two-hour parties every night so we want to get to bed as early as possible.

Someday.

And that’s what I’ve been into!

*Disclaimer: this post contains affiliate links. Thanks for supporting Becoming Peculiar!

*As always, Linking up with Leigh Kramer.

As regular readers know, back in February Ben helped me have a revelation.

We’d been in the hospital for over two months with our sweet Felix, who was (and is) battling a life-threatening disease, and the constant grip of anxiety was threatening to suffocate me. Worries about his future spun around my brain like a never-ending merry-go-round. There was absolutely nothing I could do to help my baby. I wanted to run away. I wanted to die.

Instead, I cried. Constantly. In his room. In the cafeteria. In bed. On the phone with my mom.

I was exhausted.

And one day when I was watering my cafeteria pizza with my tears, Ben suggested I take up a hobby to ease my anxiety. Hadn’t I always wanted to learn to knit or crochet?

That suggestion changed everything.

I took a free online crocheting class. Sitting on the cot in Felix’s room, armed with a size-H hook and some cotton yarn from Wal-Mart, I learned how to chain, and then how to single-crochet. My yarn got all twisted up and I didn’t know the top of my piece from the bottom, but before long there was a new piece of tangled cotton fabric dangling from my hook. I had made something! I had made my first swatch of fabric!

I learned a few taller stitches and then how to crochet in the round. I learned how to make a granny square. I learned how to stitch the granny squares together to make a blanket.

I had made a tiny little granny square blanket! Out of yarn!

I started to frequent different yarn shops in the city, getting acquainted with different fibres. I needed new sizes of hooks for different projects. I made a simple cotton bowl and a simple scarf. It felt like magic, creating real objects out of nothing but yarn.

Suddenly, I had something else to think about besides my son’s health and how much I missed my home and my daughter. I sill worried about him almost constantly, and felt pangs when I remembered how distant my old life was. But I had purpose now. Crochet helped me to hang on.

I will always have a tender place in my heart for crochet. It helped me survive the trauma of our stay in the hospital.

I’ve mulled over some of the ways crochet was so therapeutic. Here are a few of them:

It’s kind of like meditating.

Like meditation, different kinds of handiwork like crochet allow you to empty your mind. When you need to concentrate on making even stitches, there’s less room in your brain for worries and ugly mental pictures.

Some people count their breaths to help them meditate. I counted stitches. And when I did that, everything else disappeared for a little while.

It gave me a sense of purpose.

When a loved one is going through illness, there’s often very little you can do at the bedside but wait. I had nothing to do but sit and worry.

After I took up crocheting, I had projects lined up that helped me to feel productive and valuable when I felt otherwise useless and helpless. I could make a cozy blanket for my baby! I could make some storage baskets for my little girl’s treasures back home! Hadn’t I always wanted a black-and-white throw blanket for our living room? Maybe I could start crocheting infinity scarves for my friends!

When I went to bed at night, instead of dwelling uselessly on the scary future (Is the procedure going to work? Is Felix going to be a part of our lives for years to come? How would I explain his death to Lydia if it came to that?), I could think about my projects. What colour scheme did I want for my next blanket? What material should it be made from? How big should it be?

When I woke up every morning, I was eager to get back to my project and finish one more stripe on that blanket or the legs of that little amigurumi creature. When I put Felix back into his crib for a nap, I could cross the room and finish up the last rounds of that bowl and get it ready for felting.

It felt good to finally master a skill I’d always wanted under my belt. I could already cook, sew, and paint; now I felt like if I mastered crochet I could make just about anything.

It gave me a chance to be creative.

Crocheting gave me a chance to utilize the artistic side of my brain, the part that rarely gets a chance to shine when you’re taking care of babies. It was refreshing to think about colour palettes and texture and drape. I would notice colours in wall tiles and be inspired for a patchwork afghan. I would notice the delicate stitches in a woman’s sweater in the elevator and wonder what fiber it was made from and how I could achieve a similar look. I saw potential for inspiration everywhere. I felt like an artist again.

It provided me with a distraction.

I recently watched a TEDx talk about emotional hygiene (Guy Winch). He talks about the unhealthy psychological habit of ruminating — the mental act of replaying upsetting scenes in our minds, over and over again. As he explains, the urge to ruminate seems so important that it can quickly become a habit which eventually jeopardizes our psychological and physical health. However, studies show that even a two-minute distraction is enough to break the urge to ruminate in that moment. Given enough practice, we can break that damaging habit.

