Desks and Dreams

 This morning is the last morning in North Carolina--well, until I come back for a Crafts for Christmas retreat, where I'll sleep in my house, but go to the retreat during my waking hours.

Today I'll head back to my sister's house, have lunch with her, and then I'll go to my seminary apartment.  I'll begin the delightful work of unpacking boxes and figuring out where everything should go.

It will be the first time I've lived in a place where I get to make these decisions without thinking about what housemates/family members want.  My spouse will be back and forth, but I expect that he will spend the majority of time back in our North Carolina house.  I'll set up the seminary space in the way that works for me, which probably means more twinkly lights and seasonal decorations than we would have if we shared the space.

I am thinking of these weeks at this desk in this house in North Carolina.  

I tried to get back to writing poetry, but it happened in fits and spurts.  My writing time was disrupted by travel, but that's OK.  It was necessary to get me to seminary housing, where I'll be more intentional about setting up a schedule that includes time for creative writing.

I think back to the summer as a whole, the summer that was not hospitable to writing practices beyond blogging, but necessary to get us to a place and space that will be more hospitable.  I'm thinking of this summer as a summer of the upheaval of moving to not just one place, but two.  As we packed, we marked the boxes that would be going on to seminary.  We had a system, but I have to believe that moving to 2 places was a stress that would have been reduced if we had just been moving to one place.

My desk at seminary will be just as battered as my current desk.  My seminary desk will have a history, but unlike my grandparents' desk, which is now mine, I don't know the history of the seminary desk.  I wrote my first short story that had publication potential at this desk, back when it was in my grandmother's house, back when I was in college taking a short story class wondering if I could do something similar with my writing.  I remember scrawling the story as I sat at that desk, never dreaming it might be mine some day.

Hopefully, I will have similar memories about my seminary desk.  Desks are not usually what we think of when we think of sacred spaces--but just think about the dreams we might not see realized if we didn't have a desk.

Inspirational Butterfly Gardens

What does it mean that the parts of my job that I've liked most this week probably have the least to do with my official job description?

Let me stress that I'm getting the parts of my job description done, to the best of my ability.  I'm not sloughing off my official duties.  But those official duties are not what has brought me joy at work this week.

My primary source of joy has been the creation of a butterfly garden.  We have an ugly concrete deck of an upper parking garage with some metal tables.  From the moment I saw it, I wanted to transform it. 

I had a vision of some sort of garden--at one point I thought of growing food.  But gradually, the idea of a butterfly garden inspired me.  Those plants are fairly hardy:  drought resistant to a point and tolerant of long hours of intense sun.

Plus, I love the idea of butterflies.

And so, I got some pots from a friend who's downsizing and some plants from my pastor who is also a talented gardener, and just like that, my dream became a reality.  I've been waiting for the rainy season to start, and once I procrastinated, I realized it would be a great welcome back message for students as they returned to class on Wednesday.

On Monday, as I finished the first phase, I thought, what this garden needs is an inspiration stone.  And so, I made one. 

Yesterday, I wanted another one.  As I was taking my morning walk around the neighborhood, I saw a chunk of concrete in a pile of construction debris.

By the end of yesterday, I had transformed it:

I do worry that it looks a bit amateurish.  And yet, I'm hoping that's part of its charm. 

Anyone can go to a garden center and pay for some mass-produced inspiration stone made in a factory in China.  Not every butterfly garden has repurposed construction debris!

The other favorite part of my week has been putting baked goods out for students.  We got a huge haul on Monday.  Some weeks I pick up the day old baked goods from a local grocery store, and I have to parcel them out carefully to last the week.  This week, we had more than we could use, and it's been fun to put out a variety.

What does it mean that I'm enjoying these aspects more than the onerous parts of my job, like accreditation report writing?  I'll think more about that in the weeks to come.  My initial thoughts:

--I like creating a beautiful space that might inspire us all.

--I like the way I feel like I'm nurturing people when I put out baked goods or creating a beautiful space.

--This week I also had an idea for a "Summer of Self Care."  I like creating co-curricular activies for students.

--I might like creating a beautiful space more than I like creating events. 

--I like creating a green space out of concrete and metal--the possibility of beautifying something that was ugly.

--I like the creating part of it all--the way that inspiration comes to me as a surprising, "I can do this!" moment.

