Sewing Stitches of Faith

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Growing up in a tiny town, the morning sights and sounds were much different than my current suburban life. My family lived next to a small road that led to the solitary stoplight in “the city.” We heard a few cars drive past, but there was no “morning rush.” Mostly I can remember the birds singing choruses through the woods behind our house and many mornings we would watch the deer mosey down the hill into our backyard. All this from our dining room window!

However, one regular sound had nothing to do with nature. Now that I think about it, I remember falling asleep to the same evening sound. It was the humming purr of my mom’s sewing machine that frequently both put me to sleep and summoned me awake. For as long as I can remember, the sewing machine fascinated me. How exactly did two pieces of cloth enter and one exit this contraption? I would stand by my mom as she sewed and watch all she was doing, firing questions. Little by little, Mom taught me all she knew about how to use a machine, hand-sewing, using patterns, making curtains, and anything else we could creatively think of.

Mom didn’t have a craft or sewing room. I have 8 biological brothers and sisters and we had a 4 bedroom house. You do the math. Sometimes when Mom sewed, she would make a marathon of it, taking a day to do all her cutting on the living room floor, then a day to work at sewing everything together from the dining room table. She certainly knew how to maximize her work space and time. And although these “marathons” were great, most of her projects were completed gradually. A few stitches a day, stealing…

I’m so privileged to write for my friends at Dayspring today. 

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Blessings,

Rachel