Make an Etched Mirror, Plus a Giveaway!!!

I love old stuff. I love the dusty smell the years leave behind and the memories tucked into things that have lasted long beyond their owners.

I particularly love old mirrors, the kind that have real silver on the backs and bubbles in the glass and hand-glued labels on the wood. I haul them home whenever I can, and my husband gives me that husband look that says he doesn’t appreciate blurry, wrecked mirrors the way I do and he wonders if we don’t already have enough already?

As if.

One of the mirrors I scavenged was from a church garage sale. It was framed with barn boards and the silver was delightfully scratched and it weighed about half as much as me. I lugged it home and when my husband rolled his eyes, I said, “Don’t worry. I’m going to do something with this.”

Which, in point of fact, was not the part that worried him.

My plan was to make an etched mirror. For years, I toyed around with what to do. I even bought supplies to make my own stencil, but I couldn’t quite find the right thing and I was a little afraid I would ruin the mirror (never mind the fact that my husband thought it was too late for that).

So, I was thrilled when I turned on my computer one day and found a link a friend shared to Fruitful Vine Creations. They make gorgeous vinyl wall decals in every shape and size, including the one below.

Micah 6:8 happens to be one of my favorite verses. I even named a child after that book of the Bible. I was in love.

The size of this decal was perfect for my mirror. I knew I could affix the vinyl piece to it and the hardest part of my glass-etching project would be done for me!

Best of all, this particular letter art was being featured that week as the company’s Fruitful Deal. Every week, they offer one vinyl letter design at a deep discount. I scored this design for 50% off!

Once my order arrived, I positioned the vinyl decal on my mirror.

Then, I secured the design with tape on one edge and peeled the back off. This way, I could flip the design back onto the glass. (All the directions are included in the package, and they are super easy to follow, so don’t worry if that part doesn’t make sense. It will when you see their step-by-step tutorial).

I squeegeed the design onto the glass, pushing out air bubbles and making sure the design was stuck on tight. Since I was going to be applying glass etching acid to the top of this vinyl, I wanted to make sure all the edges were sealed.

Once that was done, I carefully pulled the top sheet off. The decal was perfectly positioned underneath.

Now it was time to get to work with the etching.

To etch glass at home, all you need is glass etching goo. This is what I used to do the job. This is the link to the product description on my Amazon affiliate page. But, it’s crazy expensive. I highly recommend using a coupon and getting it at your local craft store if you can. I got mine at Hobby Lobby for 40% off.

Using a paint brush, smear that stuff all over the mirror, right on top of the vinyl, until it is evenly coated.

The product is a little lumpy. Ignore.

The directions on the Armour Etch say to leave the product on for 60 seconds. I tested this with a smaller bottle and that amount of time was not nearly sufficient. Maybe it’s because my mirror is very old and things were made better back in the day. I don’t know. But I had to go back and purchase another bigger bottle and try again.

Bother.

I let it sit for about fifteen minutes, or until I could see the glass was cloudy underneath. Then, I washed off the creme, cleaned the mirror, and let it dry.

You will notice that the glass-etching product did not take evenly. Grrr…I am telling myself that the variations in cloudiness are in keeping with the weathered look of the mirror. I may go back and purchase another jar of Armour Etch if I decide not to leave my children an inheritance.

You will also notice that the vinyl looks just as good as it did before I applied the acid. In fact, a simple design might be able to be used again.

For me, it was time to remove the vinyl letters and see if the etching worked.

It did!

This particular design from Fruitful Vine Creations is very delicate, so I was a little worried that the acid might get underneath the thin parts. It didn’t. The vinyl stuck tight, just like it was supposed to, and gave me beautiful, crisp lines.

It’s hard to tell because the mirror creates a double image, but the lines are so clean. You can even feel them with your fingers, just like on real etched-glass.

I love the way the Scripture verse looks on the mirror. The light catches the words in different ways at different times, and it is beautiful. Even my husband has to admit that this old mirror isn’t so bad.

Aren’t you all dying to get your hands on some vinyl letter art so you can create your own etched mirror masterpiece???

You are in luck! I contacted Tonya over at Fruitful Vine Creations and told her what amazing readers I have and how much you all would love to shop on her site. She offered to give you all a chance to win a $50 shopping spree from Fruitful Vine Creations! This gift certificate can be used on anything in their store, including shipping! The only exclusions are the My Fruitful Deal decals (which are already a smashing great price, you might just want to sign up for their sale e-mails so you don’t miss any).

