Family

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My Momma was a sewer. I guess most people would call her a seamstress. She seemed stressed most of the time. She worked full-time and went to nursing school. In her spare time she made my clothes. In her free time she altered others’ clothing. In what time that was left, she slept. I guess she had reason to be stressed, though she didn’t have the time.

Sewing seemed to calm her. It was relaxing for her. But she was particular. Her seams had to be straight and her hemlines just so. Otherwise, she’d rip ‘em out and start over. She made me rip out many of mine while I was learning to sew. She was a good teacher, but I was a sorry learner. I was too fast. She said I drove the foot pedal on the sewing machine like I was driving a race car. I made a lot of mistakes. But I looked good.

I never knew it. I never knew how well my Momma sewed until I was older and looked back through the pages of our photo albums. I had some of the cutest clothes when I was a little girl. As a teen, I had one of the prettiest dancing dresses ever made. I loved it. I loved it, because no one could tell it was homemade. The next year she let out the seams and the hem and I hated it. Everyone could tell it wasn’t store bought.

I cringed and cried. I pouted and moped. I hurt her feelings I’m sure. Momma just didn’t have time to make a new one that year. She had made play costumes, uniforms, Sunday-go-to-preaching clothes, bedclothes and curtains in her spare time. Her time grew sparse. Her eyesight got weaker and her arthritis got stronger. She still sewed for me.

Last year she made several costumes for the church’s Easter play. It was difficult for her. Yet she made Roman soldier costumes for the crucifixion scene that were better than store bought. I was proud when Momma was recognized for her sewing. It was then I realized she wasn’t just a sewer, but a sow-er. She had planted me in church, raised me with love, watered me with the Holy Spirit, pruned me with faith, fed me with God’s word and I will be harvested when Christ comes.

She had been sowing seeds for a long time. Not realizing all the years of wearing home made clothes, she was dressing me in love. She was a grand seamstress, a stressed Momma, but a Christian seed sow-er. It was my Momma that threaded me, but it was God that sewed me together. It was God that designed me, but it was Momma that introduced me to Him. She was the one that told me about Jesus. She not only sewed, but she sowed a faith within me- a faith that grew. It was homemade, but bought with blood.

My seams are busting out. Joy abounds. The pruning has produced fruit. I can see the hem of Christ’s garment and no one can rip that from my sight. My Momma sewed, and sowed, and showed me Jesus, in her spare time. Her sowing spared me for Christ‘s harvest. I cringe and cry for I hurt Him, and yet He clothed me in righteousness. My Momma will be recognized for sowing. I guess you could call her a sow-er.

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