Well, Jake is fully in busy season: his work hours have been intense. He comes in from his office to spend dinner and bath time with Michael, and then heads back out til late at night. Pray for him as he slogs through — we’re hoping the craziness ends soon.

It’s crazy for me in a different way: it’s part solo-parenting, part-bachelorette life. My parents have been exceedingly helpful with Michael when things get overwhelming. And most evenings and weekends, I find myself with alone time on my hands instead of a husband to hang out with while our toddler sleeps.

Instead of thinking of all the episodes of our tv shows I could watch without him, I’ve been turning my lonely energy to making, and want to share these projects with you. I also realized there are a handful of makes I did for Christmas presents I never shared but promised I would, and many I’ve been piecing together over the weeks that I haven’t mentioned.

If you’re not interested in fiber crafts, you may not find this post riveting, but I hope you enjoy the pretty pictures anyway. So here are the projects that kept my hands busy the last few months!

I’ve been on a sewing spree: I know that once our little girl is born, my sewing machine will be gathering dust for quite some time. I’ve been using up whatever fabric and patterns I have in the meantime, hoping to have a nice variety of handmade clothing for the spring and summer.

I made another Hinterland Dress look — this time without sleeves. It layers wonderfully over a long sleeve shirt, and will be perfectly light in the hot summer months. It’s made from the same linen/rayon blend fabric as my first dress, but in a soft brown.

I decided to embrace my eccentric cottage hobbit vibe, and I made a Studio Tunic to go with it. It’s one of my favorite things to wear as a casual daily outfit: the pockets are huge and hold so many things (books, knitting projects, toy trucks, rocks, etc.)

I whipped up the Peppermint Pocket Skirt (gotta love a free pattern!) in an evening, using some linen I had in my fabric stash. The fabric is a bit stiff which makes the pockets look kind of funny, but I’m hopeful it’ll soften a bit with a few washes. I highly recommend the pattern for beginner sewists, too: it’s easy, comfortable, and quick.

I also found another free pattern: Dino chicken nugget plushies. Naturally, I had to make one for my sister for Christmas. And then Jake saw hers and wanted one for himself — so I made another, though this one was rather misshapen. It’s a fun pattern, though I do not enjoy sewing with fluffy fabric. I think I’ll be finding little orange floofs all over my house for months.

And, because I don’t do enough fiber hobbies (sarcasm), I decided to do a few quilting projects. First, I made this big squares quilt for our little girl. I fell in love with the fabric when I saw it, and knew it needed to be a baby blanket.

It’s nowhere near perfect, but it was a lot of fun to make. Inspired by the end product, I decided to jump in feet first and make a queen sized Irish Chain quilt. This tutorial from this blog was incredible and walked me through every step.

I’ve finished the quilt top and made the “quilt sandwich” with the backing and batting. Now all there is left is to quilt it by hand.

I’ve been finishing the quilt I made in 2023 in the meantime. I’m very close: a few more dedicated hours of stitching will get me to the end. Michael loves the colors, and loves helping me stick the needle in and out of the fabric. We can quilt together for hours, and he loves this quilt so much that he claimed it as his own. I’m hoping to finish it before baby is born so he can snuggle in it.

To practice binding and hand quilting, I’ve made a few coasters with fabric scraps I had. I love the way they turned out: I’ll be making them for gifts for friends and family.

I haven’t been knitting as much lately while I take advantage of the limited sewing and quilting time I have. But I always have a project on my needles: I’ve been working on and off on different pairs of socks. I finished a pair for Jake just after Christmas, and began a pair for myself which is still in progress.

Now for Christmas knits I never got to show! For Secret Santa with Jake’s side of the family, I got my brother-in-law who loves hockey and the Redwings, so I made him a pair of Redwings mittens. I made another pair of mittens for my brother, to hold him through those Texas cold snaps. And finally, for Jake’s godson and our nephew, I made a “choo choo train hat”. In complete, sheepish honesty, the hat has yet to make it into the mailbox…

My mother accidentally burned two holes in her favorite vest when embers flew up from the fire pit, so I tackled it as a visible mending challenge. I’m proud of the way it turned out.

