Dolls are often thought of as only play things for children.
And that is true  - children do play with them.
But they are much more than a toy.
They can be a stepping stone to many things -
great art, therapy, comfort, an aid to remembering, a window into times past.

Human beings seem to have an innate need for art -
to create art;
to view art;
to meditate upon art.
Using whatever tools are to hand,
depicting the story of their lives.
Dollmakers are a part of this ancient tradition.

This is such a haunting piece of music.
It seems to capture pain and joy,
loss and hope,
promise and betrayal,
desolation and consolation.
A soundtrack for life perhaps.

What does silence sound like?
Is silence important?
What happens during silence?
How do we create oases of silence -
in ourselves?
in our communities?
in our environment?

Community is formed in many ways -
a quilting bee is one community.
Traditions are passed down from generation to generation.
Stories are shared.
Problems addressed.
Friendships and relationships created.
Giftedness revealed.
Humanity is honoured.

Trusting our intuition is a lifelong process.
Getting to recognise and knowing our intuition
can be a rocky path as ego is often an unwelcome third.
Ego -
disguised as self-criticism, arrogance, self-judgement, pride -
loves to thwart the intuitive process.
Sometimes we need a guide or a process or a practice -
or all of the above -
to help us become comfortable with our intuition.

The smell of the morning air, the adventure of  the journey before you, the hope of what is coming. Finally you are starting  what you’ve been waiting for. Walking stick in hand you begin the journey. I
have always loved beginnings. I love the freshness, the passion, standing right  on the brink of greatness; when you are packed, planned, and about to take your  first step, waving to the world you’ve left behind, sick with thrill of the great unknown that lays ahead. The hardest, yet most thrilling part of any great  journey, is merely…to begin. Sadly, beginnings don’t last long. Soon we find
ourselves stuck in the daily grind of our new season of life. As pilgrims we get bored, our feet ache, it seems like what we hope for is perpetually around the next corner. So how do we live intentionally as pilgrims when the passion of  beginning is worn away? When we are tired of our journey, when transformation seems slow in coming?  

“How do we live intentionally as pilgrims when the passion of beginning is worn away?” These are the questions I’ve been asking  myself lately. I’ve been stuck for a while now in a long and discouraging season  of job searching, still having no idea what lies before me. Graduating from Grad School a few months ago, I thought the transition to working and living a spacious, low-stress, creative life would be a quick and easy one. Finding a job with a Masters in Theology and Culture should be pretty straightforward, right? Alas, that has not been the case. After taking off a few blissful weeks
in July, I hunkered down into job search mode and ever since have found my life  filled with busyness and frustration. With so much unknown, so much anxiety, and so much discouragement, it’s nearly impossible to live in that slow and generative way I long for. I feel like a pilgrim who has set out, expecting to  reach the next set of terrain by nightfall, but here I am still alarmingly plodding through the woods as dusk closes in–and I can’t see the forest for the  trees. Blessedly, I met with my Spiritual Director last week. In talking with her I realized that I hadn’t been treating this season of job searching as a  season in itself. I had been expecting to move right from ending school to
  starting a job. This drawn out and uncomfortable liminal space I’m finding myself in was not a part of the plan. So when she asked me how I was living  intentionally into this season, I had absolutely no answer. Together we worked on recognizing some practices that help me ground myself–help me reconnect with  who I am, and thus enable me to connect with God and others in a healthier way.
I was surprised to see that most of these practices centre on the body. Theologian Rowan Williams writes: “Only the body saves the soul…the soul left to itself, the inner life…is not capable of transforming itself. It needs the gifts only the external life can deliver.” How true I have found that to be in  my own life. Last Fall I started taking regular walks around my neighbourhood as  a way to pace myself, to enjoy nature, to learn slowness. It gives me a break from my anxiety and functions as a way of walking prayer, as I learn to live  deeply where I am planted. Likewise, I go out and work on a farm every Friday in exchange for food. Going out into the country, doing hard manual labour, and
coming back with a bounty of produce is one of the most satisfying and relieving parts of my week. I could say similar things about running, doing yoga, cooking, even cleaning my house. These are the things I need to attend to, particularly in my discouraging seasons.

The wise spiritual teacher Kathleen Norris  writes, “It is not in romance but in routine that the possibilities for transformation are made manifest.” It is in our everyday routines that we are  changed. It is through washing the dishes, making the bed, folding our laundry.  As pilgrims, this is the daily walking that leads us to God and to life–not in  the destination, but in the journeying. “It is in our everyday routines that we are changed… not in the destination, but in the journeying.” In my long days of  turmoil, of anxiety, in my inability to see the future, it is my body, my  friends, my external life–the walks around my neighbourhood, doing my dishes,  working on a farm, bartering with the egg lady down the street. These are the  things that are saving me. This is the salvation of God through my walking  stick, my aching feet, my long-winding journey to the centre of the labyrinth. It’s the body that saves us. The ordinary saves us–particularly for the pilgrim, day after day across the same terrain–especially in the forest, especially through the mists. We keep walking forward, step after step. There is good  sacred ground beneath our feet. In this light, I began a new practice this week. For each job application I send in, I am taking a rock, drawing on it, and putting it in a bowl on my table. This is my reminder that what I am doing every day, what I am offering out into the world is not just disappearing into thin air. What I seek to offer is of goodness, of life, and of beauty. Like the ancient Israelites who would pile rocks in memory of the faithful presence of God, so this bowl is my Ebenezer, my marker of the daily goodness and beauty of what I am doing and of how I am walking in this season. They remind me of the faithfulness of God. We are pilgrims because we are ones who walk, who journey, who physically travel and interact with the world around us, even if that only
means amidst the 4 walls of our homes, or the few blocks of our neighbourhoods. This daily walking, this physical presence, the faithful commitment to journey on, this is where God is at work. This is how we actually get someplace different than where we began. Pilgrimage author Antonio Machado, writes “The way is made by walking.” The clarity we seek only comes when we look behind us.
And so we walk. One human foot after another. One job application after another. One load of laundry after another. The pilgrim’s way is made by walking.  

There are so many causes and issues that are important and demand our attention.
Breast Cancer is one of these.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
 Increasing awareness of this disease reduces its devastating impact
on our women, our families, our communities, our world.
With awareness comes compassion, companionship, support groups, financial commitment, prevention.
My daughter, Julie Voss, and I have held two exhibitions
hoping to increase awareness about breast cancer.

I certainly agree ... the less we possess, the greater freedom we have.
I find that sometimes when I make dolls.
When I impose constraints,
such as a time limit,
a size limit,
reduce the colour choice,
or a fixed body shape,
I am freer to explore and create without being overwhelmed, even consumed, 
by a plethora of options and choices.