Identity – One Day Wonders with JBK

It rarely happens.

Cooking is not my thing, so when a person asks for a recipe, I’m always surprised. And pleased. My daughter Naomi asked for my recipe for pork chops. For the most part cooking does not run in our family blood.

I do have a few good recipes though. Most all come from someone else’s culinary expertise. Copying recipes from another kitchen is no problem to me. Call it survival of the fittest. We have to eat—preferably a meal that is palatable.

A friend gave me a magnet for my refrigerator that says, “Many people have eaten my cooking…and gone on to live normal lives.” She knows me well.

I had a sister-in-law was known for her cooking. It was her identity.

There was a time when I was into quilting. That could have been my identity at the time. But I took a lengthy recess from it. Today I dabble at the sewing machine, going through the motions of quilting.

I’m not sure what my identity is anymore. When the children were little I was the parent or guardian of (name of child.) I was a morning person back then. Not so now. Bedtime is something I look forward to, so I cannot be identified as a night owl. Currently, I think of myself as an early afternoon person. My favorite mornings start off slow—admittedly it does not give me much time to get things done.

This I can say with certainty though. I am a Christ follower. Jesus helps me get my days in order. He brings me peace and a purpose to keep on keeping on. Most of all, a satisfaction at the end of the day.

You can have the same experience. Have a conversation with him about your concerns and see what he does for you.

What have I done?

The cutting table is gone, the mat along with it. They were my identity. Who am I now?

Too late I understand how my husband Dave felt selling his compressor. It was part of his identity. A valuable tool in his remodeling business.

All sold.

Time moves on and things have a way of changing. My cutting table held many a vision of quilts I would make. Most of which never came to be. Like a child standing before a smorgasbord of tempting food, everything looked appetizing. Only my stomach could not hold all that I piled on my food tray.

Likewise, my fabric stash held tantalizing visions of potential quilts—like sugar plums dancing in my head. But my cutting table was unable to make my workmanship satisfactory. Dave liked my work—except he never saw a quality quilt. What did he know? He was just a staunch encourager to my efforts.

At least Dave’s compressor provided a living. Quilting only provided me with a calm frustration.

We see Phase two coming. The quilt room will no longer be just that. The sewing machine remains, but will be accompanied with a massive bookshelf. It’s gonna be great! The walls are painted, soon new flooring will be laid.

It has been a project of mixed feelings. Never have we ripped out a perfectly good wall-to-wall carpet. The most damage it had ever seen was loose threads. Disposing of it was a conundrum. Our best means of removal was to give it away. Done. It blessed the receiver and gave us the space we needed to continue with the transition.

But I had this brainstorm of an idea that you could help me with. We are the proud owners of Dave’s dads high school letter. L. Because the quilt room will be more than that soon, I hope to frame that L and give the room a new name. But it has to begin with L.

Suggestions please.

Tag: Identity

Who Am I Now?

Phase One 1/2