I joke that you can always tell when I’m stressed because my making increases. It’s my coping skill: as I’ve quoted before, it gets me out of my head and into my hands. Things have been busy and difficult in many ways, and I’m grateful for the projects that keep my hands busy.

June has felt like a jumbled trinket box. So many mismatched, beautiful things tumbling around, difficult to organize or describe. Instead of trying to sort through all of it, I’ll take you through the whole trinket box with me.

It’s cherry season, and most of the orchards that surround us have already been harvested. There’s always some left over to glean, and the farmers don’t mind if we go through and take the fruit that was missed.

I canned up six pints in light syrup so we can have cherry cobbler in the winter months. There’s nothing better than warm cherry cobbler. I’m also planning on gleaning more and making a few pints of cherry jam.

I have been harvesting my lavender as it blooms and making lavender simple syrup for coffee and cocktails. It’s been a delight to sip lavender lattes in the mornings while watering the garden or playing with Michael on the porch.

My home brewed kombucha is finished: and it was delicious. I made two flavors: lavender, and blueberry honey mint. I’m already brewing a second batch.

After taking a break from spinning, I finally finished the yarn I’d been working on for weeks. This is a 2 ply, fingering weight Rambouillet fiber, dyed by threewatersfarm on Etsy. The colorway is named “Teal Wins”.

I wanted to challenge myself and spin a thinner yarn than I usually do. It was definitely a challenge, but I succeeded. My goal is to never have an empty wheel, so I started a fun spin using a dyed Falkland fiber from Nest Fiber called “Spring Ahead”. It’s bright and colorful and a joy to work. I’m spinning it much thicker, and planning on making this my first chain ply yarn. That means it’ll be a self-striping yarn once I knit it up.

I somehow found a way to stuff yet another bookshelf into our tiny cottage (Jake knew I was up to trouble when I was carrying around his measuring tape). I’m organizing my book collection by genre, and also trying to scan them all into LibraryThing. I look forward to the day our home library will be organized and catalogued, but I fear it’s a long way away.

But now, after organizing and purging a few books that don’t really belong to my library, I have four empty shelves (in bookcases not featured in these photos). I can now justify my impulsive used-bookstore visits.

I really missed reading. In With All Her Mind, writer Haley Stewart likens reading to conversations with authors and ideas throughout the centuries. On the days where I have very little adult conversation as I play with my toddler and attend to my different household duties, reading nourishes my intellectual life.

I’ve been continuing to read in the evenings instead of scrolling through my phone. The tech detox was only for the month of May, but I’m still figuring out the rules I’ll set with technology and social media in my daily life going forward.

Technology is a tool that can be used well. But so much is working against us using it well, trying to get us to spend as much time (and money) as possible on our devices. This article really shook me: The People Who Don’t Want You To Sleep. As the author quotes:

You can try having self-control, but there are a thousand engineers on the other side of the screen working against you.

former Google design ethicist Tristan Harris

So I’m still grappling with the role technology should play in my life and the questions that come with it. What does a healthy relationship with technology look like? What limits are good, and what limits are draconian? When does its usage cross the line from tool to addiction? What does my phone usage do to my soul and my journey towards holiness?

I’m trying to reach for books or writing or knitting or spinning instead of my phone, or just sit with quiet hands and listen to the birds or the neighbor’s goats or my child babble to himself as he plays. And yet, I still find myself itching to check my email or scroll Instagram. When did it get so difficult to do nothing? To embrace silence and leisure?

These are the questions I’ve been grappling with as I try to determine what my relationship with technology will be going forward. Some of these questions and my thoughts on them will be making an appearance on my Substack in the following weeks. But in the meantime, I will mother and clean and garden and work with my hands, and remind myself that this work is just as beautiful and good as writing.

