But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy. Titus 3:4-5 (NIV)
I am rethinking my belief that stringing beads is good therapy. Up until now, I worked with large beads with good sized holes. Youngest son brought me a bag from Brazil made from the seeds of the Acai tree. These beads are about one quarter inch in size and are dyed in a variety of bright colors. I string them in designs and sometimes mix them with silver or gold beads. I also use some glass beads bought at Wal-Mart. While these beads are smaller in size, only an eighth of an inch, I like them because they come premixed in colors that blend so I don’t have to think about what matches. I ventured out this week using seed beads, teeny tiny beads that I practically need a magnifying glass to see. I have a beautiful clear glass pendant that I made a folk school with a sunflower embedded in it. I tried this pendant on a variety of necklaces, but nothing really suits me. I want something that will not take away from the design while giving it a unique setting. A coworker suggested using seed beads, so off I went to the craft store. I chose a dark green bead that is almost black and decided to make three long strands that I would wrap together in one solid strong. I spent one hour making the first strand. The beads are so minuscule that not only is it hard to get them on the wire, but just to pick them up. I reached the length I thought it should be, but upon holding it against my neck, decided it should be an inch shorter. When I went to pull some beads off the wire, I lost my grip and dropped it. All the beads I worked so hard to string dripped off the wire and scattered on the floor. I heard them bounce on our hardwood floor. It unfolded as though in slow motion. In reality, the string came apart so fast that before I could blink tiny green beads were everywhere. I could have cried. So much for relaxation therapy. Even though I had just swept, when I went down on my hands and knees to gather the beads back up, I felt the crunch of sand. I swept up all I could find and then, dug through deep sand, dog hair and dead bugs in the dust pan to pull them out and restring them once again. As I scoured my floor and picked through the debris for those beads, it made me think about how often in my life I think I have it made. I hold up all I have accomplished and am proud. Then, one by one, the beads begin to fall off the string, and I am left with nothing but dust. It helps to remember that my worth is not established by what I do, but in God’s love for me. I am special just because He loves me. Imagine that!