Friday, April 20, 2012

Stitches of Love

It was a huge expense in the 1960’s when my father purchased a $500 Singer sewing machine for my mother. We were all very excited while waiting for it on the day it was to be delivered. Finally it arrived! Carefully my mother unpacked it. A gleaming tan sewing machine atop a walnut finish wood cabinet. My mother lovingly and neatly arranged all the accessories and her sewing notions in the two cabinet drawers.

From that day on, it seemed like my mother sewed every day. I loved the flower print sun dresses she made for me to wear to school. I was amazed at how perfectly she made my Pioneer Girl uniform. It looked just like the store bought one! As I got a little older, she made me fashionable culottes too. All summer long through the dinning room window, I heard the hum of my mother’s sewing machine as she kept one eye and ear on me and my three sisters swimming in our backyard pool.

My mother made most of her own clothes too. Casual pants and shirts for around the house and dresses and suits for church too. But there is one outfit my mother made that I will never forget. It was a pale blue and white plaid polyester jacket and skirt set. Everyone thought it was well crafted and quite beautiful too. Especially me. But for some reason my mother didn’t believe she had done a good enough job, and it hung in her closet unworn.

It wasn’t long after my mother made that outfit that
she passed away. I was only twelve, but my father picked me to select the outfit my mother would wear for the funeral. As soon as I opened my mother’s closet door, all I saw was the pastel blue and white plaid jacket and skirt set. I knew that that was the perfect one. To me that outfit said, ‘Perhaps there were times when you thought you didn’t do a good enough job, but to me you did a perfect job. Every day, in every way.

There was another reason I chose that outfit. Being a Christian, I knew that my mother lived a new and better eternal life in heaven. I didn’t want the last time that I saw my mother on earth, and the memories of that last time, to be memories of black and darkness. No, my mother would not wear black on her funeral day. She would wear pastel blue and white. For every time I remembered the last time I saw my mother, I would look up to sky and think of heaven beyond.and know that my mother was living in the light of the Lord.

I, and no one in my family, wore black to my mother’s funeral. Our faith and our hope remained strong. Someday we would see my mother again, in heaven. And no matter how deep our sorrow was, the light of the stitches of love my mother created in our lives would live on within us forever.
A Stitches of Love Sympathy Gift
 Personalized Love & Peace Afghan Throw Blanket

1 comment:

  1. Please take the time to watch and share this video. Marala Scott truly is an inspiration.