Postscript

I had almost all of this post written, and then on Sunday night I was using a mandoline to slice vegetables and accidentally sliced a lot more than just brussel sprouts. My middle finger is missing a very sizable chunk. I’m grateful for my cousin, who answered my FaceTime when we couldn’t get the bleeding to stop after ten minutes, and who walked us through the best ways to care for it.

So these are the last knitting and spinning and canning updates you’ll see for a bit, unfortunately, as my finger heals. Pray for me: almost all my favorite hobbies are off the table as I heal, and I’m not someone who enjoys sitting still…

It’s been an interesting week. A few days after Pascha ended, we got hit with another cold — worse than the others we’ve weathered this April. Two weeks later, we’re both still popping cold meds like candy to get through the day. The amount of cough drops and tissues we’ve been through is ludicrous. We’re hopeful we’ve finally hit the tail end of it.

Then last weekend, I had a nasty fall over a dip in our gravel driveway — while holding Michael. Thankfully, Michael walked away with a single scratch on his arm, and I took the brunt of it. My legs and palms, however, are a different story. They’re pretty gnarly-looking. I’ve gotten some concerned looks when I wear shorts or skirts in public.

So because of all these things, it’s been a different type of week. My body is healing from the fall and my mind is fuzzy from the headcold. I’ve still been moving forward with homestead tasks, slowly doing my spring cleaning and reorganizing while my knitting and spinning are on hold.

Our little cottage had its HVAC system installed, and just in time for some 90 degree weather. It’s been oppressively hot the last few days, and the new air conditioning system keeps our cottage a little oasis.

The warmer weather has turned my focus towards the tasks that prepare for the bounty of summer. Spring cleaning is in full force: so far I’ve organized and deep cleaned our garden shed, the fridge, the closet in the guest room, the master bathroom, the laundry room, and several cabinets in the kitchen.

The biggest task so far has been organization. Our storage is pretty limited, so I’ve had to get creative with the ways I organize the kitchen and laundry room to make room for the canned goods I hope to preserve this summer. It’s a goal of mine to have a robust, shelf stable pantry that I’ve put up myself.

My garden is set up to help me achieve this goal: I’ve got a handful of tomatoes, zucchini/summer squash, strawberries, and pepper plants happily soaking up water and sun. I’m hoping to add cucumbers and beans shortly. I know I’ll also be able to take advantage of the bounty of my parents’ fruit trees to make jams and sauces.

I have big plans for the garden eventually — but the most pressing thing right now is controlling the native ground cover plants that threaten to choke out my garden beds. You can see them in the photo above. While the wild look is endearing in its own way, I desperately need to borrow my dad’s weedwhacker.

I grew up processing tomatoes and apples with my mom in the kitchen with a water-bath canning method. I pressure-canned for the first time, and I’m absolutely obsessed. I make chicken stock from the carcasses of any rotisserie chicken we get for dinner, and I was tired of it going bad in our fridge before I could use it. So I faced my fear of the pressure canner, watched some YouTube videos to figure out how it works, and now I have two beautiful quarts of shelf-stable stock. It will be perfect when soup season rolls around again.

Also, inspired by my cousin and one of my favorite YouTubers, I’ve started to brew my own kombucha. I drink enough of it that it makes sense to start making it instead of buying it, plus it seems like a good place to start exploring fermenting. So far my scoby seems happy enough, but only time will tell.

Knitting and spinning, as I said, have been mostly on hold. However, the warmer weather and Michael taking longer naps (2 hours!!) gave me some inspiration to sew a few quick garments. I updated an old maxi dress I never wore to a midi skirt I love, made an airy blouse, and finally finished a skirt I’d had on hold for a while (no photo of that one yet).

Even though the past two weeks haven’t been what I’d planned or expected, I’m still grateful for the different ways spring has entered into our lives, brushing out the last of winter’s cobwebs. I hope however your spring is going, you get the chance to spend some time in the sunshine, or feel some dirt beneath your hands, or make something beautiful.

If you follow me on Instagram, you already know: a few weeks ago, my amazing husband surprised me with a belated birthday/Valentine’s Day gift:

A spinning wheel.

