Everytime I sew, it is so therapeutic. When I am overwhelmed, I sew. When I am excited, I sew. When I am creative, well, you get the picture...And sometimes, like today, I want to completely sew and shut out the world. I want to immerse myself in the whirring sound of the motor and the needle humming to forget what lies ahead...I want to sew and pray...pray and sew...
Today, I will watch a family, say goodbye to their loved one and I will ache for them. I will ache because I want to take away their pain, wrap my arms around them, whisper calm scriptures in their ears. For one beautiful, beautiful young woman, there will be pain, so much pain that I have prayed constantly that she will be able to live through it. For today, today she will bury her sister. A sister with whom there were many struggles...
Since my sisters were lil girls, I have struggled to protect them. I have raced to beat the Boogie Man to their door. I have helped our mother feed them, clothe them, and drag them through life lessons. I have loved them. Cried with them. Laughed with them. Adored them. But never, never have I had to bury one of them.
There is a bond between sisters that is sometimes spoken, but more often not, that no matter what we say, what we do, or even what we don't do, that with sisters, we can always take it back. But sometimes, just sometimes, Life kicks us in the teeth with this horrid, unexpected death. And we forget. We forget that about our bond. We forget that our earliest playmate will always love us for ever. We forget that unlike marriage the binding ties between sisters is forever. And so, we are filled with misplaced guilt that overrides our rational thinking allowing the devil to have a field day inside our minds as if suffering a loss is not huge enough. We allow it to destroy our self esteem and not concentrate on the joy of the bittersweet memories. We allow this horrid, nasty guilt to betray that sacred, unspoken bond with our sister and promise to take our very sanity and self esteem in the making.
But, it is there. That bond, that sisterhood is still there. How do I know? Because, my sweet fellow sister, I watch you. I watch you softly, quietly sift through her pictures. I watch you masterfully mother her children. I watch you welcome fellow mourners with whispers of hope. I watch you quietly gaze at her casket, reaching out to make sure her hair is tucked by her face just so.
Please, please do not let this guilt eat at you. You are okay, you and your sister. She is watching you now. She is proud, so proud of her Lil Sissy. She knew she could count on you to plan, to please, to pray...She and God watching you, loving you, eagerly awaiting you to let this devil created guilt to leave so that they can ease you through these moments through her Valley with gentle, splendid love.
Your bond is still there little one. It is just a bit quieter, more tender, and easier to maintain. Love her today, but more importantly, allow her to love you...because in the end she needs you more than she ever has...you are no longer lil girls playing dolls, you are her only link, the only one who can give to her children and family here on earth. She would want that. But more importantly, she would want you to be happy, joyous, and safe as you continue your journey to meet her when you get Home...
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Sewing a Life of Memories
It is so necessary when a loved one dies, for us as humans to keep something tangible of theirs to remember them by. Recently, our youngest daughter lost her great, great Grandmother very rapidly to cancer. It was quick. By the time Grandma R. Found out, the cancer was well advanced and throughout her body. She chose not to fight.mshe was exhausted from many years of just living life. And so after a short battle, she succumbed to life after death with our Lord Jesus Christ. It was sad. It was hard. A family so closely knit, losing there matriarch. Their most beloved hostess.
When the family came to me and asked me to take some of Grandma R's clothes and make thirty or so memory pillows, I readily agreed. As I opened the box of beautiful shirts and ran my fingers ove the different fabrics, it occurred to me that these items represented much more than fabrics to be used for the family's heirlooms. These shirts represented Grandma R's life, her loves, her style. In essence, just by looking at her clothes, I could readily tell what kind of woman she was.
The shirts were very simple. Yet each one was cut with an open neck, a sure sign that she was not closed off. There was a femininity to them, some small,flair of intricate beauty, leading me to know that she was particular about what she did and paid attention to detail. And finally, the fabric was soft and pastel in color, which I assume was why she too could say what she meant with a flair for the quiet wisdom that come when a woman has lived a long life.