--I like that I have supplies in my office so that, indeed, I can do this.

Dream Job: Program Director at a Retreat Center?

One of my Create in Me friends has gotten a job as Program Director at Lutheranch.  Create in Me is a retreat at Lutheridge, and Novus Way is the larger group that oversees 4 retreat centers:  Lutheridge and Lutherock in North Carolina, Luther Springs in Florida, and Lutheranch in Georgia.

I am genuinely happy for my Create in Me friend.  I am always intrigued by people's paths, especially when the path leads to a retreat center.  Once I assumed that one needed to be ordained to be a program director--the few program directors I knew were ordained, which made having communion at worship possible.  But at a Create in Me retreat almost 10 years ago, our Bible study leader shared that most Lutheran camp program directors were not ordained. 

A different Create in Me friend and I had a conversation about becoming program directors, specifically at Lutheridge.  My friend pointed out that she wouldn't want to be responsible for training all the camp counselors for summer sleep away camp.  I agreed.

I know of some retreat centers that have programs only for adults.  I wonder if there's a complete list somewhere.  I'm most interested in a retreat center that focuses on arts and spirituality, particularly creative practices (the process as opposed to the product) and spirituality.  That intersection is not seen as unusual, like it once was.

I love the idea of working in a setting that celebrates creativity and spirituality.  I love the idea of spending my work days helping people explore both their creative and spiritual yearnings.  I am sure that there would be less idyllic parts of the job:  paperwork, unhappy retreat participants, the various crisis here and there.

I want to believe that the joys would outweigh the aggravations.  I look forward to living vicariously through my friend's experiences to get additional insight.

Longing to Go on Pilgrimage

Chaucer said that it was Spring when people long to go on pilgrimage--but I often find myself longing to go on pilgrimage in summer.

I associate long walks on tough trails with summer.  I was rarely an autumn backpacker, and even if I went in the fall, the walk wasn't long.

No, my backpacker memories come from Congaree Girl Scout Camp, where I was one of 3 backpacking counselors.  I'm still amazed at what we accomplished:  we were dropped off at one point, and we would be picked up 4-7 days later, after hiking almost 30 miles during one trip and 15 miles during another. 

Those were the days before cell phones.  If anything happened, we had to figure it out ourselves.  And we did.

You've never experienced a thunderstorm until you've huddled under a tarp with 10 frightened teenagers.  What a night that was.  In the morning, I was ready to go home.  Luckily we had a leader (just 2 years older than me) who declared we would go on.  And in the afternoon, we made camp, spread out our soaked things to dry, and enjoyed the sun sparkling on the water of the river.

Yes, it's that time of year when I think of hiking the Appalachian Trail.  But these days, I might choose something more spiritual, like the Camino de Santiago in Spain.  This post made the important point that even during a spiritual hike, one must deal with all the elements of a long hike:  aches and pains, frustration and boredom, heat.

I found the hiking part of backpacking to be spiritual even when I wasn't doing it for spiritual reasons.  It's wonderful to be far away from civilization and to revel in the diversity of God's creation.  I'm not as good at doing that in my everyday life.

I want to run away for all sorts of reasons these days.  I would do well to remember my Chaucer.  I could tell myself that I was going for lofty spiritual reasons, but it's better to be honest.  It's good to remember that if I did go on pilgrimage, I would meet plenty of people making their travels for all sorts of reasons, few of them lofty.

It's better to stay put and learn one's spiritual lessons while sheltering in place.  At least, for this season in my life, that's what I'm discerning.

Chanting Psalms in the Stairwells

Many of the worship services at Mepkin Abbey begin with this chant:

"Oh, God, come to my assistance,
Lord make haste to help me."

As we sang it together, I thought about how often I turn to this bit of the Psalms (Psalm 70?), and often in its sung, liturgical form.

One time I had to go to a meeting that I knew would be very difficult and quite possibly ugly.  I had prayed my personal prayers.  But I still felt uneasy.

In the stairwell, I took a minute to center myself.  That bit of the Psalms floated up out of my consciousness, and I sang it.  I immediately felt calm.  I felt that otherworldly assurance that, in the words of Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

That sense of calm carried me through the meeting, which was difficult, but not ugly.