We had talked about it before, and I’d told him my dream wheel as we discussed future purchases and goals in the upcoming months and years. So imagine my shock and delight when he came in from work with an Ashford Kiwi 3 in his arms.

He even spent his evening assembling it for me while I watched YouTube videos on using a spinning wheel for the first time. I’m absolutely in love (with him, and with my spinning wheel).

I had been greatly enjoying learning how to use my drop spindle, but often found my arms and wrists fatigued at the end of a long spinning session. Also, it’s very slow. It took me a few weeks to spin a skein of yarn on my drop spindle: after the learning curve of my wheel, I’ve completed three skeins. While I delight in slow crafting, I only have so many minutes in a day to dedicate to my crafts, so I’m excited to practice my spinning and have more handspun yarn to knit.

My trial skeins were rough, and I think they’re some of my favorites. I love that I have physical, visual progress: I can look back at my first warped and uneven work, and see how much I’ve improved in just a few short weeks.

My first spin after my trial skein was using Nest Fiber’s Cabin Fever, a BFL (Blue Faced Leicester) fiber. It’s a good wool for beginners. I decided to do a 2 ply, which means I spun two bobbins of singles and plyed them together for the final yarn.

I also decided to do a fractal spin: first, I split the fiber in half. I kept one half as it was, and then split the other half into quarters. I then spun the half end to end on one bobbin and the quarters end to end on another bobbin. This means one bobbin is a long, stretched out color pattern, and the other bobbin is that color pattern repeated in much shorter segments. Plying them together gets you a beautiful mosaic where you rarely have two of the same colors in the same place.

There are places where it’s overspun, and places where it’s underspun. It varies in thickness in many places, anywhere from a fingering weight to a light worsted weight. There are places where a stray blep of fuzz sticks out. But I’m really happy with the way it turned out, despite its flaws. I have plans to make a color-work cowl or hat, pairing it with a natural cream yarn.

I’m in the process of my fourth spin, using another Nest Fiber product: Andromeda, a Targhee fiber. My sister fell in love with the sunset colors, so I’m spinning it for her. I’m halfway through the plying process.

I have always been mesmerized by the act of spinning yarn. There’s something incredibly ancient about it: since the dawn of human history, people have been spinning fiber for cloth and rope: a necessity for survival. The cloth that clothed the poorest farmer and the tapestries that hung in the halls of kings: each and every thread was spun by hand.

There’s also something deeply feminine about spinning. Though I don’t think fiber arts should exclude men who want to participate, it would do a disservice to our forebears to ignore that this is the work that historically fell to women. This is the art that gave our ancestors power and agency when they had none: we get the term “spinster” from an unmarried woman who could support herself through her skills with fiber.

According to the ancient source the Protoevangelium of James, the Virgin Mary herself spun the red and purple thread that became the veil in the Temple. Many icons and paintings of the Annunciation depict the Theotokos with a spindle and distaff in her hand.

We have become so desensitized to thread and cloth we take it for granted: work done by machines or by invisible hands. But since learning how to spin, I’ve begun to notice cloth all around me: from the rugs underfoot to the garments we wear.

I’ve also begun to see cloth referenced in the Gospels in a different light: The swaddling cloth that Christ wore at His birth, and the tunic the soldiers cast lots for at His crucifixion. The hem of His robe touched by the woman with the flow of blood, a conduit of His healing. His grave clothes and face covering in the empty tomb. All made by women, some by women He knew. Perhaps even His mother.

It brings to my mind how Christ does not work through the grand and lofty, but rather the humble. The humblest people, women, the first to behold His resurrection. The humblest items such as hems and grave clothes, used for the holiest of purposes.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

The Magnificat, Luke 1:51-53

I’ve had some people ask me why I got into spinning. To many, it may seem an obsolete and unnecessary art. I started it because I wanted to better understand the fiber I knit with, but from there I grew a whole new appreciation of so many things: fiber, history, women, the Church. A casual curiosity has branched into a joyful passion. I’ll be spinning and knitting for the rest of my life, as long as my body allows it. Above all, I am grateful for the ways spinning draws my attention to that which is often overlooked, and the ways it keeps me humble.

