A Stitch in Time

I am a sucker for anything old. I am in awe of things that have survived the ages and still bring joy to people as time moves on. I once cried after accidentally dropping a piece of antique glass and apologized to it for ending its life after it had somehow survived over 100 years. For some reason, when I look at an object that has survived the years in a fragile world, I see a story that is fading away, and it makes me sad. It makes me want to know more about the original owner or creator of that object, and who it belonged to over the years.

Since my mom passed on to her heavenly home a few years ago, I have had possession of a number of vintage things that once belonged to one of my many ancestors. Of particular interest to me has been the lovely crocheted lace doilies that have been stored neatly in a drawer, just waiting to be appreciated. I have for some time researched the possibilities to use these old-fashioned pieces of home decor in a way that a modern world would accept them as the exceptional works of art that they are.

I finally decided to group them together in such a way as to make a couple of table runners. As I worked at my arrangement to get it just right, and then began to use a needle and thread to connect them to each other, I couldn’t help but notice all the intricate patterns and precise stitches in each doily. My mind began to contemplate the women who had made those stitches. At some point in the past, one of my grandmothers or great-grandmothers sat making stitches, much as I was now doing, albeit, much fancier stitches than mine.

Sometimes when I look in the mirror or see a photo of myself these days, I feel like I am looking at my mother. It’s easy to see the resemblance. I wonder, however, do I bear any resemblance to the women who created the lovely doilies that are now in my possession? My mother and I, although we bear a physical resemblance, have always been quite different in our personalities. That’s neither a good thing or a bad thing, it’s just a thing. But I couldn’t help but wonder about the personalities of my great-grandmothers. I have photos of them and I have heard stories of them, but to really know them is now impossible. Were they introverted like me? Did they love making their handicrafts or was it just something that was expected of women in those days? What were their relationships like with their husbands and children? Did they worry about silly things like I do? What did they believe about God? Did they have a heart for those who don’t know Him? I can’t really know the answers to most of these questions, but I can presume some things about their faith in God based on what I have observed in the generations that have followed them.

When I contemplate the many followers of Christ within the circle of people whom are also descendants of these same doily-stitching women, I can’t help but believe that they took their faith very seriously and that they worked hard to ensure that faith would continue in the generations to come. Because these women were willing to live out their faith, we are doubly stitched together in time–through our blood, and through the blood of Jesus. I am so grateful for that and will remember it each time I look at my new table runners.