for Greg Berg & Barb Mozena

2004

Our main thought on the quilt is that you were not afraid of color. And that's a good thing!

(Written by Greg Berg)

for my kitchen

Made in 2008

I've never had any interest in making a wall quilt - I like folks to live with my quilts. There have been two exceptions - one for Barb and Greg and this one. My kitchen has a huge wall in it and needed a bunch of color. I've been loving rainbows, one because of the color, but also for the promise it represents. Now I walk in my kitchen and just smile. It's also fun when folks come over - it seems that everyone likes a different fabric.

for the Winsteads

Made in 2003 - wedding quilt for Cutch & Karin

I don’t remember when in 2003 we were presented with our wedding quilt. (Since we had a wedding in May and one in October, the whole year is a bit fuzzy). But I do remember getting it at Ann Sink’s house and I call it “the love quilt” because of all the love that was put into the quilt. A lthough Rebecca was the head quilter and spear-headed the project, Carol McDevitt, Ann Sink and Sharon Baschon (my Habitat for Humanity buddies) all helped in the quilting process. A s the story goes, the four ladies got together once a week for I don’t know how many weeks to put the quilt together. It’s beautiful! Rebecca recently asked whether we slept under our quilt, and I almost felt guilty for saying no….at least not regularly. Our quilt is currently on the bed in our spare bedroom where Cutch and I both sleep periodically when we can’t seem to fall asleep in our own bed. For some reason we magically sleep like a baby once we re-locate and go under the love quilt. A fter thinking about my response to Rebecca about whether we slept under our quilt and having a few days to think about it, I’m glad we don’t sleep under it everyday. I think we tend to lose the sense of “specialness” of things we have access to everyday and I never want that to happen. Plus whenever we have guests, they invariably remark on the beautiful quilt and I get to re-tell the story of its origin. Each time I tell the story I feel incredibly fortunate to have such wonderful friends.

Made in 2006 for Layla

Layla’s baby quilt was delivered at the hospital shortly after Layla was born A pril 1 , 2006. Rebecca was the saint that brought edible food to the hospital the day (and day after) Layla’s arrival and she brought Layla a beautiful rainbow quilt….great for infant visual development. Layla sleeps with it on her bed every night. We enjoyed exploring the colors and fabrics when Layla was first learning words. There are frogs and a salamander, butterflies, dragonflies, dogs, cats, lizards, cows… The fact that Layla distinguishes between blankets and a quilt is very pleasing to me…it’s like she instinctively knows that quilts are special.

Written by Karin Winstead

for Isaiah Heinz

Made in 2006



Rebecca made this quilt to celebrate the birth of our second child, Isaiah. The front is a series of 16 very colorful blocks, all very different from each other, but each with Rebecca’s unique touch. This is a great learning quilt, with all sorts of fun objects to discover. Another fun thing to do with this quilt: try to figure out which square is your favorite. Cherries? Fish? Dragonfly? Frogs? Flowers? Gecko? It’s impossible to pick just one.

The front is certainly Isaiah’s, but I’m pretty sure Rebecca made the back for me. Rebecca taught me how to quilt and we have done a lot (but still not nearly enough) of fabric shopping together. The back is a whole uninterrupted block of my very favorite fabric, and I just love looking at it.

Written by Jennifer Heinz (mom of Isaiah)

for Ezra Heinz

Made in 2005

The day our first child was born, information on the delivery was scarce, so Rebecca tracked us down and roamed the hallways of the hospital. She found us just as we were being escorted to the NICU to see Ezra. Unfortunately, we weren't the happy family she was expecting to see; complications during delivery had deprived Ezra of oxygen for too long. He spent his short life in the NICU and died when he was 5 days old.

The day we came home from the hospital without him, Rebecca was there, somehow, right away. Same as in the hospital, she was our first non-family visitor. She delivered half a dozen Tupperware containers of extravagant food, said some gentle, sweet things to us, and left.

Some time passed, but I can't remember how much. It could have been two days or two weeks. Rebecca came back, and this time she brought Ezra's quilt with her.

