There is no limit to what calligraphy can adorn! With a simple carton of eggs and Sharpie's new brush marker, I now have Easter words like "Hosanna", "forgiven", and "remember me" sitting in the middle of our table. Thanks to my kids' love for all things slimy, all I had to ask was "who wants to blow out egg guts?" In no time at all I had four dozen beautiful, feather light, perfect mini canvases to work on. This was an easy, inexpensive, handmade family project that makes a great gift for grandparents and friends. And it's a simple, "write it on your doorposts" (Deuteronomy 6:9) attempt to keep the truth of God's grace in front of my children during the week leading up to Easter.
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| My daughter was all over this. |
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| I used distilled white vinegar and food coloring for the dye. Left them in for only a second or two because I wanted a "fresh from the chicken" look. |
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| I imagine my Zig or Pentel brush markers would have worked just as well, but I wanted to try out the new Sharpie brush marker. Worked great. |
Have a beautiful weekend with your friends and family. May the miracle and blessed reassurance of Easter fill your hearts and bring you peace as you celebrate.
1 comment:
What is one to make of one's progeny? Why is it that we seem to be able to see so much of life with the "relative" clarity of detachment – except ourselves, and by inference, those for whom we are genetic forebears?
Counterintuitively, proximity, in the intergenerational familial sense, militates against stepping across this perceptual chasm. So close, and yet so far…
Blinded as I am, therefore, unable to see what should be as decipherable as calligraphy on "blown" eggs, I stutter and stammer trying to type the woman who blogs as "Shannon inside out" when most of what is visible – remembering that proximity is a disadvantage – is Shannon from the outside in.
In place of enlightened perceptions at least I have some advantage of being her father; e.g., March 30 marks a birthday that, absent preemptive illness or injury, likely means she will have more life ahead of her than she has thus far lived. Moreover, the years ahead will have the benefit of all the cumulative wisdom acquired to date. The time "wasted" on youth is a distant memory, other than she will relive it once again involuntarily and vicariously (and perhaps more acutely because she is more worldly wise and less impetuous and overconfident) through her children.
So, on this customary day of celebration, this father marvels at this woman, his prodigy. Since I can't really say that I know her in the deepest sense of what that should mean, I can say that by all outward appearances I aspire to know her as well as she can be known. It certainly appears that her well is deep and flows from the source of all life.
A father's birthday wish…
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