I love the acoustics in the stairwell in my work.  Almost anything I sing seems to be transformed into pure sound that ascends straight to Heaven, even though I really know it's only transcending 4 floors.  I love how the sound bounces off of the concrete walls.  I love how my voice sounds and how I feel every cavity in my body opening.

I think of that stairwell as a hidden sanctuary.  It's ugly, in the way that stairwells often are, with gray and often sticky floors and white walls which are sometimes marked with graffiti.  I feel fairly safe there, since you can't enter on the ground floor.  Besides, I'm often the only one using it.

It's a strange sort of sacred space.  Do I make it more sacred every time I sing?  Did I begin to sanctify it when I sang the Psalms?  Or was it sacred before I got there?

I do sometimes wonder if anyone ever hears me chanting Psalms in the stairwells.  Would they be able to hear my words?  What would they think?

They'd probably smile, the way that I do on the rare occasions that I hear someone else on a different floor singing.

Of Grace and Ribbons

I have spent the morning enchanted by an arts project at Grace Cathedral--ah, Grace Cathedral.  If I ever relocate to the Pacific Coast, San Francisco would appeal for so many reasons, not the least of which would be Grace Cathedral.  I go to their website, and I am laid low by envy, envy and the desire for Evensong and labyrinths and Gregorian chant and medieval looking stone surroundings.

But I digress.  Back to the art project, which I first read about in this article.  The artist hung ribbons of many colors in the sanctuary.  It took me some sleuthing to discover that there's a video component; at first I thought that the colors came solely from the light coming in the stained glass windows and the ribbons. 

The Grace Cathedral website describes the project thusly:  "As a part of 100 Years of Music at Grace Cathedral, visual artist Anne Patterson created Graced With Light, a stunning, music-inspired installation that incorporates Grace Cathedral’s vaulted ceiling arches and video projection. Ms. Patterson envisioned a series of light pathways, connecting heaven and earth, manifest as ribbons. The ribbons carry our prayers, dreams and wishes skyward, and, in turn, grace streams down the ribbons to us. " 

I can't imagine constructing such a thing.  I've thought of something similar for Pentecost, but been stymied by the logistics, logistics which would be even tougher in the Grace Cathedral space.   How does one get a tall enough ladder?  How does one get the ladder in between the pews?

Come to find out, it took 20 miles of ribbon and 8 days to assemble.  And this article says, "It took the artist months to prepare, which she did in her art studio in Manhattan by constructing a 3/16-inch scale model of it with embroidery floss. Then, on site, it took Patterson and the Grace Cathedral community eight days to hand-assemble the project."  Embroidery floss!

I love the abstract nature of the art.  It seems like the kind of piece that even an atheist could live with, if not love.

I wonder what it's like to worship in that space with all the ribbons.  And there are yoga classes in the space; I would love that. 

This project has started me thinking about the cold, clinical nature of so many of the spaces I'm in each and every day:  the gym, the spaces outside my office, the classroom, my church.  How I would love to have spaces that inspire mysticism and/or wonder.  I'd settle for spaces of beauty.

Perhaps I love holidays like Christmas so much because so many of our spaces become transformed, and we feel like we have permission to make these transformations.  How can we get more of that?   I'm especially interested in thinking about our worship spaces in the time after Easter.

A Brief Photo Meditation on the Sacrament Rooted in Place

Two weeks ago, we'd have been looking at this landscape as we drove from Key West back to the tip of the Florida peninsula:

A year and two weeks ago, we'd have been in a very different landscape, the desert southwest:

How does landscape change our theology?  I think of how the desert has shaped Christianity:

What would the Psalmist praise if the view had been different?

How would our sacraments be different had our first Christians been surrounded by a different sea?

Or maybe the sacraments would be the same.  Maybe the emphasis on water (Baptism) and bread and wine (the Eucharist) speaks to a more essential something out of our shared humanity.

Church as Artist Studio

Earlier this week, while talking to a group of friends, the one who's working on an MFA in Visual Arts remarked that her friend in the program was having great difficulty finding an affordable place to have her show.  One of the final requirements for their MFA program is to find the space and arrange for the show.  She's not finding many venues that are affordable and have a chunk of time available for a show.

In this time of empty spaces, why would anyone have trouble finding space for a show?  I immediately thought of churches.

