Thu. May 23rd, 2024

(c) Vickey Stamps


She’d been busy…  It was a good kind of busy and it helped her burn the energy,
that was a big part of her role as a young wife and mother.  She’d helped her
husband get off to work and the kids to school.  Now she soothed herself with a
cup of coffee, thinking out the day ahead, and how she would fill it.  It felt empty
without the family.  She would do the usual washing and cleaning.  She’d have to
find time for some baking, and if time allowed, she needed to go shopping…
It seemed like only moments ago, that she’d slowed down long enough for a bit to eat.
Looking at the wall clock, she realized it had been hours already.  She reached out
and grabbed a couple of cookies, lying on a nearby platter.  A pan of freshly mixed
chocolate milk, simmered, on the stove.  It was her children’s favorite drink.  They’d
be home soon.  It was ready when they arrived.  While some might find it boring,
she never tired of the ritual.
They would be eager to shed the coats and boots, hanging them on hooks beside the door. 
They seemed as if they always looked forward to the welcoming time of hot chocolate
and cookies, shared with her.  The school day came into their conversation.  They let
her live it with them, trying to out talk each other.  At last they wound down.  She got
them settled at the small kitchen table for doing their homework.  It would not be
long before their dad got home, and dinner on the table that once held homework. 
What a nice part of the day that always was for her.
They had so many blessings here in their little home.  She knew all were not blessed
as she was.  The Lord lived in this home.  Short of heaven and despite the expected
trials that always lay in wait, just around the corner, it didn’t get any better than this.
While her family was busy, she went into her special room.  It was her quilting room. 
Against the far wall, in end, to end, cubicles, were neatly folded fabrics.  The old
sewing machine that her grandmother had taught her to quilt on, when she wasn’t
much older than her little Sara, held its own place of honor.
She had treasured those moments with Grandma.  She missed her so much.  Some days
held more memories than other days.  None of the things called ‘crafting’ had appealed
to her mother, but her grandmother had filled in that gap.  She hoped her daughter
would ask her to teach her how to sew someday.  Perhaps they could develop some of
those wonderful memories together.  She lovingly touched several of the different
fabrics. She wanted to make a new quilt, but hadn’t decided just how she wanted
it to look.
All of a sudden, images began to fill her mind.  Sometimes that was the way a quilt
design came to her.  Now the ideas began to bounce around in her head, sorting
themselves out.  She saw in her mind, a cascade of falling water.  The water fell
from a high area, plummeting onto small boulders and rocks.  She knew that, had
the image been real, the water would hold great force.  It would change and polish
whatever it hit, and over a period of time, the polished surfaces would become
smoother and more beautiful. 
She imagined herself like the boulders beneath the falling of the water, polished
with repeated impact, by the Master’s hands.  She’d put in fabrics that could pass
as bits of waterfall colors, with their colors of rust, greens, blues and whites. 
Some of the waterfall would not plummet, but rather trickle down, and around, into
even smaller rocks and pebbles, in the quilt in her mind, the quilt she would make.
She could picture the quilt ‘coming to life.’  Perhaps, a curious squirrel, would watch
from a branch.  Below it, perhaps a sparrow, would feed on the feasts growing on the
ground.  Each water drop would have its place, she thought.  She’d let the Lord plant
the seeds.  She’d do the earthly work that would make the quilt picture, for their home.
Perhaps she would search out and find some light gray fabric, along with some darker
scraps. Those could be for the premature hints of gray in her husband’s dark hair.
The almost, rusty brown, of her son’s hair, would need its own fabric.  The sandy banks
would be made of material almost the color of her daughter’s hair and her own.  She’d
use a brown to match her husband and son’s eyes.  That blue over there in the corner,
would be the sky and match her daughters eyes.  Her own were hazel.  She would fit
that in somewhere.  She’d let herself be guided.
She would have to cut and appliqué at least one tree.  She’d place it in such a way,
it would be leaning, because of the winds, laying over the waters and the bank.  Here
and there, would be random with riotous clumps of wildflowers.  They would represent
the brighter colors of the world.  She’d position them to look as if they danced together
in unseen breezes.  Was that a breeze through the slightly raised window in its frame,
or only the memory of a babies kiss on her cheek?  The quilt would be a fabric picture
of nature.  Yes indeed, it would be a quilt representing a small portion of God’s days
of creation.  That’s how she would name it.
Giggles found their way into the room.  The kids must have finished their homework, or
became distracted.  Perhaps tomorrow she would begin the quilt.  She could hardly wait.
Now, it was time for her to be with her children.  In just a few more minutes she would
hear her husband’s car door shut.  She would watch through the windows as he came to
the door.  She knew he would wear weariness on his face.  It, as always, would fade
aware to be replaced with the joy he always found waiting at home.  How she loved her
family.  She gave some nearby fabric a tender pat, and walked into the next moment.
She thought her family was a multi-fabric quilt in human form…
They made a very good quilt.


One thought on “A QUILT FROM CREATION”
  1. Thank you for sharing A Quilt From Creation. It reminded me of my grandma’s stories about the family event of quilting. Her day started before 5AM. Giving her time to prepare the coffee, eggs, bacon, biscuits and milk gravy. Probably the only way to lure any sane minded person to the cold, dark morning to milk cows. When the sun went down she told me about her family gathering around the table to quilt. There was no electricity. They used lamps that burn oil for light and a wood burning stove for heat. The fabric for the quilt was the “last stop” for the material used in the clothing some of her 12 siblings had worn. Those times were wonderful for my grandma. She could point to each piece of fabric and tell you which garment it came from and who had worn the garment. That is how the cover to the quilt is made. The warmth of the quilt comes from the batting inside the quilt along with the love, laughter and memories of Grandma and our family, who secured, with each quilting stitch the history that created the love and warmth.
    When considering children’s childhood development needs, we should include a “family” quilt.

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