Some of my older children tell me exactly what they want for Christmas. They may even make a list or a slide show. They know what they want. And, in many cases, they get it. They are not surprised to get the gift they asked for.

Because they asked for it.

But does it work like that with all the other kinds of gifts in life? You know, those gifts that we don’t unwrap. The gifts of stamina or courage or love or grace or hope or wisdom or providence? Or, as is often our request, getting what we want, whatever that may be?

I am often gifted materials to weave with. The above scarf, “The Gift,” was woven with gifted mohair. You may or may not know how precious mohair is. It is a deliciously warm and expensive fiber made from the wool of angora goats. Weaving this piece was a special delight, and I worked with both the mohair, some cotton and some lovely sparkly novelty threads.

I cannot wait to see who ends up with this piece! It is so interesting to me how people are drawn to the weaving that has just the right story for them…and the story of this scarf is the story of gifts, being gifted, and the beauty of those unlikely gifts we receive.

It is the story of the beauty of the gifts we receive in our lives that are strange gifts.

Years ago I collected my essays and articles into a little book and gave the book that title: Strange Gifts. (And yes, you can buy it if you don’t have it!) What is a strange gift? It is that unexpected one, yes, but not just that. It is that one that does not at first seem like a gift. It is that hardship or that challenge that becomes a gift…eventually…with time and love and insight. It is the prayer answered in a totally different way. It is that hope transmuted into strength. It is the arrival of someone on your doorstep offering you something you did not know you needed. Because you have been busy needing and wanting something else!

I have had many strange gifts in my life. You may have, too. When the dream came to me to weave, oh and not just any weaving, but spontaneous, intuitive, colorful, upcycled weaving, I thought: what a ridiculous, crazy idea.

It made no sense to me. Nor did I know that any such weaving existed. Though I had long loved weaving, the weaving I knew of was nothing like what I had seen in my dream. And my dream, I should tell you, was a real one, had during the night, fully detailed, filled with rich imagery and directives. It was a map. A path. A command. A directive.

It was also the answer to a prayer. A prayer I had been praying for many, many years, in fact. But I can tell you that I did not recognize it as that. No, not at all. All it seemed to me to be was an out-of-the-blue unlikeliness.

I had been praying for years for something. But that something did not look like weaving. It did not look like making fiber art. I was not a weaver. I was not a fiber artist. It made no sense. It was as if I had prayed for a bowl of fruit and someone showed up with a Prius.

 

The feeling was: “What in the heck do I do with this? This is NOT what I asked for! I want my basket of fruit!!”

It took a little bit of time to realize that I’d been given an answer. I’d been given a gift. A tremendous, monumental gift. It only worked, though, because I was willing. I was willing to follow an unusual, surprising, rather nonsensical dream.

If you get a package that looks nothing like what you wanted, needed, asked or prayed for, would you still open it? Would you still receive it? Would you still believe in it? My dream led me to Saori Weaving, to me a deep philosophy so resonant with my spiritual path and practice that it felt like coming home. When I took my first Saori weaving class, I came home crying. Now you could ask me to try to explain, but ultimately, I can’t. Why do we cry when we come home? Because it feels good? Because we belong?

In this season of gifts, we don’t always choose to open the ones in the plain brown paper, or the ones that don’t seem to look like what we expected. Our hardships do not easily translate into blessings. Opening the box of sorrow rarely feels like the method for achieving joy.

For me, there have been some deep sadnesses in the past many years. Weaving has been the joy of transmuting, of reconciling, or restitution, of beauty for ashes. In weaving, I take threads, often neglected ones, discarded ones, those on the way to the landfill, those passed over, broken, ripped or “garbage” (think plastic bread bags), and blend them with other threads to make a tapestry. In weaving, the practice and the product heal. The practice and the product are not different, in fact. They are grace-filled.

I feel so grateful that I was willing to open this unexpected gift. In a much simpler way, I was not expecting mohair. I had no plans to weave mohair. Then I received the gift of mohair and this beautiful shawl emerged. Because I was willing to use it. Because I was willing to see where it led.

Strange gifts are not our expectations met in the form we would have them. But, from a spiritual perspective, these gifts more truly and more perfectly attend to our needs and wants. Though it does not seem that way at first. I hope you, too, have the curiosity and willingness to open any strange gifts you receive this year. And courage. Yes, I think it is courage we need, too. Because it takes courage to do the unexpected, to try something new, to turn away from our own litany of sorrow or irritation or personal agenda, and take the silver threads laid in our hands and say

I can do this. Show me the way.