I was caught up in a constant, dangerous habit of ruminating at Felix’s bedside. I needed a safe, constructive distraction. In the time it took me to add sixteen stitches to my wool treasure bowl, I was able to break through yet another urge to ruminate, repairing a bit of my psychological health.

* * *

Now, I’m sure there are many different crafts that provide similar therapeutic experiences. Knitting, embroidery, needle-felting, drawing/sketching, and colouring come to mind. If I spend much more time in hospitals or similar environments I hope to spend time learning or developing some of these skills, too.

One advantage of crocheting is that it requires so few materials to begin, making it portable and inexpensive. All you need is yarn and a single hook (and a hook typically costs about $2). I could pop most of my projects in my purse and take them with me if I wanted.

Crocheting uses a combination of creativity, repetitive movements, and problem-solving skills. All of these things kept my mind busy and honed my mental abilities in a productive way.

And there is so much you can make with a few basic skills, from stuffed toys to clothing to housewares. You’re bound to land on a project that excites you. Blankets? Hats? Lace doilies? Dolls? Softies? Dish rags? The possibilities are endless.

I hate that I had to go through this, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to pick up this amazing skill. I will have it now for the rest of my life. Crochet will always have a special place in my heart.

Have you experienced something similar? Have you found some other practice or craft that has helped you through troubling times? Do share!

I wrote recently that I believe community will save the world. And I keep coming back to that.

I’m believing less and less in personal salvation.

Because if I am experiencing salvation, it’s through community. I’m only getting there because of you guys.

If left to my own devices, my own will, I know I am doomed to hell. (“Hell,” by the way, is not necessarily a place you go after you die. But I’m not going to get into that here.) I have a weak, pitiful, petty soul – I can feel it. All I really care about is my own comfort. I don’t want to help anyone or take responsibility for anything or even seek after goodness on my own.

But you guys encourage and inspire me. Your kind words, your generous offerings, your shining example turn me towards God.

In different circumstances – if I’d been born to a different family at a different time and in a different cultural context – I could be a total monster. I know I would. It’s only because I’m embedded in this community that I am as nice and temperate and disciplined as I am. There is nothing essentially good about my heart or anything.

It doesn’t feel totally accurate or complete, then, to say Jesus is saving me. He may be the source of all goodness, but he’s doing the saving through a multitude of people. My family, my husband and kids, my friends, my blog readers. They’re all a part of it. Their collective love and support is carrying me to heaven.

And I think that’s called the Holy Spirit. The collective power of hearts fueled by love. (But maybe I’m wrong. The Holy Spirit is so tricky to define and pin down.)

Sometimes I feel like together we’re a living organism on our way to heaven. You know . . . a Body. (Hey, didn’t Paul say something about that?) None of us could get there on our own.

So I don’t feel right saying things like “Jesus is my personal lord and saviour.” For starters, I almost never feel like he speaks directly to me in private. I almost exclusively know him through you folks, and he only enters my heart through interactions with you (and the authors and pastors who speak to me through books and podcasts.) Jesus is our lord and saviour. We are saved collectively.

And I’m not even sure everyone in this Body would agree or say it that way (I’m looking at you, my favourite atheist friend. You’re helping to save me, whether you mean to or not), but I don’t think that makes it any less true.

Thank you for being the Body and for helping me to be a part of it.

A: When they ask.

The other day I experienced THE WORST, most inappropriate example of proselytizing I have ever witnessed. (Evangelical pun not intended.)

I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, weeping over some bad news about my ill infant son, when someone I love decided to bring up the long and narrow path versus the short and wide path, and the importance of choosing the right one.

It kind of blows my mind that any human being would need to be told that this was the wrong moment to preach at another human being, but apparently it’s not that obvious to everyone in the world.

Knowing that Ben and I are Bible-believing, church-attending Christians ourselves, you might be surprised to learn just how often we are actually “witnessed” to. For being the wrong kind of Christian. For attending the wrong kind of church. For reading the wrong translation of the Bible. I swear to you, it is a fairly common occurrence. If you are not a person of faith, you might be surprised to find that you are not the only one who gets preached at. And still always jarring and slightly bewildering every time it happens.