Normally, when you give someone a quilt that you made for a happy occasion, they cry. It's actually an unwritten rule that you are supposed to cry when someone gives you a handmade quilt. When I received this beautiful quilt, all my tears were reserved for something else; I didn’t cry. I ruined Rebecca's perfect record, and she forgave me.

Ezra's is one of Rebecca's famed Alphabet quilts. Part of the fun is going through and naming the object in the block; where she gets Xylophone fabric, nobody knows. In the bottom corner she stitched "Ezra blessed the Lord." This is the beginning of a reading we heard together in church a week or two before he was born; I was so excited to see the word in print, I divulged our secret name to Rebecca.

I'm so glad his name is there, right on the front. It gives my family an excuse to remember him and talk about him whenever we play together on this quilt.

Written by Jennifer Heinz (mom of Erza)

Pieces and Wholeness - Quilting as a spiritual journey

I started quilting as a way to make gifts for the kids in my life and those that were soon to be in my life.

Bekah was the first recipient. Her quilt is a nine-patch that alternates a solid deep purple fabric with a cloth full of brightly colored cartoon faces. The sales lady who helped me pick out the fabric of faces said she’d just made a pillow for her granddaughter and the best part was that her granddaughter now had long and involved conversations with the people on the pillow. That was exactly what I wanted – a quilt that Bekah could have a relationship with.

I thought I would spice up a relatively simple nine patch piecing pattern by quilting a series of hearts in the squares. I learned the hard way that quilting by hand, in general, is time consuming, and quilting curves is particularly difficult. During this long process of having the quilt in my lap I realized that this pursuit was my prayer for Bekah. As I worked the stitches I thought constantly of her, of what she was when this quilt would fit over her and what she’d become when she had outgrown it. And so, at the risk of sounding clichéd, my love and prayers were woven into the very fabric of the piece.


A year or so later I learned that this labor of love had been causing some conflict in Bekah’s home. It seems that she slept under it every night, and became unwilling to sleep without it. On those terrible evenings when something has gone awry and the quilt was in the washing machine, Bekah wasn’t able to sleep. Bekah’s Mom spent more than one evening waiting for the spin cycle to finish and estimating just how dry was dry enough. And while you never want the mother of four children to loose any more sleep than has already been robbed of her, I took some comfort in knowing that the love in that quilt was an important part of Bekah’s life, so much so that she noticed when it wasn’t covering her.

And so what of those times when we perceive the quilt of God’s love to be in the washing machine? When we perceive that we’ve soiled it and it’s been taken away. Is it truly like Bekah’s quilt that is taken away and comes back clean, or it is us that gets cleaned and the quilt of God’s love is always there?

Being in my late 20’s and early 30’s, I’m of the demographic to know a lot of women having babies. Therefore, Bekah’s quilt has been followed by many more. As I worked on Eli, Iris and Abigail’s quilts I found the process of selecting pattern and fabric to stir in me the first connections with the children. I didn’t know what their preferences would be, but I could think of the joy and pleasure I wanted them to have and the joys and pleasures I knew their parents had, and let that guide me. The cutting, piecing, and finally quilting gave me ample opportunity to hold those unborn children in my heart. quilt for Iris Vitiello

Iris and Abigail received their quilts completed, while Eli’s was presented in pieces, at the baby shower, a hint of what was to come. Much, I must say, like Eli was himself at the time – yet to come. quilt for Abigail Olson

And the bond I formed with those children still warms my heart and is incredibly special to me. Each of them has a special relationship with their quilt, For one it hangs on the wall and is a topic of conversation every morning. Another is taken to preschool for daily naps. The third serves as a blanket of love not just for her, but also extends that love to the dolls and stuffed animals and toys that are put to bed under it. I’ve made quilts for brothers, and quilts for friends who are like family. Each time this combination of love and creativity brought me closer to those people. quilt for Eli Newton

My most constant quilting friend and I have joked that the only appropriate response to receiving a hand-made quilt is to cry. We have deemed some folks unworthy of the gift they have received because of a casual attitude to what went into that effort. While not willing to let go of the rule all together, I have, on occasion, appended my opinion, because I have found that even though some people haven’t cried upon receiving a quilt, their thank you communicated as much, if not more, than tears.