The storms have rolled out and the sun has come back to us. It feels as though there is a whisper of spring on the air. Just a whisper: we still have a frost layered ground in the mornings and chilly evenings with a fast-sinking sun. But the whisper has sparked something in me, and I’ve been planning and preparing my garden, eyes fixed on spring.

Does anyone else get a burst of pre-spring cleaning energy in January? I’ve been on a great purge and cleanse, going through each room of the house ruthlessly and bagging things for the thrift store. It feels like a breath of fresh air. There are still a few places I haven’t been able to go through (don’t look at the guest room closet!) but all of our major spaces feel airy and uncluttered. We still have some boxes in storage to sort through, but I’m taking my wins where I can get them.

It’s inspired me to take photos of our little cottage: I spent so many hours planning out each detail, but I haven’t documented it very well! From the paint colors to the arrangement of our furniture, I had nearly every room planned out (when you have to wait five months to move into your home, you find ways of passing the time). I’m planning on writing a piece on every major room, starting with this one: an overview of the cottage.

I really, truly love our home. It’s not finished and it’s not perfect: the bathrooms are waiting to be tiled, the dishes and laundry are rarely clean at the same time, paint touch ups are needed, and so much more. But it’s ours. It’s full of light and laughter and love, despite the darkness and tears that sometimes creep in from our broken world.

My main hope for my home is that it is a place of rest and a place of beauty. I don’t care about trends or aesthetics or the newest appliances. I think about the homes I loved in books — The Last Homely House, or Mr and Mrs. Beaver’s dam, or Redwall Abbey, or the Burrow, or Green Gables — and that is what I want for my home. Beauty and rest and warmth and welcoming hospitality.

Yet somehow, the comparison game sneaks in and needles me. I confess I spend too much time on Instagram. It’s the last social media platform that still has a grip on me. It’s a wonderful tool: I’ve connected with some amazing friends and learned many different skills from it.

However, I’ve also fallen down rabbit holes looking at perfectly curated houses: neutral nurseries with wooden toys and not a hint of gaudy plastic to be found, or large kitchens with perfectly organized pantries, or living rooms with books sorted on their shelves by color.

My house — with its overfull bookshelves, baskets of yarn and fabric and thread, half-completed quilts and knitting projects, canned goods, and empty mason jars — does not compare. No one could ever accuse me of being a minimalist.

Especially being a fiber artist/hobbiest (knitting, sewing, and embroidery, just to name some of them), I will never have a minimalist home. I have baskets full of wool that waits to be formed into sweaters and shawls, and boxes of bright cotton floss ready to mend holes in jeans and add flowers to t-shirts, and so many more supplies. I have my tools too: spindles, a swift and ball winder, a sewing machine, cutting mats, scissors, needles, and books on all sorts of crafts from knitting to quilting.

(And don’t even get me started on my book collection. That’s a whole different can of worms.)

Minimalism has been popular for quite some time, and at first glance, it seems like a great thing. After all, we live in a society that likes to glut itself with stuff. Isn’t having less stuff a good thing?

But the minimalism that trends on social media and appears in celebrity mansions doesn’t promote less stuff. This “Instagram minimalism” is just another form of consuming.

Instagram minimalism gets rid of things for the aesthetic of it, and there is an underlying attitude that you can go out and purchase what you need when you need it — there’s no need to have extra of anything on hand. As long as the shelves are clean and clear, it doesn’t matter if you get rid of things that still serve a purpose or could be useful later.

As a side note, I want to be clear that I’m not arguing against simplicity. The attitude of simplicity is one of making do: mending and making and learning to live on less. Simplicity is a virtue; minimalism is an aesthetic.

