When I was a child my mother made nearly all my clothes. She taught me to sew, even as her mother had taught her. There are generations of seamstresses on both sides of my family. I just ran across a photograph of my Grandma Graf surrounded by her early round of grandkids all dressed in pajamas she made for us, probably for Christmas. My Grandma Rupp (mom’s mom), made a quilt for her bed in what I think was called a “hummingbird pattern”. It made good use of small scraps, while still incorporating new cloth. When I got married I asked my mom to make me a quilt from the same pattern. A seamstress myself, I should have noticed the level of difficulty found in the design—maybe I did, but I asked anyway. No objections came from my mother, other than a “hummm…”. A small wedge of cardboard was laid over pieces of my history, traced around 1,536 times and cut into kite shapes, 2 for the body of the bird and 2 for the wings. My hummingbirds contained a plethora of colors from summer blouses and Easter suits, to school dresses and fashionable culottes.
Whether pondering the potential of a brand new piece of cloth, or sighing over a pile of scraps, perhaps it can be said that God has the viewpoint of a seamstress. God can see the hopeful possibilities in you and in me, and is not deterred by certain levels of difficulty. God stitched you together in your mother’s womb and has not stopped piecing the shades of your own history into new patterns of grace, strength and honor.
May God make you whole, make you holy and make you wholly God’s.