And so, what is our response to the quilt of God’s love that we receive. I’m not a crier. I hate to do it, especially in front of people. And yet, find that I usually respond to a powerful awareness of the Divine with tears. It’s deep, it’s uncontrollable and utterly unlike my response to other things.

After almost ten years of quilting I have never finished one for myself. The only one I had ever started for myself was a top made out of kimonos. It was a project that I agonized over. In trying to figure out how to transform these Japanese outfits, I researched the Japanese form of quilting called Sashiko and I studied the Japanese aesthetic of cloth and found one stumbling block after another to creating something beautiful for myself. I got stuck on the rules that an entire culture put on their fabric. I finally broke through those barriers to design a simple piece composed of rectangles of the various silks. I was actually quite pleased with it, but found another barrier when I tried to decide how to quilt the piece. I somehow felt I would ruin it and so I carefully folded it up and put in the closet. I would pull it out and show it to people, but I never really thought I would finish it. It was a showpiece, a trophy quilt, and not one that I could snuggle under on a cold winter night, because it was silk and I would worry that it might be ruined. And so, have I refused to snuggle under the quilt of God’s love? Have I thought it was too precious to use? Have I stopped my relationship with God because I thought there was a perfect way to do it, and I just didn’t know it? Did I pull that love out and show it off occasionally, only to put it away when the admiring guests left? (Quilt begun in June 1997 and completed in Sept 2008)

Recently I started making a quilt to keep. It was started as a quilt not so much for myself as for my guest room. To provide warmth and love for the people who visit me and sleep under my roof. And as I write this, I realize I’m getting closer to letting God’s love in. Now it’s just in the guest room, and perhaps I’ll sleep under that quilt some nights.

It is made out of men’s shirts and is an incredibly simple design that has blocks of color nested in a white field. I pieced the top and started thinking about the back.

Unlike some folks who can picture the future from its parts, when I look at the lengths of fabric as they are cut off the bolt I never know what the completed quilt will look like. I don’t have that ability to see the final creation from the many pieces. Some folks have that ability, but not me. And so too with my insistence that I understand what God would have of me and my many pieces. I yearn to know how those many pieces that I am fit together in the end –- what I’ll look like when I’m finished.

The folly of that is many-fold.

• It presumes that I can indeed see the whole by looking at its parts. The wildcard in the mix is a part I’ll never be able to see or purposely work into the design – grace. You never know when it will appear and work itself into the mix. And the journey for me is to accept that and not continually try to figure it in, in a way that I think suits the creation best. I believe some have advised in these instances to let God be God. My struggle with this is yet another reminder that the quilt of myself, my soul and my heart is yet unfinished and perhaps not mine alone to work.
• The other aspect of folly is the idea that something is really finished. Goal-oriented folks like myself finish tasks, complete to do lists and move smartly through their lives. We are end-oriented people. God is not. Oh sure, there’s the ultimate end, which some characterize as Heaven, but perhaps I’ve learned enough to know that even that might not be a destination as much as a continuation of the journey. A wise teacher once stopped me in my tracks by saying that Hell wasn’t a place, as a much as it was a separation from God. Perhaps, drawing on his wisdom, I can ponder Heaven not being a place as a much a dwelling with God.
  

And so what of the back of this men’s shirt quilt? How will I finish it? I had gotten a book about scrap quilting and thought I would piece together scraps from the men’s shirts and then place that created fabric throughout the plain backing fabric. A little treat for those that bother to look at the back of a quilt. As I sat at my sewing machine during a welcomed week off from a demanding and rewarding job, I ran fabric through the machine while thinking about how I hadn’t kept to my spiritual discipline that day and hadn’t done the reading and hadn’t spent time in prayer. And that’s when I had that startingly realization that this quilt WAS my spiritual discipline and this quilt WAS my prayer, and for once, it was a prayer for myself. For all of those years I had sat at that machine and loved the opportunity to pray for Bekah and Eli and Iris and Michael and Abigail and James and to draw closer to them and to love them. And right then I realized that this scrap quilt wasn’t the back of something, but rather is the front of something else all together. Its symbolism and meaning rich for me.