To enter, just fill out the Rafflecopter below! I will draw a winner at 6 pm Monday, April 14. Enjoy!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Leave a comment.

A Broken Heart

The first time I realized my heart was skipping beats, the night was dark and close. I had felt that hard, intent thunder in my heart before, but it wasn’t until that night when I was sleeping on my stomach with my arm tucked close to my chest that I felt the nothingness that came where beats should have been.

My heart was stopping. It was not beating when it should be beating.

I listened and waited. It did it again, and again. Each time, it caught itself just in time and shuddered. My mind raced. What could be going on?

My husband breathed in and out next to me. He could sleep because he didn’t know I was dying. Probably he would feel bad about that in the morning.

I thought about waking him, just to have someone there with me, just to have someone know that my heart—my heart—was broken. But he had to work the next day and I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up for something I knew was okay.

It was okay.

Everything would be okay.

Then my heart stopped again. It missed a full beat. The silence of that beat felt like an eternity. I waited. “My heart has stopped! My heart has stopped!” my mind screamed.

It is amazing how much panic a brain can cram into the space of a single heartbeat.

Just as suddenly as it stopped, my heart pumped itself back alive again. The force of it made my shirt jump. I could see it, even in the monochrome midnight.

Over and over again the cycle repeated, sometimes as often as every other beat.

I breathed in slowly and let the air flow out in measured increments, trying to calm a muscle that seemed to have a mind of its own. It didn’t make a difference.

Even harder, I tried to control my thoughts. You are worrying, I reprimanded myself. You need to pray. Just pray.” But the prayers that rose to my lips mingled with frantic, fearful questions. How do I stop this? Should I go to the emergency room? What if I go to the emergency room and nothing is wrong? What if I don’t go and something is?

Oh, Kristie, why is it so much easier to worry than to pray?

That night dissolved into fitful sleep. Over the next few weeks, the heart palpitations came and went. Some days, I felt almost normal. Other days, I collapsed into a chair because holding a wild, frantic heart in one’s chest is exhausting.

The doctors are trying to figure out what is going on. So are my friends. I have tried every remedy for heart palpitations known to man. Some seem to be working.

Then it starts again.

Every time I succumb to another episode, I am reminded of how frail I am, and how deceived I’ve been to think otherwise. Because I can think I have faith until my heart stops beating under the same roof where my babies sleep. I can be brave and strong in the daylight, but when the darkness comes and my heart is tripping along the fence between life and mortality, fear rushes in where faith should be and I find that I cannot move mountains; these mountains are moving me.

I am shaken.

The truth is, I do not want to settle accounts today. I have words to say, still, and things to do, and holiness to become, and well, shoot, I thought I’d be better than this before I went.

Even when the sun comes up and nothing more has come of it than another night of little sleep, I do not breathe any easier. When your heart doesn’t beat half as much as it should, you are twice as thankful when it does, and you wake up knowing that these fragile hours are not to be wasted.

That’s the kind of clarity that comes from dying. I am not dying, and yet I am. Every day, a little more of this offering burns up, and a little less is left to be burned. And I think of how much smoke I’ve spent on very little sacrifice.

I do not want to spend the remainder of my days, be they many or few, on charades. I do not want to waste it.

So I traipse off to doctors and get hooked up to all sorts of things that can only begin to plumb the depths of my heart and I try to take a good look at the stuff that doesn’t show up on any of the tests. I swallow things I was told to swallow and rest the way I was told to rest, and in between I tear down the altars I built thinking I could sacrifice my life the way I wanted to a God who does not ever accept grand achievements as substitute for contrition.

“Some things might have to change,” the doctors tell me, and while they might be referring to my coffee intake and the way I don’t sleep, I choke a little because I wonder if God’s been talking to them the way He’s been talking to me.

This skipping, obstinate heart cannot be allowed to continue to march to its own rhythm. The doctors know it. So do I. I cannot continue to serve myself under the auspices of serving God. I cannot pretend to pour into my children when I’m really wasting more time than I’m investing. I cannot minister only when it’s comfortable and I am in control.

I cannot spend any more precious days counting on the strength of my own broken heart. The beautiful truth is, I have a broken heart. But the breaking seems to be the very cure I need.

Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.

