It's a simple card. Compared to years past when I sewed paper pieced houses, or trees with a beaded star at the top, this effort has but a single step. Well, not including a trek to the art store in search of a brayer and ink. Unable to find them on my own, I inquired of a staff person who, I believe, has autism. Not that I'm an expert, but there are signs. I was pleased to think that someone hired this young man. My own son would do well stocking shelves. He straightens them for free at Trader Joe's.
 

In any case, the salesperson did not know what a brayer was, though he may have considered donkeys before asking his supervisor. The manager used a walkie-talkie to inquire of yet a third employee, who identified the aisle in question. There were two left on a high shelf, block printing not being trendy in 2023. There were half a dozen jars of ink, though none the cream of a dove's wings. He reassured me that a shipment would arrive by next week. Which it did.

 

The wooden block that granted us 250 impressions was not carved by me. Rather, John's brother wrestled with sharp tools fifty years ago. He hasn't used the block much since sixth grade, and graciously allowed me to press it into service. Literally, if you know anything about the process.

 

The dove is indicative of peace. Something many of us have on our wish lists. Or prayers, if you believe in that kind of thing. 

 

Which I do.
 

When my mother graduated from high school, the class chose a dove for their banner. It turns out that 1944 had a spike in peace prayers too, Those petitions were answered, though not soon enough for some.
 

One thing that astonishes me about a chunk of wood is its vulnerability. Whatever the carver takes a fancy to, can come to life. Chipping away, as contrasted with adding on is the strategy. As Michelangelo told us, "The statue is already inside. The sculptor's task is to free it."

 

I am unclear whether the process is painful for the marble, or walnut. God's done some whittling of my ego lately, and there have been tears. But having fewer sharp corners does invite the softness of curves. Plus God is a better Designer than I ever was.

 

It occurs to me that the messages I am seeking are rather simple. "Don't hurt people". "Trust God." They come in handy, what with conflict being trendy in 2023.
 

The muscle memory of having inked and pressed this fifty-year-old hunk of wood has also imprinted the notion of peace on me. God's vision for each of us is embedded deeply within our stony hearts and blocky heads. It requires trekking to a new place, and a willingness to ask questions. Being smart may be less helpful than being a protector of what is innocent. My son on the spectrum, the one whose middle name is Shepherd and wrote "Peace" 250 times, shows me what it looks like to help without thought of reward.
 

My prayer for you this Christmas, if I am allowed the greediness of two, is that if you do not find what you are searching for the first time, that you will come back again. Maybe it will be disguised in the simplicity of a snowflake, or the willingness of a stranger to help you find your way. And that even if it has been detoured by loss and confusion, that it will be soon enough.