It was a quilt of pieces, of various angles and sizes that wouldn’t fit together in a neat pattern, but worked into each other in a way that felt natural and perfect and endlessly interesting. And what would it mean if I started living my life that way? What if I put random pieces of prayer and worship and time together to see how they worked themselves out, rather than forcing them into a pattern? Can I stand by and let it work itself out without managing it?

Now, please don’t get me wrong, I’m not abandoning traditional quilt patterns completely. As much as I love this scrap quilting thing, I’m an Episcopalian and an Army brat -- I can’t give up ritual and order and history all together. Nor, quite frankly would I want to, but I can open up that space to allow more to be included, instead of less. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve started to find a way to be comfortable with both. One afternoon at a sewing machine has already shown me a hint of the richness in that.

When I bought my first home, I had a house blessing. I invited people that I loved to write prayers for the various rooms and then ask them to pray those prayers with my family and friends gathered. As we moved throughout the yard and the house, I was overwhelmed by the messages of love and caring and encouragement that were offered. As is often the case in situations like that, the emotion and power of the evening made it difficult to concentrate on every offering as I might have liked. My friends left their prayers with me and I have the opportunity to pray them whenever I want.

One has stuck with me in particular. It is the prayer offered for my studio by my quilting buddy, Louise. And no matter how many times I prayed it, I didn’t fully hear God until now.

Help me! Help me! Help me. My precious life
Is in pieces and I know not the whole.
My corners don’t meet and my “A” angel
Resides deep down in the muck near “M” mole.
I am made and lost and wish I were found.
Hmmm. Patience you say. Hmmm. Your machine humms.
You teach what I know. My rags are just right.
Orange can live near red. Curves are from columns.
Pieces are to connect in unique ways.
For there, in imperfections, lies your grace.
I now feel the backing and filling, and
Can stipple your path that keeps it in place.
Sometimes I need time to pick up your clue. J
I now see Truth. Thank you! Thank you. Thank you.
Louise W. Reed
September 9, 2001

I’m already thinking about my next quilting project. Yes, I’ll finish both the pieced mens’ shirt quilt and the scrap men’s shirt quilt. Yes, they will both be on my guest bed and yes, I’ll probably sleep under them every so often. But I’m already thinking about the quilt for my bed. In fact, I’ve already bought the fabric. And because I can’t see the whole for its pieces I brought along my best friend to help. Someone who is brilliant at looking at a wall of fabric and helping me narrow it down to a few (or many) selections. Why, I wonder, is she so good at it? Perhaps it’s because she knows we’re going for a whole, but takes joy in the individual pieces. And maybe, she understands better than me, that it’s ok for it to be that way. Maybe she’s found a way to take the pressure off of the whole, to revel in the pieces. Maybe I’ve got a lot to learn from her. first quilt made for my bed

I sat on a panel once with a scientist who said that truth was like a spiral. You start at the outside edge and curl your way down and around to where you think you will find truth. But, he said, every time you reach the bottom and think you have the truth, when you hold it up and look at it, you find you are standing back on the outside edge of the spiral again. The pursuit of truth, he explained, is a continuing process at which there is no bottom or ultimate destination to rest in.

Now, as I quilt for love and devotion and meditation, the temptation will be to think I’ve reached the bottom of the spiral. I’ve got it! I’ve had this incredible ah ha moment and now I understand everything. I see the whole, I have it figured out. The key for me will be to look at it again and realize that the “it” is a location on the spiral and an important and valuable one, but probably not the ultimate one. And may I know that while not “finished,” I have arrived at an important destination and need to honor it as Louise does in the last line of her prayer: “I now see Truth. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I owe a huge thank you to the people who received my quilts and to the God who walked with me and helped to work the pieces into a whole. Amen