Now I understand that using a non-traditional source, like a church, would have a whole different set of problems, like security.  But surely most churches could devise something.  The churches of my childhood often had a classroom or two that was underutilized.  There's the sanctuary, which could lend itself nicely to certain kinds of shows.  Some sanctuaries already have hooks and hangers in the wall for seasonal decorating.  Why not hang art in the off season?

Artists might say, "But I don't create sacred art."  Good news!  It doesn't have to be sacred to fit into a sanctuary environment.

Now I do know some artists who create works that wouldn't be welcome in that kind of space.  But I know far more artists who do abstract creating who could fit right in.

Maybe the problem is a different one.  Do artists get insulted when I say that their art would be welcome in a sanctuary?  Do they interpret that comment as me saying that their art isn't edgy enough?

In a sanctuary, the major problems with security are solved, as most modern sanctuaries are locked when not in use.  There's still the issue of people wanting to touch the art, but that might be the case in all but the most secure spaces.  I've been in many a gallery where I could touch anything I wanted, since the gallery workers were often otherwise engaged.

I think of a quilt show tradition that one of my former churches launched.  We draped quilts over the pews.  It was amazing, a wonderful transformation of the space that had been dominated by wood and stone.  We let people touch the quilts.  One year, I organized an afternoon poetry reading to go along with the quilt show.

Even if the sanctuary won't work, as I said before, there are other options:  classrooms, offices, a fellowship hall, long stretches of walls.  Most churches would be grateful for the extra traffic that an interesting art show could create. 

I know that many churches have transformed their buildings into early childhood ed spaces.  But even that wouldn't have to be insurmountable.

And for those churches that have lots of space sitting empty, why not transform those spaces into artist studios?  Artists would probably be happy to make a set donation to have studio space.  Many communities have a shortage of studio spaces:  why not be the answer to that need?

Our church has done a lot with our space, but the closest we've come to the vision that I have is the drama group for special needs kids that meets in our fellowship hall.  Our fellowship hall has a raised stage, so it's perfect for them.

The rest of our space isn't great for studio space, but it's the only church I've been in that isn't.  We don't have the warren of classrooms that most churches have in their education wings. 

I can hear howls of protests from certain corners:  "We need that space for Sunday School!"

Well, maybe the studios can be used on Sunday mornings.  Maybe the Sunday school classes can meet elsewhere.   Maybe sacrificing artist space for Sunday school isn't the best use of our resources.  Maybe Sunday school would be more effective if Sunday school was more like an artist studio and less like elementary school.

Maybe all sorts of church activities would be more effective if we used the artist studio as a model.  How could we transform worship so that it's more like a place where artists come to create and less like a space where sleepy parishioners come to observe?

Theological Thoughts on a Hindu House Blessing

Yesterday, I attended a Hindu house blessing; for more on what we did and for different pictures, go to this post on my creativity blog.  I didn't talk much theology in that post.  It seems appropriate to think about the implications here.

The Hindu priest was very gracious, and he tried to explain much of what we observed yesterday.  He began by talking about the oneness of God, but how his people prefer to think about how this oneness is expressed in multitudes.

I have already glimpsed some of that idea in conversations that I've had with my Hindu friend.  I understand the many manifestations of God from my own Christian beliefs, although I confess to finding Trinitarian theory to be one of the most difficult elements of Christianity to explain.

But here's one thing that still eludes me.  My friend has objects that I would call statues, like Ganesh below, that less tolerant people might label idols. 

Are these objects the gods themselves or reminders of the ineffable, the God that cannot be captured?  A conversation for another day.

I was struck by so many things.  Let me try to record a few of them.

As we moved through each blessing and each offering and each section, the priest began the chanting with a long "Om."  I felt it in my bones, and I felt my rib cage open up.  I know that's supposed to happen, but I've rarely experienced it. 

I loved the chanting, even though I didn't understand the words.  My Jewish friend who was there said, "Chanting is chanting, whether in Sanskrit or Hebrew or Latin."  Indeed. 

In fact, I was struck by how many things about the Hindu house blessing felt familiar, in the midst of so much that was alien.  For example, the priest had streaks of ash on his forehead and earlobes:

During the ceremony, he explained that he puts ashes on his head every day so that he remembers how temporary our lives are, how soon, we all shall be dust.  I thought about how so many religions incorporate the same idea and the same symbol, the ash.  He said that the ash reminds him of how he must not get upset over issues that are so temporary.  It's just not worth it.