And while I’ll constantly strive to cultivate simplicity, I’ve given up on achieving minimalism. In fact, I’ve begun to call my aesthetic “anti-minimalist” and see my home’s unique beauty because of its joyful collection of things — not in spite of them.

Our kitchen will always have preservatives, canners, drying herbs, and bread proofing on the island. There will be bags of scraps in the freezer for broth or for botanical dyes. I might have too many mugs and too many dishes, but instead of seeing it as clutter, I see it as a reserved place for any guest who might happen to stop by at dinner time.

Our guest room will always have extra linens and blankets, and store my yarn and other tools for making and mending. Instead of seeing the shelves overflowing with skeins and fabric as clutter, I see the raw materials for making things to wrap my loved ones in warmth.

Our living room will always have bookshelves stacked double, and art and icons on its walls, and muddy garden boots by the door. Instead of seeing the overflowing bookshelves as clutter, I look at them as worlds contained in pages, stories to love and to share. The art supports artists that I love and enjoy, and sometimes displays the works of my own hands. The icons remind me of the communion of saints and bring Paradise into our home.

To anyone else who has given up on minimalism, who has stores of skeins or books or preservatives or whatever other items bring you joy — you’re not alone. My home not minimalist either. It never will be. But it’s still beautiful.

Storms continue to rage through Northern California for the second week straight. They are pretty intense, including a tornado warning for our county and some of its neighbors. Pray for safety for us and for our neighbors!

We’ve had power outages on and off all week due to the gale and flood warnings. It’s been an exercise in flexibility for our family. We never know if we will wake up warm with the preprogrammed coffee pot brewing, or to a dark and chilly house with no running water. It’s been pretty stressful, especially with a rambunctious almost one-year-old. Both Jake and I work remotely too (him full-time, me part-time) and the lack of power and internet has added to the stress. Thankfully, both our employers are understanding.

My best friend joked that we’re living like pioneers. We have our bathtub full of nonpotable water for toilet flushing and miscellaneous cleaning, and a few five gallon jugs full for drinking, cooking, and teeth brushing. I have new respect for the labor it takes to cook, clean, and do basic household functions without the luxury of electricity.

If I’m being completely honest, we’d given up trying to cook three meals a day in a house without electricity. Michael enjoyed the new experience of eating breakfast in a restaurant and charmed the waitresses and cashiers while we got some much needed hot coffee.

During one of Michael’s naps with grandpa, I took advantage of my limited independent time to get started in my garden. There was a lull in the storm and the rain has made the ground wonderfully soft and perfect for leveling as we make baby steps towards the garden I have envisioned.

I assembled two small galvanized steel beds (2×4), laid down some hardware cloth to keep the ground squirrels from interfering with my plans, and filled the beds with soil and compost. The fresh air did wonders for my mind and body (though I was quite sore from all the shoveling and ground leveling).

Thankfully, the power returned as I assembled the last bed. I’m grateful, otherwise I would’ve spent the next few days smelling of sweat and compost.

I’ve helped in my parents’ garden ever since I was young, but this is my first time really having my own garden. I’m starting out small, but I have grand ideas for this homestead. I have plans for cultivating produce for our kitchen and to preserve, and herbs for food and medicine, and even plants for natural dyes. But one small step at a time.

For a while now I’ve been focusing on making: what can I create with my hands that both gives to me and gives to my community? What small steps can I take to cultivate life and joy? Today, that small step was gardening outside in the rain with my son. Even though it was drizzling and windy, I wanted to transplant my lavender and rosemary to the wind-sheltered beds before their pots got blown over in the storm. We both bundled up and prepared to get muddy. Michael was very excited to help me, and to play in the garden.

I loved watching him explore with his hands and help me pack the dirt around the roots. Even after we had transplanted both the lavender and rosemary, he wanted to stay and toddle around the beds, one hand holding my spade.

We spent a lot of time outside, and I got to see the garden from his eyes. Where I saw ordinary things, he saw magic. He was quite upset when I made him go inside, as the drizzle had become a steady downpour and the wind had picked back up.