Sometimes it comes from a stranger at the door in the middle of a busy afternoon. Sometimes it’s from a loved one during a carpool to an event.

The one thing all of these wildly terrible acts of “witnessing” have in common is problematic timing. That and a lack of respect for our own spiritual experiences and beliefs.

The thing is, Ben and I love talking theology. We appreciate having our beliefs questioned and tested in respectful dialogue. We enjoy being exposed to different ways of thinking. We would genuinely love to hear your perspective on religious matters.

But there is a time and a place for that stuff. And if you’re wondering when that time is, I’ll make it easy for you: I’ll initiate the conversation. I’ll ask you about your beliefs. (And tip number two: It’s NOT when I’m grieving my sick baby’s diagnosis.)

If you’re someone who is passionate about sharing your faith (and that’s awesome if you are – I’m so glad you’ve experienced such love and hope in your faith that you want to share it with others!) I think this is a good rule of thumb to live by: Share your faith (verbally) when someone asks about it.

(I’ve written about this subject before, from when I used to be a really active and vocal witness for Christ.)

Otherwise, please stick to sharing your faith by your actions and attitude.

Show them the love of Jesus through your generosity and kindness. Be helpful. Volunteer. Listen. Smile. Hug when appropriate.

Show them the power of the cross by your courage. Stand up against meanness and injustice. Defend the weak and helpless.

And when someone inevitably asks you why you do the things you do, go ahead and tell them. The timing will be right, and they’ll actually be able to hear what you’re saying.

Instead of wanting to punch you in the ovaries.

**(Updated to clarify: I’m mostly referring to questions of salvation. By all means, if you feel you have words of comfort from your faith that are appropriate to the situation, consider sharing them. But please don’t try converting anyone during a sensitive time.)**

A few times in these last weeks, I have thought, This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Watching my baby suffer. Being apart from my three-year-old. Contemplating the possibility of watching my baby die in my arms.

I have sobbed the deepest, most desperate tears over this situation. It can’t possibly get any worse than this.

But then I remember: I have cried this hard and with this much agony and despair before.

Infertility was just as hard.

Contemplating my life without children was just as painful as contemplating my life without Felix. I wept over my nonexistent children with just as much grief as my very real, possibly-dying son who has a face and a name and a personality. (Of course, now there is the added pain of knowing my baby is suffering. Every experience brings its own unique type of pain.)

In fact, in some ways infertility was worse, because I felt so alone. I felt like no one could understand. I felt like I couldn’t fully share my grief – I felt ashamed of it. Because who cries over nonexistent children? How can you really be sad over the absence of people you’ve never met? It felt preposterous. Weeping every time I got my period was too embarrassing a picture to share. But I couldn’t help feeling intense grief.

But everyone can sympathize with the tragedy of a sick or dying baby. It’s universally heart-wrenching. Few things tug a human’s heart strings like a suffering child. I feel perfectly reasonable sobbing over my diseased infant son.

I never felt okay sobbing over an unwanted period.

I guess I bring this up in case you or someone you love is dealing with infertility, and are tempted (like me) to feel like you’re overreacting or that your problem isn’t as heart-crushing as mine. In my eyes, it totally is.

I also bring this up as a form of healing for my past self. I was justified in being that sad. I understand that now.

It’s okay, younger self. Infertility really is that heartbreaking. Your tears are completely appropriate.

* * *

Endnote:

There were moments after Lydia was born when my heart screamed out: The pain was WORTH IT! Thanks to my experience with infertility, I was able to have such a deep, deep appreciation for the gift I’d been given. Deeper, perhaps, than I would have had if I’d gotten a baby as soon as I’d wanted one. All that time of unrealized longing increased my joy when it was finally fulfilled. (I still wouldn’t wish it on anyone, though. Infertility is an EVIL that only God can redeem.)

Only in retrospect does pain have any meaning or value, I think.

I never would have believed it while I was in the depths of agony, though. I never would have believed that any good could come from that suffering.

Just like I don’t believe now that this pain will be worth it.

But maybe someday I will again.

I once read a blog post by a Unitarian pastor who said she believed community would save the world.

I think she may be right.

