The Christmas season is drawing to a close, a new weaving project is pulling me into Ordinary Time. I think all of our hearts are longing for some ordinary time.

The calendar tells me that it’s Ordinary Time. The green of my garden glimpsed through the blinds of my studio window, and my weaving confirm this. But the time does not feel ordinary…

The view from my loom is my small back yard - my cloister garden, I call it…

When I was a little girl, in the summer, at Vacation Bible School, we would celebrate “Christmas in July.” There would be an artificial Christmas tree, and we would make handmade ornaments…

I’ve been walking in the wilderness the last couple of weeks. Like the ancient Israelites, my mood has been alternatively despairing, angry, resolute, back to despairing. My nights have been sleepless and more than a few tears have been shed…

It seemed odd to be weaving vestments on this day when all of the altars are stripped bare.  Tomorrow they will be ablaze with white, but today, surrounded by vigilants in silent prayer, the altars - wood for the cross or stone for the tomb - are not softened with any fabric.  

The most beautiful rainbows I ever saw were at Bryce Canyon National Park. My family was camping during the summer monsoon season. Most days the afternoon thunder showers would provide welcome relief from the heat of the day. But this day the rain started early and kept on steadily.

My first exposure to the story of Noah and the flood was in first grade Sunday School. I don’t recall the exact details, but I’m fairly sure it included flannel animals going two by two into a flannel-graph ark. What I do remember clearly is the end of the story. The teacher told us how God put a rainbow in the sky as a promise that He would never again destroy the earth with a flood.

I wove on the red Star of Bethlehem stole last night, the news playing in the background.

Red is the liturgical color symbolizing the presence of the Holy Spirit. It is worn at Pentecost, at ordinations, confirmations and on the feasts of martyrs. As I wove, the words of a modern hymn repeated in my mind.

Sometimes I pray when I weave. Sometimes I sing. Sometimes I hold weird, random conversations with myself. Like this…

Today I started weaving the purple Star of Bethlehem stole. It seems appropriate on this day to weave in the color of prayer and penitence.

So, Moses is up on the mountain with God. He’s been there for forty days. This is when he gets the stone tablets with the ten commandments. But in addition, God gives Moses some very specific instructions on the construction of a place of worship - the Tabernacle.

This is where the story gets truly exciting - if you’re a weaver.

Ordinary time is underrated. You know the time I mean, the days that are routine - work, house-work, school-work – whatever your routine happens to be. A block of days where one day melds predictably into the next, busy, yes – these days who’s not? – but busy in a predictable way.

Here in southern California, we understand the power of wind and fire. Two weeks ago, wind stirred up a fire just north of here in Santa Barbara. Hundreds of homes were lost in the fire. Fire is part of our natural landscape, it burns away old, dry brush and gives a chance for fresh new growth to come with the winter rains.

Taking breaks from weaving the white stole, I’ve been dyeing the yarn for the red and purple stoles. I admit it, I am no great shakes as a dyer. In fact the red warp started out as a failed dye experiment.

I’ve always wanted to try my hand at liturgical weaving, but since my dad, the preacher, retired long before I started weaving, I never really had a reason to.