String of Beads

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!