In fact, I think this is just another way of saying what Jesus said: that the Church would do greater things than he did.

I’ve always been a little skeptical of this statement. I mean, really, Jesus: us? Greater things than you’ve done? Are you sure about that? Have you met us? We’re a lazy, selfish bunch.

Or at least that’s what I thought until tragedy hit out family.

The community that has enveloped us with love is saving us. And it looks and feels a lot like Jesus.

This community is sustaining us, as a family, on every level while we endure this hell.

For starters, there are the doctors.

Jesus cured people with a touch. This team of doctors and nurses who is treating Felix has cured countless children with life-threatening diseases. SCID, leukemia . . . they’ve saved children from certain death. It’s not instantaneous and it’s not perfect, but it’s very real healing. So it kind of reminds me of Jesus.

And then there are the friends, family members, acquaintances, charitable organizations, and taxpayers who are keeping us alive. Let me count a few of the ways.

• Money has been pouring in from friends, family, and complete strangers so that we can focus on caring for Felix.

• Our families are providing amazing care for Lydia while we’re preoccupied with Felix’ urgent care.

• People are praying on our behalf when I can’t. Honestly, most days I can’t even pray. I’m just too worn out, too miserable, too hopeless. That’s why I keep asking you to do it for me – you who are closer to God. Maybe he’ll hear you. Literally hundreds of people – entire congregations, multitudes of blog readers, friends and family members scattered across the continent – are praying for us. If my Catholic friends are right, departed souls are even praying on our behalf. God’s got to listen, right? And just knowing that all these dear friends and strangers are begging for Felix’s healing helps me get through this.

• Your tax money, fellow Ontarians, is also helping to keep him alive. We could never, ever in a million years afford this treatment, even with all the donations pouring in. Last week Felix received a $5000 vaccine that was paid for by OHIP. It’s only possibly because we’re pooling the money of thousands of people. The magic of community.

If I was on my own . . . I don’t think I’d make it in one piece, spiritually or otherwise. But community is keeping me together. It’s God’s Kingdom at work.

Some of the members of this community are consciously members of God’s Kingdom. Others are contributing without realizing it, but I think that counts, too. I believe that every heart that moves in line with God’s will is helping to build that Kingdom here on earth, helping to redeem it.

For some reason, I am learning that God prefers to do things collectively, in community; and he likes to do things the slow, complicated, mysterious way. Honestly, I often question his judgment on that (the quick, simple, painless way seems vastly superior to my way of thinking…), but I guess with him being the Great Benevolent Force Behind Everything and all I just have to trust that he knows best. I really wish he would consult me on these matters, but I guess I haven’t been around all that long and I can’t take it too personally.

So I’m trusting that God is using community to save us. I’m getting a glimpse of how he’s planning to carry out the redemption of all creation – through us. It’s insane and frustrating and messy and I kind of hate it most of the time, but it’s happening. And I guess I should be grateful that I get to witness it.

Image courtesy of mic wernej.

Yes, Lydia’s birthday was almost two months ago. I’ve been meaning to share a quick tutorial on how I made her fabric Happy Birthday banner ever since. But, you know. Harvesting and preserving and crippling back pain. But I’m finally back!

As I explained in my post about her handmade third birthday party, I wanted to create some quality, reusable items for celebrating birthdays through the years. For the banner in particular, I wanted something gender-neutral, timeless, and ageless, with the hopes that it would see many years of use with multiple children. This could even be used for an adult’s birthday!

I first spied this design on a friend’s Instagram feed and instantly wanted to make my own. It had everything I was looking for.

Only after I started making it, I discovered that the original designer was Marissa, an online friend who is a thousand times more talented than I am. The idea is totally hers. She did, however, give me her blessing in offering a tutorial on how I made it, since I figured it out on my own, just looking at her picture. (Also: if you’re interested in your own banner but don’t have the skills/time/equipment/desire to make one, I believe she is willing to take custom orders!)

It’s not at all difficult — it’s only time-consuming. if you sew at all, you could probably figure it out on your own. I am NOT a pro sewer and I managed this quite easily. For that reason, my instructions aren’t super detailed, allowing you to customize as you wish. I’m mostly offering sizes to guide you and help reduce guesswork, as well offering as a printable template for the letters.

