Julie Arduini

Here we go, week 3 of Patty Wysong’s weekly meme where we blog our way through the alphabet.

I'm not intimidated by my non-craftiness anymore

C—Cover up my Crafts.

When I was in the sixth grade, I created a mosaic piece that garnered the teacher’s attention. What she didn’t know that week was I was as surprised as she was. I dreaded art so much I used to become physically ill. The next week my project was a mess, and she said as much. In fact, it was Open House week and she let me know she was hiding the current project from my parents and instead showcasing the mosaic.

That scarred me for a long time. I still try to cut a paper heart and my daughter’s looks better than mine. I sew, buttons only. Latchook is probably the biggest achievement I can claim in the craft department. When I say I scrapbook, it’s more a journaling with a smattering of pictures taped together.

I used to be embarrassed by that.

Intimidated.

I used to leave during the crafts portion of MOPS meetings.

Or run and grab the sample craft to avoid needing to make my own.

Time and God’s revelation concerning who I really am have helped a lot. I bet many a crafty lady would become ill thinking about speaking in front of a thousand, something I enjoy and am a natural. My mom has the crafting gene. She paints freehand and her quilts rival the Amish. I’m not sure where that talent was when I was growing up, but that is her thing.

My daughter received half a dozen craft projects for Christmas. She always has scissors in hands, dreaming up little projects.

She gets I’ll never be any help in that department.

That’s okay with her, and more than okay with me. In fact, she brings a paper bag lunch each day and she gave up crafting her own bag. Who has the job? Me.

Because I decorate her bag with words. Promises of who she is in God’s eyes and what we believe her to be. Turns out her friends gather around each day to see what I write. She isn’t covering up my crafts, she’s looking forward to her bag each day. My balloon drawings might be sad, but she’s looking at what I can craft—words.

If only that art teacher could see me now!