As I began to cut the fabric and make the shirts into pillows, I wondered, "What kind of memorabilia would I leave my children. Would they too be able to take my precious items or clothing and have great keepsakes? Would they know and remember who I truly am by the things I have left behind as Grandma R. had? Would they look at my sewing machine and remember the hours I sewed to buy their school sports shirts, their shoes, sewed their prom dresses, tuxedos, and articles to sell? Would they look at the jewelry, and see the simple, cheap dollar store finds that they bought me as small children and know that I wore them proudly because my children had bought them? Would they open my treasure box and finger each item I saved as a memento of their love, and know I cherished these objects of glue and macaroni above all else. And finally, would they open my Bible, picture me in the Word, and know I spent many days on my knees praying for their wars and welfare?
I hope so. I pray that at the end of this life my children see a woman, imperfect as she was, who loved her Lord and her family more than life itself. I pray they see a woman who was content with second beat so that they could have firsts. I hope that my memories leave them feeling safe, souns, and loved. But, Imdo not know for sure. I have not been perfect. And so, I will spend more time allowing God to perfect me. I will sew a little longer. Read a little more. And pray a little harder. I will continue to live my life with a legacy in mind for them that will last a lifetime when I go to meet my Maker.
So, my question is, what kind of a memory pillow will be made for your family? What treasure box of memories will you leave behind? Will the good, outweigh the bad? Will they remember your love and commitment both to you and God? Will your perfection overcome the imperfections? I know, deep huh? But in the end when we leave this earth, all we really have is a lot of stuff with attached memories. And I pray, in the end, my children will finger my objects, look into their hearts, and have beautiful memories in their souls ...until we meet again...
Grandma R. with her namesake Ella
When the family came to me and asked me to take some of Grandma R's clothes and make thirty or so memory pillows, I readily agreed. As I opened the box of beautiful shirts and ran my fingers ove the different fabrics, it occurred to me that these items represented much more than fabrics to be used for the family's heirlooms. These shirts represented Grandma R's life, her loves, her style. In essence, just by looking at her clothes, I could readily tell what kind of woman she was.
The shirts were very simple. Yet each one was cut with an open neck, a sure sign that she was not closed off. There was a femininity to them, some small,flair of intricate beauty, leading me to know that she was particular about what she did and paid attention to detail. And finally, the fabric was soft and pastel in color, which I assume was why she too could say what she meant with a flair for the quiet wisdom that come when a woman has lived a long life.
As I began to cut the fabric and make the shirts into pillows, I wondered, "What kind of memorabilia would I leave my children. Would they too be able to take my precious items or clothing and have great keepsakes? Would they know and remember who I truly am by the things I have left behind as Grandma R. had? Would they look at my sewing machine and remember the hours I sewed to buy their school sports shirts, their shoes, sewed their prom dresses, tuxedos, and articles to sell? Would they look at the jewelry, and see the simple, cheap dollar store finds that they bought me as small children and know that I wore them proudly because my children had bought them? Would they open my treasure box and finger each item I saved as a memento of their love, and know I cherished these objects of glue and macaroni above all else. And finally, would they open my Bible, picture me in the Word, and know I spent many days on my knees praying for their wars and welfare?
I hope so. I pray that at the end of this life my children see a woman, imperfect as she was, who loved her Lord and her family more than life itself. I pray they see a woman who was content with second beat so that they could have firsts. I hope that my memories leave them feeling safe, souns, and loved. But, Imdo not know for sure. I have not been perfect. And so, I will spend more time allowing God to perfect me. I will sew a little longer. Read a little more. And pray a little harder. I will continue to live my life with a legacy in mind for them that will last a lifetime when I go to meet my Maker.
So, my question is, what kind of a memory pillow will be made for your family? What treasure box of memories will you leave behind? Will the good, outweigh the bad? Will they remember your love and commitment both to you and God? Will your perfection overcome the imperfections? I know, deep huh? But in the end when we leave this earth, all we really have is a lot of stuff with attached memories. And I pray, in the end, my children will finger my objects, look into their hearts, and have beautiful memories in their souls ...until we meet again...
Grandma R. with her namesake Ella
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