Devotionals

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From the Sewing Room
“Oh, look at this mess,” grandma chuckled as she pulled the sheet off a huge pile of sewing material.

Homemade wooded shelves bowed as the weight of the material. Scrap pieces hung off the sides of the small table.

“Oh, look at this darling piece,” Grandma said as she pulled a small flowered color print out of the heap. “Wouldn’t this be lovely with something?”

No matter, grandma still kept buying material. She lived by a unique motto that she who dies with the most material left, wins.

I still remember the special times as a child that I spent with my grandma in her sewing room. I remember the first time I learned how to sew. It was around this time of year, because that was when we made a pumpkin pillow. We always had time to create something while waiting for dinner to cook or to enjoy an afternoon together.

I was given my very own needle and one of grandma’s homemade pincushions. I felt so special to have my own needle, especially when I was only eight years old. With black thread, I followed the outline of the pumpkin.

“Make sure and pull the crease through,” Grandma said as she peered over her wide framed glasses to exam my handwork, which was usually a small pillow. While I didn’t have a talent for sewing or a passion for it, I loved being with my grandma.

“The fun part is stuffing this guy,” Grandma said. She pulled out a bag of cotton from underneath her sewing machine and handed me a pencil.

“Push it down in there. Make him nice and full.”
Looking down at my fat pumpkin with stuffing coming out of its head and sides, I said, “Grandma, my pumpkin looks funny. What did I do wrong?”

She picked up the stuffed pumpkin, paused for a moment and said, “I think he kind of looks like a Sam, don’t you?” She patted his pudgy head.

“But, Grandma, the stuffing…”
“Oh, well, next time we will use a smaller needle. Now, what else can we make today?”

It was in these moments, I never realized until
I was much older that she wasn’t just teaching me how to sew, but she was teaching me how to live. This lesson reminds me even today that patience with ourselves and with each other is more important than the task at-hand.

It was in the hours spent in the sewing room, that my grandma stitched together the foundations of my faith in Christ.

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