Other ideas that felt familiar:  the idea that we must strive to bring good into the world and to become our best selves.  He encouraged us again and again to be less judgmental, particularly when we're harsh with ourselves.  He came back to those ideas again and again.

I was also happy to see how laid back he was.  My Hindu friend, the homeowner, worried about all the items she didn't have.  The priest continued to assure her that she need not worry, that they'd improvise.  Once, when talking about the lack of the right kind of cotton, he said something along the lines of:  or we'll close our eyes and imagine the best cotton ever, and that will be enough.  How wonderful.

My friend is easily moved to fretfulness, to panic over not doing it all right.  The priest continued to soothe her and assure her that all would be well.

We watched various offerings to various Gods.  In the second half of the ceremony, we moved to the offerings to the fire gods:

I thought about my more conservative Christian friends, who would have been horrified and worried for their mortal souls at being present.  But I didn't worry.  Sometimes I think that Christianity has wandered too far away from those ancient roots.  We're not asked to sacrifice much, in most Christian churches.  Sure, we may tithe or go to feed the poor or make other kinds of sacrifices.  But most of our churches don't require it.

In fact, many churches focus much too much on wish fulfillment.  That whole strain of Prosperity Gospel theology tells us that we need to dream ever bigger and let God know exactly what we want--and the texts I've read don't encourage readers to ask God for a mosquito net for every bed so that malaria can be eradicated.

My Hindu friend teaches mythology and fairy tales, and she says that she always tells her students to beware of wishes.  Wish fulfillment has the price of sacrifice.  She always says, "What are you willing to give up to get your wish?"

It's a different view of sacrifice, but one that works for Western brains.

The service lasted over 90 minutes, and I didn't understand it all on a literal level, since much of the language wasn't in English.  The priest, however, was very gracious in explaining a bit what was happening.  Still, I didn't struggle to grasp it all.  I just let it wash over me.

I loved the basic messages, of a desire for new life out of the ashes of my friend's house fire, of the reminder that all is temporary and we should cherish what we have while we have it, especially our relationships.  I loved that the priest was happy to see our Western faces and that he invited us to come to his temple any time.  I feel so honored that our Hindu friend invited us.

I'm in an ecumenical mood these days, although I do worry a bit about being seen as a spiritual tourist or a dilettante.  Tonight my observant Jewish friends will celebrate Rosh Hashanah.  I plan to spend this afternoon making challah bread which I will braid into a circle shape.  After sunset, I will dip the challah into honey and wish for us all a good and sweet new year.

Perhaps tomorrow I'll cast bread on the water, as Rabbi Rachel Barenblat describes in this post.  She calls it "symbolic releasing or casting-away of our mistakes from the previous year."  I love that symbolism.  I'm ready to cast away those mistakes.  I'm ready for a year that doesn't come with house fires and staff reductions and all those other flames that reduce us to ash.  I'm ready for new life.

Prayer Prompts and Possibilities

In yesterday's post, I talked about creating a prayer chapel.  I have a sheet on the table that gives people prayer prompts and possibilities.  Here's what it says:

Prayer Chapel Possibilities

Hopefully by now, you have realized that there’s no one right way to pray. Here are some possible approaches to try.

1. Choose the rock with the word that speaks to you right now. Hold the rock in your hand and hold the word in your mind. Sit quietly for as long as you can. Or
2. Open the prayer book and say one of those prayers. Or
3. Open one of the devotional books and read what you find there. Pray the prayer that’s found there or pray your own prayer. Or
4. Look at the colors of stained glass in the window. Think about what the colors could mean. Say a prayer of thanks for the many ways in which our world is colored. Or
5. Write down your own prayer and put it in the red jar. Say a prayer for everyone who has left a prayer in the jar. Pray for the concerns expressed in this room, in this church.


If you need help knowing what to say when you pray, some prayer prompts are below:

1. Write down what makes you feel grateful. Write your prayers of thanks.
2. God knows your needs, but write them down anyway.
3. Pray for others. Who needs God’s guidance and help?
4. Pray for leaders (at work, at church, in local, state, federal, and world government) who face important decisions.
5. Pray for the planet. Pray for places in nature that need healing. Pray for places that need protection.



Please leave the rocks and prayer/devotion books for others to enjoy and utilize. If you’d like to take away a memento, feel free to take one of the blue or white glassy stones out of the bowl. You should also feel free to make notes to take with you on the paper provided.