Psalm 73:25-26

Stephanie’s Thirty-One Adventure

When I was very young, I lived on a coffee plantation in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I ran barefooted with my brothers up and down the runway while my dad circled overhead, swimming his red and white airplane through an endless ocean of sky.

During the week, my older brother and I hopped on a yellow truck with bench seats in the back and bounced away to boarding school. My dorm parents had been missionaries in one of the jungle tribes, so it was appropriate that they were put in charge of civilizing a pack of missionary kids who would have rather been outside collecting beetles and climbing mango trees.

I am not in this picture. That’s why I chose it.

My roommate in that weathered wooden dormitory was Stephanie, the oldest daughter of my dorm parents. We weren’t much alike, and since she was several grades ahead of me (and far more mature); I must have made her crazy.

I did not know that one day, that curly-haired girl would become my sister.

We’re still not much alike, except we both have crazy hair and a slew of children and we both married men named Jeff. Some of our kids share names, too. Other than that, we’re totally different. For one thing, Stephanie is far more caring. When my husband was gone on Army business for months on end, Stephanie kept track of the days. She sent care packages and notes and checked in on me at just the right time.

That’s just like a big sister for you.

Okay, I’m in this one. Can you find me?

I don’t know how she has time to think of me at all. Stephanie is the mother to seven children, and the wife of a man who is busy balancing work and ministry. Jeff was a former missionary kid himself. The two of them met in training for mission work and spent a total of ten years preparing for and ministering to the Semandang tribe—the same people group Jeff’s parents had served when he was growing up in Indonesia.

One of their children nearly died there. They faced many challenges and hardships as missionaries. There were joys too–but if you’ve never been on the mission field, you cannot imagine what it is like to raise your babies in the jungle.

Stephanie and Jeff are back in the States now, working with their home church as youth leaders. Jeff is on the church board. They both disciple small groups of people while they pray about where God is leading them. They work, too, because it takes a lot of work to support a large family. For a time, Stephanie worked the night shift and came home just in time to homeschool the kids. Now, she is a caretaker for a few young children in her home while her own kids are in school.

It’s not easy managing a home, ministry, and work. But I love how consistently Stephanie demonstrates a Proverbs 31 woman to me. She is willing to work hard as a partner and helpmeet to her husband while being a loving mother to her children. I’m sure some days are very hard. But as far as I can tell, Stephanie does it with a servant’s heart.

Like I said, we’re not very much the same.

It seemed appropriate that Stephanie decided to become a consultant for Thirty-One, a company named after Proverbs 31. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? They sell amazing bags and organizational products. I even did a fun review on them here which you totally have to read because it’s funny. At least, I had fun writing it.

Stephanie decided to join the company for several reasons. For one thing, she wanted some of the bags. It’s easy to see why–they are beautiful, functional, and made to outlast seven children (which is saying something).

This is Stephanie’s family, as they looked a few years ago. Those kids won’t stop growing!

But she has a bigger dream. She wants to free her husband up to become even more involved in ministry. That’s just like Steph.

I wanted to support that vision and my step-sister’s dedication to her family. It’s a rare thing these days to witness a woman working beside her husband in ministry and in the precious calling of raising godly kids with such humility and grace.

I told Steph I would do an online party for her because I appreciate her so much. If you love Thirty-One bags, or if you’ve never heard of them but want to check them out, please click on the link to browse around! Your purchase will help Stephanie and Jeff in their desire to serve their church in a greater way.

Click here—-> Thirty-One Party!

To make things even more fun than shopping alone, I will be doing a giveaway! That’s right! Everyone who orders through Stephanie’s link above will be entered to win her choice of either this bag (in a print of choice):

The Zip-Top bag keeps everything organized. I’m getting one to take to piano lessons! Bonus: It’s the SPECIAL this month!!!

or this one (again, in your choice of print):

The large utility tote is one of my favorite Thirty-One bags!

All you have to do to be entered to win one of those bags is shop through the party link. Be sure you order before Friday, February 21 at 9 pm Pacific Time in order to be entered to win one of these bags. You should see the Five in Tow party title at the top of the screen when you order. That ensures that you’re ordering with this party so I can keep track of who is eligible to be entered. Also, if you’re a follower of my Five in Tow Facebook page, you “might” (wink wink) get in on a few extra giveaways while we run this party this week.

Have fun shopping, and thank you for supporting Stephanie!

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