being known

Yesterday I went to an art show in an artist's backyard. I don't know her personally, and may not have had a conversation with her, but I've seen her work and I feel like I know her.

Walking up the sidewalk, going around the house and through the gate, I was greeted by artist friends who were excited to see me. I hadn't seen one of them since the last show. We talked about our art and about a movie she saw that made her cry, which was just what she needed at the time. She agreed not to give away too much information, sure that I would want to have the same experience. Every so often I need to watch movies that make me cry, too. It is good to know I am not alone.

I move on to seeing an old friend with whom I've had meaningful conversations. The reunion is sweet. Other artists I met at a show we all did together go out of their way to talk to me. One opens her little cooler and offers me a cranberry and vodka jello shooter. Greetings this good are hard to find.

Hand-made clothing hangs from the tent in the back while repurposed metal art is arranged on a table across from delicately made boxes and miniature glass bottles. Soap, perfume, pottery, jewelry and an outreach ministry that makes scarves for the homeless all find their place in this backyard on a November day as the sun shines through the leaves of the large trees, and children look down from a treehouse. I find the art to be as inspirational as the connection I have made with this group of artists.

A woman who makes jewelry reminds me of a pillow she bought from me that she still loves. I cannot even remember which one she bought, I've made so many. She said she thinks of me when she looks at it and cannot wait to get out the Christmas ornaments I made. For the past ten years, this has been my hobby, my passion, my other life--the part that makes the more difficult parts bearable.

Another woman asks why I'm not doing this show, adding, "Your art is great and we all know you."

We all know you.

There it is. The same feeling I had about the artist hosting the show. Because I know her art, I feel a connection to her. Her inspiration has touched many lives. Her vision for beauty has given others a reason to celebrate . . . life. Art has the ability to do that. It touches each one's heart in its own unique way, much like divine intervention.

With feelings of unwavering acceptance and love, I walk over the crunching leaves and drive home to my work room table where ivory wool star shapes are ready to have hearts cut from a red wool sweater sewn on them. They will be offered along with another self-published book project I sent off for printing. I will put up my bedspring Christmas tree and hang on it all of the other items I've been inspired to make.

And people who really do not know me will somehow know me really quite well. They will show up and tell me how much their babies loved the bed bunnies or share with me a story about the person in the last stages of cancer receiving one of my angels with words like, "fear not" embroidered on them. They will buy the advent garlands and bring them out again next year, and the year after that. What I have been inspired to make will become a part of their traditional celebration. It will become a part of their lives. I will give all I have to glorify God and for the greater good of my community. It will matter.

And in this way, I will be known.