Creating a Prayer Chapel

A few weeks ago, my pastor asked me to create a prayer chapel for Lent.  I had been thinking about decorating the worship space in the front of the church, but my pastor had plans for that space.  Walking into the church on Ash Wednesday, we found a radically different space:

I've never created a prayer chapel, but I was game.  The space had some challenges:  robes are kept in a closet, and the room also has a bathroom, so it needs to be accessible to people who aren't there to pray.  It's been used for storage, but it could have been worse.  Here's what it looked like before I got started:

I moved some of the materials out of the way, and I set up the table that will function as an altar of sorts.  We don't have a kneeler that I know of, but this set up will work fine:

A card table covered in purple cloth becomes transformed:

I hung up some gauzy cloth to set the space apart.  I'm hoping that people who are praying or meditating will have a sense of privacy, while still allowing access to people who need to use the bathroom.

Here's how the table looks from above.  People can hold the meditation rocks and contemplate, or they can write prayers and leave them in the red jar.  They can simply read a prayer or devotion from the books I left there.

Here's a close up of the rocks.  I had great fun creating them:

I knew that people might want to take the rocks with them, but I didn't want to have to keep creating replacements.  So, I drew crosses on some glassy stones that I had left over from our fountain project.  People can take a glassy stone with them.

Tomorrow I'll post the sheet that I've left on the table to give people some guidance and instruction.

Sunday Snippets

--I continue to think about Nathan Englander.  I've finally read the first short story in What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, the short story with the same title.  Wow.  What a surprise ending.

--I wrote more about yesterday's conversations that this short story engendered in this blog post.

--This part of that blog post will likely haunt me for months:

--I posed the question this way, "Let's say the government decides to exterminate Lutherans. Would you hide me?" Posed that way, the question is almost humorous, especially since Lutherans are probably one of the least dangerous religious groups in the U.S. We tried to remind each other that even though the government has yet to set its sights on Lutherans, other groups, like immigrants both legal and illegal, are often not so lucky.



--I am aware of the school of theology that says if we were living truly Christian lives, we would be on a direct collision course with our government. To say that Lutherans are the least dangerous Christian group probably means we should be stepping up our efforts as Christians.


--Today is the day I create the prayer chapel, if all goes well.  Here are some elements I will use:

--Could my spouse and I fashion a career out of creating sacred spaces for others? 

--Or could we create a career making fountains?  Making the elements for the prayer chapel reminded me of when we made the fountain together last summer:

--So many possibilities for the future!  So much creative fun!

Preparing a Prayer Chapel

My pastor asked me to create a prayer chapel in a room at the back of the sanctuary.  The back part of the sanctuary is a wall with windows and doors and on the other side of the wall, the chunks of space are evenly divided into a nursery/cry room, a vestibule where people are greeted, and a room that is called a choir room but has turned into a bit of a storage room.  I'll be converting part of the choir room to a prayer chapel.

I've had fun thinking about possibilities.  If we have any sort of kneeler, I don't know about it.  So, I decided to use a card table that we have.  I'll provide colored paper and pens--people can write their prayers and put them into the big red jar that will be on the table.

That still leaves a lot of table space.  I thought about all sorts of things:  a fountain, a collection of crosses and crucifixes, pictures that would put people in a meditative space.

I decided on a collection of river rocks which are slightly bigger than worry stones.  On each, I wrote a word, words like hope, joy, calm, peace.  I thought they might spark people's ideas about what they need and what they'd like God to provide.

I don't want people to take the stones with them, but I know that people might want something to remind them of the prayer chapel experience.  I had a lot of glassy stones left over from a fountain project (see this post for pictures and details).  I drew a cross on each and put them in a bowl.

I'll be writing prayer prompts and directions so that the prayer chapel is self-explaining.  I'll post those along with pictures in a later post here.

Last night, as I drew crosses on the glassy stones, I thought about what a soothing experience that was.  I thought about smudging foreheads on Ash Wednesday, also a soothing experience.  What is it about making that shape?

I've had a lot of fun planning this project.  It will be interesting to see if anyone uses it, but on some level, I don't care one way or another.  The process has been a delight for me.  It's a creativity lesson I learned long ago.  The finished product is less important  than the process and what becomes of the finished product is even less important.