The other day, in the middle of completely unrelated errands, I passed a Michael’s and went in. I had a sudden urge to crochet a sock monkey hat for my little monkey boy… and the only yarn I had at home had become a surrogate litter box for my cat one day, when I forgot to clean his box out for weeks.
I immediately found the yarn I wanted but when I got home… a sock monkey hat did not appear. This little guy did:
I used the pattern here.
Lately, I’m feeling something come back that I haven’t felt in a while.
Long ago (before college) I used to sketch. I used to paint. I used to crochet. I wrote poems and sometimes I even shared them, those most intimate parts of my heart, with others.
And then I was hurt… I was criticized by someone, simply for the reason to hurt me. Their words and actions said I wasn’t up-to-par. I wasn’t good enough for them, I was selfish. I was just not good. And so I stopped. I stopped doing the things that I knew were the truest parts of me.
I’m reading Grace for the Good Girl by Emily Freeman… and it has begun to free a part of me that had been locked up so long I thought it had died forever. The permission to create… the permission to be me and do what I was made to do, without reservation and without worry of what someone else may think of it (what they think of me), or their expectations or my own expectations, built from my imaginary ones of others.
For although I’ve created here and there for the past year or so… it has still all been done with reservation… with fear and LOTS of anxiety and the underlaying questions of “am I selfish? Am I not good?”
Oh but now I know… now I know that being good is not the question… being HIS is.