Now, as I sit inside and hold him while he has his afternoon rest time, I can hear thunder thrumming low across the horizon outside. The storms are continuing, and in my journal, the plans for my garden wait.

To all of you more experienced gardeners out there: do you have any tips for me? Things to keep in mind as I start to cultivate what I hope will be a lifelong practice?

We have power! It returned to us late Monday night (hallelujah) and is still running (praise God). The high wind and rains continue into next week, so we’re preparing for the worst and have our bathtubs filled, candles ready, and generators gassed just in case we lose power again.

Now that we have power, I’ve been able to focus on other things: specifically, putting up the Christmas decorations and preparing for Michael’s first birthday party. I initially wanted to have it be a large party with friends from all over, but another nasty bout of illness has been jumping between my family members and I don’t think it would be wise to host a party. So we’re keeping it small — just family — but there will be plenty of pictures, and time to celebrate with friends at a later, less infectious date.

I’ve also been taking time to intentionally think about the upcoming year. Many people like to choose a word at the beginning of the new year: a word to guide their intentions and help them navigate the coming months. I haven’t chosen a word for 2023, but I do have a topic that at the forefront of my mind, and that I will be holding close as I navigate whatever the year brings:

Repair.

Last year, for me, the brokenness of the world felt stark and unavoidable. Wherever we looked, it seemed like we — and everyone we loved — were encountering this brokenness on deeply personal levels, with death or illness or grief or pain or all of the above. As a coping mechanism, I turned to making and found a joy I cannot describe, but still long to share with everyone around me.

Somewhere along the line, we as a society lost our appreciation for the magic of fiber arts. Clothing in particular has become something consumable instead of something precious. Over the past few decades, we’ve seen the quality of clothing decline, the norm now cheap polyester with a short lifespan instead of garments that last years.

When you put your own labor into a garment, you realize that the end product is something precious instead of something disposable. This has brought me to a new appreciation of a lost art: mending.

Our society has forgotten the beauty of repair. When a button falls off or a seam rips, we tend to treat the item as ruined instead of fixing it. Instead of seeing things as valuable, we see them as consumable and replaceable. It’s easier to dispose of something instead of invest in it.

I owe the seeds of these realizations to the sisters who wrote Mending Life, my new favorite book on mending. Not only does it teach practical steps for mending garments, it also offers beautiful thoughts and meditations on the practice of mending and how it can change both us and the world around us. They also have an excellent Etsy shop with gorgeous prints, stickers, and zines.

In their book, they talk about mending as an act of healing. I used to hesitate to mend my garments. Patches are obvious, and I’m not a skilled seamstress so they never look quite perfect. Plus, it’s easy to go out and buy new jeans instead of taking the time to patch an old pair. But their discussion of mending as healing transformed patches in my mind. Instead of being unkempt, they’re now a physical manifestation of brokenness made whole. They’re an opportunity for art.

The practice of repair is applicable to all facets of life, not just clothing. People and relationships have also fallen victim to the disposable mindset, with “cancel culture” being one example. People are precious — when mistakes are made, feelings hurt, or relationships are broken, often it’s worth the time and energy and dignity of repair.

I’ve found the practice of repair especially important as a parent. As I stepped into motherhood, my own flaws and brokenness became even more glaringly apparent. My favorite book on parenting, The Power of Showing Up, talks about the importance of repair in a different sense. The authors Daniel Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson are under no delusions: they know parents will fail their children. We will yell, or snap, or make the wrong decision, or fail to meet our child’s needs. It will happen, no matter how hard we try to be perfect. The important thing is how we respond after we have failed our children: we apologize. We reconnect. We communicate. We repair.

Embracing mending fosters a lifestyle that embraces our brokenness and also embraces making things whole again, whether through fabric and thread or repentance and forgiveness.

Mending helps us answer the question: what can we do when faced with the brokenness of the world? We transform our suffering into something beautiful. We trim the fraying edges, thread our needles with our most beautiful thread, and take the hole or rip or tear and make it into something beautiful.