Worst Blanket I've Ever Crocheted Up for Auction

This is the worst blanket I've ever crocheted:

Actually, it's only the second blanket I've ever crocheted.

But it's still the worst.  As you can see, it took me until the last ten or fifteen rows before I finally figured out what I was doing.  Up to that point, I couldn't count well enough to keep the same number of stitches in each row.

I started this little guy with the intent of giving it away to someone in need of a blanket, to meet both a physical and spiritual need.  And it's not that someone couldn't still benefit from it...but I think there's also something to be said for sharing quality items.  Honestly, if I were to hand this blanket to someone in need, I would feel ashamed, and I would be afraid of sending the message that they weren't important enough to receive a quality piece of work.

Not to say there wasn't a lot of time and effort put into this blanket, because there sure was.  I started the thing back in October, and I spent many hours crocheting on it while I weekly interceded for others in prayer.

But all is not lost.  I have a Plan B that I just created, which is as follows:

Poor little blanket is now up for auction among my blog readers.  This is how it's going to work...

• Place your bid in the comment box.  Bidding will remain open for two weeks and close at midnight on April 23rd.  Highest bidder wins.
• Winner will NOT send me any money!  Instead, winner will commit to using that money in ONE of the following ways:
• Donate that amount to Restore NYC, my current featured non-profit organization,
• OR...purchase a "real" blanket(s) using the winning funds and deliver blanket(s) to a local homeless (or similar) shelter
• Winner and I will communicate via email so I can arrange to ship poor little blanket to him/her (I will pay for shipping)
• Blanket is then property of winner to do with as he/she pleases

 Here is a close-up of the blanket so you can see the details a little better.

Dimensions:  62" long x 36"-46" wide (depending which end is measured)

Happy bidding!

(P.S.  When I was praying and crocheting, I also prayed for the recipient of the blanket, that God would prepare their hearts to know Him more and that they would grow in Him.  Also that He would meet their needs and make Himself known in their life.)

(P.P.S.  Blanket is gently used by Gracie and may arrive with some cat hairs attached, but I will do my best to lint-roll them out.)

Beep - Beep - Beep

I've been convinced for years that I have some sort of undiagnosed disorder.  I've suffered from symptoms for probably twenty years, and nearly every day I have to accommodate and adapt.

Since it's undiagnosed, I can't tell you what it's called.  But I can tell you my symptoms:

I can't wake up long enough to get out of bed in the mornings.

In high school, my dad would drag me out of bed by my ankles, to which I responded by curling up on the floor to resume my sleep there.

I awoke my first morning at college to my roommate throwing a stuffed animal at me because my alarm was going off...and off...and off...

Last week, after finally reaching an all-time personal record of hitting snooze for an hour and a half and not remembering most of it, I decided it was time to do something about my problem.  (I was only ten minutes late to work, because I schedule time for hitting snooze into my morning routine.)

Sunday night I set my alarm for half an hour later than usual and set it on the floor across the room as far as the cord would reach.  This (in theory) would force me to actually get out of bed to turn off the alarm; therefore, no pre-allotted snooze time needed.

This has worked fairly well so far, but each morning I tolerate listening to that horribly irritating beeping for a few more minutes.  Today it was eight minutes of beeping before I got up to turn it off.

The hardest part of this new routine comes the night before.  It absolutely goes against every fiber in my body to turn out the light and go to sleep with my snooze button sitting beyond arm's reach.  I cannot graciously handle the lack of control over when my alarm is going to go off.

Which is funny, because it would still go off at the same time regardless of where I put it.  But I can no longer control what I do about it.

And you know, I'm sure there is some profound spiritual application to this story, such as letting God have control over circumstances...but at the moment I'm a little tired and can't quite come up with a smooth or coherent lesson.  So I'm going to let you enjoy the story and draw your own conclusions and applications.

Lenten Review

I gave up facebook for Lent.

I've never participated in Lent before.  I grew up eating fish sticks every Friday for school lunch because my Catholic classmates couldn't eat meat on that one day of the week.  In high school, I listened to friends talk about giving up pop or candy or other things for this mysterious religious practice, but I never knew much about it myself.  My Baptist heritage didn't teach me much about it.

This year I decided to partake.  Life is so hurried, and months come and go before I'm even aware of them.  Easter is my absolute favorite holiday, and I didn't want it to suddenly come and go without being ready for it.

So I decided to give up facebook, as it was probably the largest time-sucker of my day (minus my job).  I was quite successful and have not logged on once in the past forty days.  (After my dad died, my brother would read what friends had posted on my page, so in that sense I may have cheated a bit.)

