My grandma was not a rich woman. She had very few material possession to leave to her family when she left this world. But for some reason, I ended up with one of the things she treasured most...her old sewing machine. She gave it to my mom, when her eye-sight left her, and after my mom died, it became mine. And now, my grandmother's old sewing machine is a prized possession in my home!
So why is an almost 100 year old sewing machine so precious? Because Grandma used it! She used it to sew everything I wore for the first twelve years of my life. Every time I went to her house, I would run into her sewing room, and there was always a new dress hanging there for me. Sometimes the dress would still have straight pins in the hem, because I didn’t get to see her often and she didn’t know how much I'd grown.
It's also precious to me because my mom used it. She wasn't a seamstress like Grandma, but she patched her share of blue jeans with that old machine.
It's also precious to me because my mom used it. She wasn't a seamstress like Grandma, but she patched her share of blue jeans with that old machine.
My Grandma outlived my mother. She died, two months shy of her 102nd birthday. My Mom died when she was fifty one, just half Grandma's age. But, even though she left too soon, she also left a gift for me. She left her love of writing to me.
Someday it will be my turn to pass something of value to my daughters. One of them might want the old sewing machine, another may want the quilt Grandma sewed on the machine. And the other one might want the old rocking chair that belonged to my great-grandmother. Then again, they may not want any of those things, and they'll end up in some antique shop.
But there is one thing I hope they'll accept from me. It's the copy of poem that my mother, the writer, wrote about my grandmother, the seamstress. It's part of the rich heritage that was left to me by the two loving and giving women who inspired me to be the person I am today.
Mother’s Golden Threads
By Katherine Suman
There she sits with lowered head
Her work before her, needle and thread.
Her stitches small, straight and neat,
She’s my Mother, loving and sweet.
She sews for fun, for pleasure, for all
For a grown daughter, a grandchild, small.
Not only garments, neat and fine
But Mother has fashioned this life of mine.
She has sown her influence, faithful and true
In and out, all my life through.
A bit of encouragement, a kind word said
Patient and sure with her golden thread.
When oft I questioned her handiwork,
When the stitches were deep and I would shirk.
Her thimble of love would ease the thread through.
And with each stitch, the child grew.
She stitched the thread of courage ‘mid strife
And the thread of joy to brighten my life.
The threads of laughter, love and peace
And a faith in God that does not cease.
But now, she’s handing something to me,
The needle, the thread and the thimble, all three.
And says, “It’s time you stitched for others.”
Lord, make me worthy of this gift of Mother’s.
No comments:
Post a Comment