The First Jar
“I hope you like this gift”
It started with a jelly jar of pastel pink, yellow, and blue strips of thick paper loosely folded into star shapes. My goddaughter, Sadie, made it for me. She was 13. One of the stars inside said, "I hope you like this gift." I did. More than she could have known.
She knew I was working through some stuff: losing my father, finding my birth mother, figuring out what life looked like when that much life happened in a short period of time.
The jar was there for me to use when I needed it—if I wanted to feel connected, if I needed a lift on a hard day, if I was happy and looking for a way to celebrate. Each star had a note written in pencil. The messages were a profound mix of Sadie's voice and personality and the things she saw and appreciated about me and about our relationship. The stars held something different than any note or card I'd ever gotten.
It was love, delivered over time. And it made a mark.
All this is practice until it’s art
Sadie made me this painting during the summer I was working on the Star Jar Kit. It's a very Jill thing to say and a very Sadie way to turn that into something beautiful. I'm big on trying different things to create joy, meaning, and connection. Once Sadie taught me how to fold a star, I made it a regular habit. It was my act of resistance—a small, intentional way to create something good, to counter the negative that I tend to see too often and say too quickly.
Here's what folding taught me: the process is as good for the giver as it is for the recipient. Slowing down, spending time thinking about the good in someone else, writing it down, folding it into a small gift they can unwrap—these words leave a mark. Honoring the best parts of someone else is an intentional way to start seeing more of the good around us and maybe even within ourselves.
Our lives are a collection of what we practice, sometimes by choice, sometimes because of things beyond our control. This very modern world feels like a battle for our attention, the most valuable thing we have to give. Making stars is a choice—it's about having agency over the good we can create. It's a decision to take some time back and focus it on what's good, to meditate on the best parts of someone else, the relationship you share, the memories.
That kind of attention—the good of the other—is restorative. It's regenerative. And at the end, you made the best of someone else into a little piece of art.
It Was Harder than Expected
This idea to experiment with making a kit was supposed to be a quick summer project between high school graduation and leaving for college. It was something Sadie and I were going to do together for fun. We thought it would be an extension of the way we'd spent hours scouring thrift stores and retail stores for the right size jar or finding hundreds of different kinds of papers over the years.
What we learned was making Star Jars as easy as possible was a whole lot more work than we ever expected. While we got a few things done that summer - picking a name, thinking through the right jar size (enough for someone to really have the experience, not too many for the maker to be overwhelmed), we didn't get very far. The project and all those jars got put on a shelf. Sadie went off to college and I went through the process of losing my other parent.
A few months after my mother passed away, two years after we'd shelved the project, I was thinking about what came next. I'd spent the previous couple of years consumed by my mother's final needs. In grief, in anxiety, in the flickers of recognizing there was a next for me if I chose one, I looked at my white board. There was an old list with the words WHAT's NEXT? in big bold letters. The sixth one down said Star Jars.
That very long Google doc didn't capture the half of it. Six months of buying and trying so many different kinds of cutters, learning how to change blades without losing any fingers, scouring the world for beautiful and foldable paper, creating a complete production process in a space that is not conducive to producing things, multiple rounds of tariffs destabilizing access to jars and Japanese paper, thousands of text messages. With the support and encouragement of so many people, most especially my nephew Jack (he designed the logo among other things) and of course Sadie, the kits have moved from white board to real life.
From 100 Kits to 10K Strips
Star Jar Kits were worth the work because they represent tens of thousands of moments where good words, connection, care, and kindness are being added to people's lives. Jars are a different kind of clock—one that symbolizes time invested in the good of the other.
I wanted them to be as beautiful as possible, and that beauty comes from the paper. I looked long and hard for the right kinds. In the end, I chose four: washi paper from Ozu Washi in Tokyo, katazome paper from the Awagami Factory in Tokushima, Rossi papers from Florence, and glitter paper from the glitter fairy.
All of this was so that when you want to show someone they matter, you can. Just you and the good you have to give.
We hope you like this gift.
We're so grateful you're here. We understand how many things are competing for your time and attention. We hope we've used yours well. Whether you choose to buy a kit or you're just here checking things out, we consider you part of Our Fold.
What Sadie started when she gave me the first jar eight years ago continues with you. Every kit shared, every star folded, every note written adds to the good in the world.
That's what Our Fold is about: people choosing to see and share the best in each other.
We hope you enjoy our quest to Fold Good Forward as much as we do!
-Jill & Sadie