But the main question is this:  Was my participation in Lent successful in drawing me closer to Jesus?

I have to admit, I'm not sure I can say that it did.  Each time I consciously avoided logging onto facebook, I was reminded that Easter was fast approaching.  So it did help prevent me from being swept away in the hustle and bustle of daily life, and I was much more aware of my favorite holiday.

But I did not substitute my time online for time with God.  I found other things to do, and I realized how much time I waste online.  But I can't say I deliberately spent that extra time in prayer, meditation, Scripture, or anything else holy.

Is this something I would do again?  Probably.  Is it something I will do as a spiritual discipline rather than a religious activity?  I sure hope so.

Restore NYC

A few months ago God burdened my heart with the reality of human trafficking.  As I learned more and read statistics and saw pictures, I desired more and more to help.  Here is some of what I've found:

• Over 12 million people worldwide are trafficked for forced labor or sexual exploitation
• Each year, 1 million children worldwide are exploited by commercial sex trade
• Each year, over 200,000 children in the U.S. are at risk for sexual exploitation
• Of the women trafficked, 30% are victims of forced labor, 70% of sexual labor
• NYC alone is home to more than 2,200 children who have been sexually exploited.
• Average age of entry into prostitution: 12-14
• Total yearly profits of human trafficking: $32 billion

I started to look online for ways I could be directly involved with rescuing women and children out of this horrible form of slavery.  But the more I searched for ways to be involved, the more overwhelmed I became with the hugeness of this issue.  I'm not in a location where I can just walk into a brothel and buy a girl's freedom.  Googling local brothels seemed like a great way to look suspicious, and most aren't dumb enough to reveal their locations anyway.  There are hundreds of organizations already fighting this battle, but all I could do for them was give money.

Then a friend pointed me to Restore NYC.  This is a non-profit organization based in New York City that seeks to provide support and healing to women of sex trafficking within the city.  They're doing everything I can't, and I like that a lot.  In fact, their current focus is to create a safe house for these women, because no such place currently exists in NYC.

Not only are they offering an escape and a safe place to go, Restore is also committed to walking hand-in-hand with women through their entire recovery.  They will seek to meet immediate physical needs of food and clothing, restore spiritual brokenness, and provide training and education for the women to return to society successfully and independently.

To offer hope to broken and shattered women, donate here.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Every few months I will feature an organization that is dedicated to carrying out Christ's Mission here on earth.  My purpose in this is to raise awareness of various needs throughout our world and to challenge my readers to join together and participate in helping these organizations carry out the Mission.  All throughout Scripture we are commanded to "look after orphans and widows" and "share with God's people who are in need" (James 1:27, Romans 12:13).  Most of us live in abundance.  It is our duty and pleasure to help those with nothing and thus share the love of Christ.  I will donate financially to each organization as I present it here, and I ask and encourage you to do the same.  (I know I have at least eleven readers who receive my posts via email.  If each one of you donates $20, that quickly becomes $220 that will go out to reach all corners of the earth.)

Thank you.

Sources:
www.restorenyc.org
http://www.gems-girls.org/ganfs/home.html
http://www.polarisproject.org/component/option,com_frontpage/Itemid,1/
http://www.dreamcenter.org/new/images/outreach/RescueProject/stats.pdf

Out of Suffering Comes Hope

Four weeks ago I spent the weekend in a hospital room and watched my dad die a horrible death from a horrible disease.

I would watch him try unsuccessfully to sit up, watch his hands shake from weakness as he tried to hold his own water bottle, watch his lungs struggle for each shallow breath.

I watched these things, and I would plead with God.  Please, God, take him soon.  This is too much suffering.

And almost immediately, the Father would gently remind me of another - of His own Son.  Images of Jesus filled my mind.  Jesus, beaten and bloody, bruised and dirty, exhausted and wounded, hanging on a cross.

He reminded me ever so softly that this present suffering does not compare to the suffering Jesus endured.  The dying body of my dad isn't even a shadow of the dying body of Christ.

This is why I rejoice this weekend.  This is why last night's church service left a heavy weight on our souls.  And this is why, as the weekend passes, the joy of the LORD will build in my heart until I cannot carry it any longer and it bursts forth like the glorious Sunday morning dawn!

Four weeks ago my dad left his earthly home on the farm and moved into a new and glorious land that shines bright with the glory of God.  He celebrates Easter in the physical presence of those nail-scarred hands and the spear-pierced side.  I celebrate here in the Spirit, in the new and living hope given by Jesus on that cross, in full knowledge that I, too, will one day stand at His side and see those scars that bore my name.

He is risen!