DIY Fabric Birthday Banner Tutorial

Note: Makes an 8-foot long banner, with extra length on each side for tying

Materials:

• 10 ft extra-wide double-fold bias tape
• 1 yard of white or off-white fabric (I used leftover ivory-coloured quilt backing. It was 44″ wide and I only used 16″ of it)
• various printed fabric/quilting scraps for the letters. You’ll need 13 pieces, at least 4″x4″ each. Repeat patterns are fine!
• thread: some white; some to match your bias tape; and some to match your scraps (if desired)
• printable template for letters (download PDF here)
• sewing gear: sewing machine; straight pins; sharp scissors; rotary cutter and self-healing mat (optional); serger (optional)

Instructions:

Begin by cutting the squares of white fabric: You’ll need 13 squares, 7″x8″ each. (Technically not squares but they will look like it when all is said and done.) A rotary cutter and self-healing mat would be IDEAL for this job, though I just used scissors. Absolute precision isn’t necessary here, since the rustic look adds to the charm (in my opinion).

Next, you want to finish the edges of the squares. There are a few ways you can do this, depending on your preference. Notice that you only have to do the sides and bottom; the top edge will go inside the bias tape and will be hidden.

I personally wasn’t overly concerned about how the back looked, and I have access to a serger, so I did it like this: I serged all four edges of each square, and then did a plain 1/4-inch hem around the sides and bottom with a straight/running stitch. Then I pressed the edges. They look like this from the back:

Alternatively, you could do a double-fold hem (there’s plenty of room), or cut the edges with pinking shears and hem.

Next, print out my HAPPY BIRTHDAY letter template on regular printer paper (or something sturdier if you prefer — it will make tracing easier). Note that some letters are used more than once (H, A, P, Y), so you can cut out just one of each of these to save time. (I already omitted the second P in the PDF). Cut out all the letters. You will be tracing around these.

Now trace around your paper letters onto your printed fabric scraps. I just used pen and traced directly onto the right side of the fabric. Depending on how much a perfectionist you are, you can trace the letters onto the wrong side of the fabric; just remember to place your letters backwards so they will be the right way from the right side. (Make sense?) *Remember that if you only cut one paper H, A, P and Y, you still need two of each in fabric to get all 13 letters.*

Cut out your fabric letters. Again, a rotary cutter and mat would be helpful; I just used scissors. This was the most time-consuming step.

Now it’s time to applique the fabric letters onto the squares. Place the letter as close the the center as possible and pin (remembering that about half an inch from the top will be inside the bias tape). Again, absolute precision isn’t necessary. Since this isn’t a garment and won’t get much wear and tear, I wasn’t not too worried about them fraying a teeny bit, so I didn’t do anything to finish the letters except stitch them on with a straight running stitch, about 1/8-inch around each edge. Again: a little bit of imperfection adds to the rustic look.

Note: you can choose whether to use matching or contrasting colours of thread for this job, depending on whether you want the letters to pop more. I went with (roughly) matching thread, since my sewing isn’t the greatest. But I used white thread in the bobbin so that it wouldn’t show up in the back.

Once all the letters are sewn onto their squares, it’s time to attach them to the bias tape!

Leave about 6 inches of bias tape before beginning to attach the squares: you want some extra length for tying or pinning the banner to the wall.

At the 6-inch mark, insert the top of your first square between the fold of the bias tape and pin in place with a straight pin or two. (Make sure the fabric goes all the way in to touch the inner fold.) Leave half an inch of bias tape before inserting the next one and pinning it in place. Continue pinning the squares at half-inch intervals until all the letters for the word “HAPPY” are pinned in place.

Leave two inches between the “Y” from “HAPPY” and the “B” from “BIRTHDAY.” Then carry on with pinning the remaining squares at half-inch intervals.

You should have at least another 6 inches of bias tape dangling at the end. Trim so that there are about 6 inches remaining.

Now for the most satisfying step: Stitch along the entire length of the bias tape at about 1/4-inch from the bottom, using thread that matches your bias tape. You’re going to want to start at the “Y” end. Just one, long, glorious top stitch. It feels awesome. Remove pins one at a time as you come to them with the sewing machine.

Finish the ends of the bias tape with a top stitch (or something fancier if you prefer).

You’re ready to hang your birthday banner wherever you please!