Piecing Paired with Poorly Plied Prayerful Ponderings Recently Rescued as I Remember Mama
I’m sick with a head cold (my headline alone shouts “she’s sick!”, I know). That cold that everyone has been fighting this month and the last? It’s my battle now. And I’m taking it lying down. But there is one really great thing about being sick, no, two really great things:
- I now have plenty of time to do handwork, and
- I have plenty of wickedly wonderful television shows saved on the DVR (such as 30 episodes of Boston Legal, my secret vice) to sit and watch.
Yup, I’m having a grand ol’ time here at the Thistledown Farmhouse – sewing, watching TV, sniffing and whining. What fun. Seriously. I love being sick. Gives me time to pause. Gives me time to ponder. Gives me a great excuse to eat cereal for dinner and pudding for lunch.
In my last post I wrote that each flower represents a person in my life and that I would “prayerfully piece each thistle together.” But to be honest, I haven’t worked that way. And I was devastated to realize that I had already pieced together 22 of them without the least little bit of prayer.
I have enjoyed the individual finish and feel of each fabric. I have admired each color and print and the depth of each hue as I have plied my needle. And I have rejoiced over each finished flower, carefully pressing the seams, then lovingly smoothing the fabric into place as I return it to the company of it’s friends on the design wall.
But none of my thistles were sewn while I prayed, meditated, thought deeply about or gave even a passing thought to any one individual person in my home, church or quilt life. My heart sagged in my chest when I realized how I had not carried out my intentions. My good, loving, prayerful, full of Christ’s love intentions.
And then my mother saved me from total despair. (Hi Mom!)
Mom and I love to sing and to dance. We love all kinds of music. We love to sing along with the radio. We have been known to obnoxiously fling out a line or two of lyrics from a musical movie or play while we caper and cavort gaily about. (One of my favorite memories is of Mom singing/growling “If I were a Rich Man” from Fiddler on the Roof while shimmying, shaking and stomping down the front hallway of our home). We are happiest when we are tapping our feet and moving to the music. It could be the blues, bluegrass, moldy golden oldies, county, rock n’ roll or classical – if it’s got a beat, we can dance to it. We love our music and dance, and while we ain’t exactly Broadway material, we are very important to The Industry.
We are, as Mother coined the term years ago, Appreciators. Those that can’t do, applaud those that can. It’s an vital job that Mother and I take very seriously. Without us, those music makin’ dancin’ Divas and Stevas are out of a job.
So, when I thought of Mom & the Appreciators – sounds like a song and dance team to me! – my heart lifted again. My job is to appreciate the process, the people, and the play of fabric. The point of my Journey is to Love. I would like to be a better Pray-er. I’m not. Not yet, anyway. I can study, I can ponder, I can research and read – but prayerful meditation? Not quite yet.
But admire, enjoy, cheer on, laugh, love, sing and dance with you? THAT I can do!