The church my great-grandmother joined as a young woman in Guadalajara is a hundred years old this year. I do not say that lightly. A century of any institution is remarkable; a century of a faith community is rarer still; a century of one that has taught generations of women to treat reverence as a daily practice is, to me, a quiet miracle.
The edition
To honor the centennial we are making one hundred veils. Not one hundred styles — one hundred pieces of a single commemorative design. Each is numbered by hand, from 1/100 to 100/100. Each is inscribed with a small gold thread that reads 1926 – 2026. Each comes with a letter from our family and a commemorative silk pouch.
- Numbered 1/100 through 100/100.
- Hand-inscribed gold thread, 1926 – 2026.
- Commemorative silk pouch and a letter from our family.
- Every edition sold gifts two veils — doubling our mission for the year.
What a century asks
I have been thinking a lot this year about what it means to inherit something old and make it worth handing on. It is not enough to preserve. You also have to tend. A fire kept burning for a hundred years is not the same fire — it is the fire that was stewarded through a hundred years of nights by people who chose, again and again, not to let it go out.
“The veil is not a museum piece. It is a relay baton. Our job is to hand it on.”
The doubled gift
For every centennial edition sold, two veils are gifted to sisters in communities that have asked for them — not one. In a year of gratitude, it seemed right to double what we give. Our mission has always been buy one, give one. This year, for these one hundred pieces, it is buy one, give two.
If you wear one, you will not just be wearing a veil. You will be wearing a hundred years of Sunday mornings, of sung hymns, of grandmothers folding tissue paper. I cannot think of a more beautiful thing to carry.
