Entry No. 63

A Little Bit of Sunshine…

FullSizeRender-1It’s been over two years since I’ve sewn clothes for myself. There’s all sorts of reasons why, but what matters is… I made a dress.  What’s fabulous is – it fits.  What’s even better – it meant something. We all have our personal struggles, tragedies and triumphs and two weeks ago, I decided it was time to sew again, but wanted my first project to be a reflection of something more than an itch to stitch.  My heart wanted to create something that when I put it on and zipped it up, in the mirror I’d see not just a good sewing project but be wearing a piece of my soul. Odd?  Perhaps.

How we dress, our color choices, fit preferences, even fabric types say so very much about who we are. Never, have I been one to just throw my clothes on and go.  They have to actually feel right and match my place of mind and heartbeat for the day.  Perhaps I’m a little eccentric, it’s alright.  If I’m actually coo-coo,  don’t tell me.

FullSizeRender-2Anyway, as I planned to sew I looked back over the last two, even three years of my life, how very much God has done, blessed, allowed, restored, even rooted out of my soul.  Bloggers, we’ll post all the perfect moments from our walk, the highs, the blessings, while we wait on God to pull us from the lows. We forget too, as readers, there is an entire life behind the bits and pieces we read, a complete picture.  It’s important to remember when we write, to keep it real.

FullSizeRender-3That written, I can share how sometimes we need healing and don’t even know it.  Deep-seated happiness I haven’t felt since I was a little girl has waltzed back into the farthest corners of my heart, in the last two years especially.  We serve a God who is faithful to finish what He starts and tends to even the smallest details of our circumstances.

Life happens.  The struggle is real.  But so is He…

FullSizeRender-4It was then, I thought of sunshine. Streaming in through my bedroom window at the moment, untainted and beautiful.  A slight breeze outside was waving the tree branches making dappled sunlight on my hardwood floor.  I went and stood in it, barefooted, for a few minutes until I could feel its warmth on my toes. I watched it dance around my feet and thought of how Jesus can make even the most deeply broken heart dance again. No matter how horribly the wound bleeds, He bled for the broken.  For you.  For me.

FullSizeRenderMy family, we’ve been through some things, and haven’t we all?  But I peeked in my closet and for my love of life, love of God and love of light… I hadn’t a single yellow thing hanging in my closet. It was time for all the wonder Jesus had done on the inside to make its way to the outside – in a different, more tangible sense than a happy smile, a laugh or a twinkle in my eyes.  Feeling like one of those little yellow birds who escaped a cage, I decided to sew a yellow dress.  And I did.


newlook-dresses-pattern-6224-envelope-frontThis pattern was great and for those curious, it can be found here.  I sewed view C, the red one.  There were a few changes I made in the construction process, like putting the zipper in before I sewed the opposite side shut.  Or, setting the sleeve in before I closed the armhole.  These are all things we can do if we’re not sewing a couture item and still get the same fit with much greater ease of assembly – and less pinning!  I chose a sheer, Dotted Swiss at the Hancock fabrics closing near my home.  In that sense it was a bitter-sweet project, to bid farewell to a sewing store I have many fond memories from. Finally, I sewed a tiny crocheted lace trim along the hemline.  My canary dress was finished.


At any rate, this is my most favorite thing I’ve sewn to date, best fit, best fabric choice for the pattern itself.  The zipper even went in without a hitch.  {I may make one more in a fabric I’ve had for years, with these little bluebirds on it.} It’s also the truest piece of clothing I’ve ever sewn.  Peculiar?  Perhaps.

I’m okay with that…



Entry No. 61

13333007_1610019822648559_4552741423086231588_nI heard a gasp, then hurried footsteps on the floor. My toddler stood before me moments later, tears flowing freely. Her favorite doll I’d sewn had a tear and a nearly severed limb.

She climbed in my lap, wounded play friend in hand. With an odd mix of sorrow and hope in her eyes she looked up at me, “Mommy, {between broken sobs} can you fix her?”

“Hmm, let me see.” She handed me the object of her daydreams, gently pointing to the scars with a tiny finger. “Yes, I believe I can.”

“Mommy, really? {she sucked her breath in sharply with surprise} But how? Her stuffing’s coming out and her arm’s coming off and…” The little voice trailed away and the sudden breath became a heavy sigh as she gazed into those tiny eyes of thread.

It was time to explain. “Well, I remember the day your dolly was born in the workshop. You weren’t there. But there was more to the story, you know.” {had her attention then and the tears subsided}

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Entry No. 56

FullSizeRenderThere’s a strange wistfulness in used bookstores I just can’t resist nor put my finger on. The particular scent of ink, years and paper, that no one’s ever managed to tame into a bottle, it hits me soon as I walk in the door. I’ll stand quietly in a volume-stuffed corner, my eyes taking in author’s names; the story-tellers, secret-keepers, fact-finders, private-weepers… My vision deftly sweeps over title after title.  Each bravely telling a thousand words with lonely few, trusting me to judge, with a glimpse, the entirety of what resides within two covers.

I’ve learned to open books so carefully, as each turn of page is like looking through cracks around the door into another’s soul. Mentally rummaging, I wonder where a book has been, whose dog-eared the pages, spilled coffee, fallen asleep with their nose in a chapter as I feel its weight, then its spine give way, cradled in my palms.

But more than anything, I consider the stories, the memories, the lies, the truth; things so long past, yet locked onto paper, in words for someone else to discover.  The curiosity to know what someone else has felt, thought and known before just never tires, nor the mystery of what I’ll find pressed between end and beginning.

Briefly, I’ll peek over my glasses, you know and see the quirky, quiet types milling about silently. Fancy coffee or thermos in hand, all seriousness yet never completely put together, something small yet significant always askew. They’ll look stunned when randomly spoken to and there’s an unspoken, knowing glance every newcomer receives when entering an occupied aisle.

So this day, I glanced down at my own fancy coffee, matching accessories and slid my glasses back up my nose for the umpteenth time. It was then I smirked at the empty place where a large, silver button’s been missing on my plaid coat for months. I bought a book, denied a bag, took a nice deep breath of that “something” in the air and left with a new journey tucked gently under one arm.

It’s always the same, hunting for that new, old bit of time standing still on pages. The bookshop people don’t change much, just the faces and perhaps the particular whiff of coffee I’ll catch in passing.  It’s rather nice, fitting in with the delightfully strange.

There’s a peculiar wonder in always finding a new way to fall in love with the same old thing all over again.  Also, I seriously don’t seem to own the indifference to pass a used bookshop without stepping inside. I hope they never manage to bottle that smell we’ll wander in for. Some things are just better left to ink and years and paper.

#bookstores #books #mystery #delightfullystrange