The Doodle Release
Navigating difficulty with craft
Crafting inner peace may involve thread, needles and fabric. My Norwegian mother often escaped to a quiet basement corner where her Singer sewing machine whirred for hours, generating professional-level garments. She sewed the wardrobes of two daughters, constructed suits for Daddy, and even volunteered to sew 100 choir robes for her beloved choir, a job that lasted twenty years.
Mom knitted complicated sweaters and prayer shawls, baby blankets and booties. In later years, shoppers at an annual bazaar sought out her scrubbies, their netting crocheted tight to rid pots of crusted infestations caused by overcooked hash or hardened coats of oil. Mom’s artistry fulfilled her when three rowdy children, social expectations or political realities may have pushed her over the brink.
I did not inherit her inclination to thread the needle in this literal fashion. I hadn’t the vision. Any artistic talent I may have developed over time was discouraged by art and home economics teachers. I could not grip paint brush nor needle with less than cramped exuberance. I colored outside the lines and my stitches bunched up at the presser foot.
Mom may have been disappointed, but she never showed it. She introduced me to six, seven and eight knitting needles, then stood aside as I navigated activities I could manage. I drew doodles and composed essays, eventually discovering I could serve others by putting words together in a meaningful way. Non-conforming doodles, though not meeting anyone’s artistic standards but my own, calmed me when stress threatened to overwhelm.
I experienced how doodling and words interact last spring, when my family lost a beloved member to cancer. I was close to the stepsister who’d lost her husband. When she asked if I would like to say something or read something at his service, I immediately went to a story she had shared about giving Michael a foot massage on Maundy Thursday at 4:00 AM. The compassion she exhibited, the love they shared in this moment was unforgettable to me. I asked if it would be okay for me to write a poem about this and she said, “I trust you.”
Then, panic set in. This was a huge ask. I did not wish to let her down. I knew what I wanted to say, but could I synthesize it into a poem meaningful for those attending the gathering? I had one month.
I convinced myself that I had no understanding of how to write poetry-- or even what a poem was. I decided to find a published poem expressing the grace she had experienced in the last moments of Michael’s life. But no poem expressed what I wished to say.
Day after day, I doodled the complexities facing me. Day after day, I researched poems on death, dying, the effect death had on those left behind. I took a course on poetry through Coursera and played with the assignments, composing unsatisfactory rhyme and rhythm, increasing my awareness of what a poem was and what a poem was not. I ran edited poems by my brother, by a friend who also dabbled in writing, by my proprioceptive writing group.
I had never published nor had I written poetry for anyone but myself. I tried and edited new versions day after day after day. Soon, doodle and poem took shape, felt almost three dimensional.
The love these two had shared was beyond what I witness in most couples. I processed the grace my stepsister experienced in the last moments before her husband stopped breathing. Should I mention he was black and she was white? Should I explain the significance of Maundy Thursday? Was this poem too personal to share with a congregation?
Doodle, doodle, doodle: I finally penned a communication that felt right. And I read it. And I experienced inner peace. Not in a manner Mom might have accomplished. My poem didn’t warm bodies like an afghan would. But I did warm hearts. That was enough.
Maundy Thursday
Cut back long hope to a cancered
coma bed at 4am. The beloved
prepares for his departure,
breath ragged, body still. Does he
remain present to her? She could cry
in anguish; no one would think less
of her. Instead, she reaches toward
his foot. Would you like a massage?
even in this moment, considering him.
The ask is so simple, so sweet.
His head is halfway to heaven and yet
he makes his orientation known to her.
He slides his sole across crisp sheets
To meet her hands, halfway.
Stars fill the dark room with unreachable
light as two connect in one space outside
toxicity, outside time. She caresses
his bit of earth: thick pads, swelling toes,
his- their journey lines. Years of wedded
give and take expand inside this
quiet, methodical circulation of love.
She motivates him; he motivates her.
He balances her; she balances him.
Together, they cherish this interlude;
this harmonious exchange, sole to soul.
A grace-filled, sacred moment that will
energize her ever open and abundant heart
when, so blessed, she lets him go.
About the Creator
Barbara Steinhauser
Thank you for taking time to read my stuff. I love writing almost as much as I love my people. I went back to college and earned an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults and often run on that storytelling track. Enjoy!
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Dream Big. Work Bigger
Dreaming big has always been celebrated. From childhood, we are encouraged to imagine limitless futures, to picture ourselves succeeding beyond ordinary boundaries. Dreams give us direction, hope, and a sense of purpose. But dreams alone are fragile. Without action, they remain ideas—beautiful, inspiring, and incomplete. That is where the second half of the phrase matters most: Work Bigger. “Dream Big. Work Bigger.” is not just a motivational slogan. It is a mindset that acknowledges a hard truth many people avoid: extraordinary dreams demand extraordinary effort. The size of your dream sets the destination, but the size of your work determines whether you ever arrive. The Power of Dreaming Big Dreaming big is an act of courage. It requires you to think beyond your current circumstances, resources, or limitations. Big dreams often feel uncomfortable because they challenge the identity you currently hold. 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Small actions, repeated daily, accumulate into powerful results. Writing one page every day eventually becomes a book. Practicing a skill regularly transforms ability into mastery. Working bigger is less about dramatic bursts of effort and more about showing up, again and again. The Gap Between Vision and Reality Many people live in the gap between what they want and what they are willing to do. They admire success stories without acknowledging the years of unseen effort behind them. Social media often amplifies this misunderstanding by highlighting outcomes rather than processes. The truth is less glamorous but far more empowering. Success is usually built quietly. It is created in early mornings, late nights, and moments when no one is watching. It is shaped by choices that feel ordinary at the time but prove extraordinary in hindsight. Bridging the gap between vision and reality means being honest with yourself. Are your daily habits aligned with your dreams? 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Dream big, because your potential deserves space. But work bigger, because dreams only come alive through action.
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