My Daughter, Her Helper, & My Favorite Hymn

 

Quite a long time ago, we had given Moriah a string art project--something she had never done before, but something we were sure that she, with her love of all things crafty, would love.

I have no idea why it took us so long to actually get it out of the box and do it; there doesn't seem to be any reasonable explanation for that at all!

But the fact of the matter is that the project languished in its box for months, never even taken out or closely examined...

...until today, when Moriah and her project-oriented*, helpful big brother Tobin decided to tackle it. (*Seriously. The word "project" works like magic for Tobin.  If you have a project you need done, whether it's big or small, he's the man for the job.)  :)

For some reason, I had assumed that the directions would be quite complicated, with very specific instructions for which nails to loop the string around when, and in what order, and how many times, and so forth.  

But as it turned out, the "instructions" basically said, "loop the string around the nails," and that was about it!  It didn't seem to matter exactly what pattern was produced; it was going to be pretty no matter what.  :)

And indeed, it turned out to be a thing of beauty, a worthy addition to a previously bare corner of the living room.  

If you forced me to choose my favorite hymn, out of all the hundreds that I love, I would probably have to rank "It Is Well with My Soul" in the top place...for the jaw-dropping story of the life of the composer, for its connection with our beloved university in Jerusalem where Jeff and I first met (Horatio Spafford, the author of the words of "It Is Well" is buried on the grounds of that school), for the memories that wash over me of playing this hymn at the funerals--not quite a year and a half apart--of my maternal grandfather and maternal grandmother, and for the sheer power of the words.  Such a magnificent declaration of rock-solid faith!  It moves me so deeply that I can scarcely ever get through the hymn with dry eyes.

When I die, if folks gather for any kind of a memorial service, I hope they sing this hymn.  

Until then, I will be reminded of the truth contained therein--and the joy of seeing two of my children work together on a long-delayed project--each time I glance at it in its new position of visibility.