I started a project two weeks ago. I am hand writing First Thessalonians on a big canvas. It’s therapeutic. I like seeing the script lying around my kitchen, the open bible next to it. I got to thinking about repetition and oral histories, how monks would write out the same scriptures again and again taking years over the ornate typography. How the words would seep into their being by the sheer act of writing. Well I don’t have years or fancy handwriting, but…
I thought I would be done in three days, but it lingers.
I have three small children so everything I do lingers.
But for once I don’t feel the need to make excuses to myself, for myself, about things I’m doing simply for me. I’m not sure when that happened. Up until recently I was feeling guilty about the unfinished projects lying around, especially when they were for someone else. Yet with this scripture project, which is awesome in so many ways, I have let go of the guilt.
At the moment I am writing it on craft paper I have stuck to the canvas, then, when I know it fits, I will start actually writing it on canvas.
So really, I haven’t even started the actually project yet, I’m just testing it out. And still, I don’t feel guilt about an unfinished not-quite project.
The letter opens with “We always thank God for all of you and continually mention you in our prayers. We remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.”
So this work I am doing is produced by my faith certainly, and is a labor of love, and I am enduring in it instead of wallowing in the guilt of it’s speed, and every time I look at it I am hopeful for the day it is done and hanging on my wall.
I guess the words are seeping into my soul.