All posts by Ayisha Synnestvedt

About Ayisha Synnestvedt

Ayisha Synnestvedt was born in Toronto, grew up in Caryndale, Canada, and moved to the Kempton New Church Society at the age of seven. She has enjoyed getting to take part in the life of several different church societies, including Phoenix for four months when she was ten, and a few summers and falls in Mitchellville, MD as a young adult. She moved to Bryn Athyn for college in 2004, where she still lives. She loves being active in the lives of her nieces and nephews, especially reading aloud to them. She paints, writes fiction, directs plays, and works on movie projects.

Accepting The Lord’s Yoke

I’ve been home from a useful work-trip to Europe for about a month. The first two weeks back were full of purpose, as the trip was fresh in my mind. Then I hit a slump.

I periodically hit slumps. They creep up on me without me noticing it, until I realise I’m having trouble getting anything done, that I don’t feel an emotional connection to my projects, and that even as neutral a skill as “reading comprehension” has deserted me. I push onward, but instead of this helping warm me up and get me into the swing of it, I continue to churn out something that inexplicably has no life in it. If I’m trying to write in this state, it’s as if my memory only lasts a few seconds, so by the time I’ve gotten to the next sentence, I’ve no idea what I wrote before, and when I re-read it, I don’t know how it connects to what follows.
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Knitting Appreciation

1_Fingerless Glove

I’m not much of a knitter.  I can count on my fingers the knitting projects I have begun, and count on one hand the ones I have successfully completed, mostly thanks to sewing class in school.

But I’m fascinated with and appreciate all the little household arts and tasks that General Church women do, and how much these add to the lives of those around them. Sometimes it’s the mundane, daily tasks that bring a touch of heaven to those around us. The things women create need to be celebrated because they’re not the sorts of things that make headlines, and yet they represent the sphere in which we are nurtured.

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