Shannon: French Market Bag--Felted!

I'm in love with felting. I mean it. You tuck in all those frayed, sad-looking ends, grimace over all those curled, raggedy edges, and cross your fingers as you toss the mess into a pillow case. And then ... and then ... the timer dings and you pull it back out. And it's unbelievably smooth and un-messed.

I ran my hand over the place where I knew I'd worked that teeth-clenching Kitchener stitch, but I couldn't find it. The felting had erased my not-quite-there stitches and made everything all nice and muted.

I was staring at the finished product last week and I said to Dave, "I just know there's a spiritual illustration here somewhere."

Without even blinking, he said, "Yep. All you need to erase a lifetime of mistakes is a good washing."

That's why he's the pastor.

Speaking of washing, we're having a baptism out at Lake Stevens tomorrow after church. Come watch Dave and Steve shiver together.

One last word about the bag ... it's not quite as spacious and echo-y as I'd envisioned while working on it, but I'm still enamored. I know there's a tiny loaf of ciabatta and a mini bouquet out there with my name on them.