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Leadership Development

A Hope Chest Unlike Any Other

"Whatever You Do, Do It All for The Glory of God"
(1 Corinthians 10:31 ).

I have a hope chest. I've had it for years-since I was a child. As I have lovingly folded, wrapped, padded and organized its contents, I have done so with high hopes and ambitious plans for the future. From time to time, I carefully open my little treasure trove and longingly gaze at each bundle, thinking someday, somewhere, somehow. Then, reality grabs me and I slam it closed wondering, "What in the world was I thinking?"

I admit it, my hope chest is not filled with lovely embroidered pillowcases, crocheted doilies or my grandmother's cut glass cake plate. It is packed with a myriad of failed artistic endeavors. There is the unopened paint-by-numbers mountain scene and the bottle of decoupage paste. Kits for everything from basket weaving to stained glass to tin punching. I have books about arranging flowers, drying herbs and making grapevine wreaths. I have a binder full of decorating ideas pulled from magazines.

One year in college, I decided to make a quilt for my sister. I found a design, chose the fabric I thought she would like and cut out the pieces. After sewing one or two blocks together, I decided it was aptly named "The Drunkard's Path." I never got the hang of sewing in a straight line, but I did a fine job of arranging it in the lovely hat box that came with the decoupage kit.

When my sister was expecting her fourth child, I decided to cross-stitch a baby quilt for her. Don't buy a ticket; this particular pastel zoo is limited to one blue elephant, a less than attractive yellow bear and part of a green kangaroo. It is, however, wrapped in very pretty tissue paper and tied with the yellow ribbon left over from the bow—making kit that was obviously missing a page or two of instructions.

The scented soaps I decided to make as Mother's Day gifts may be at the top of the list of my craft blunders. The balls and bars of soap were perfectly shaped, tinted in muted tones and smelled of lavender, mint and roses. I arranged the aromatic treasures in little white wicker baskets-purchased, not handmade. I was so proud of my efforts I didn't even notice my itching hands. After tying the last ribbon, I decided to treat myself to a leisurely bath with one of the fruits of my labor. The next morning I made the trip to the pharmacy for the Calamine lotion. I really thought those red-tipped leaves were peppermint.

Over the years, I have come to accept the fact that I am artistically challenged. Thankfully, I've also come to accept that it's okay. Just as God surrounded Moses with those endowed with the ability and skill to create each aspect of the tabernacle, He fills my world with those I can call on when I need a bit of artistic assistance. I have amazing friends who can quilt, knit, paint, plant things that actually grow, weave and even make soap that doesn't cause a rash. My home, office and life are much prettier places thanks to these true artists.

So what do I do for my creative outlet? I write. I sit at the computer with two sleeping cats at my feet, a cup of tea nearby and I put words to paper. Sometimes it is just phrase after phrase with no connecting sinew. Sometimes it sounds like poetry. Most often, it is simply an out-flowing of thoughts pondered. Occasionally, a finished product is worth sharing and sometimes it ends up in the hope chest neatly stacked near the flower press and candle-making kit. I know I may never win a Pulitzer, but I do intend to keep plugging away at the craft God has given me. And, just as a reminder to myself, I've taped that oft quoted scripture from 1 Corinthians to the inside of my hope chest, "Whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God"—even when that means throwing up my hands in surrender and putting the glue gun back in the holster.

CINDA KING is a freelance writer from Kentucky. She writes a weekly church newsletter column.