My Nana taught me needlepoint. Because I understood the time and patience it took to finish these stitched projects, she bequeathed to me all the pillows and samplers she had created.
Now, when I run my hand over the stitches she made, it is like I am reaching back in time to the moment she made them. It’s like I’m touching her hand on the other side of the canvas, on the other side of space. In creating something beautiful, she reflected the actions of her Creator. And now, one hopes, she sees Him face to face. And so it seems to me that her small work of art is a bridge between then and now, between here and there, between that which is, and that which is to be.
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March 16, 2010 at 10:53 pm
Susan
Wow! That seems so poetic. In my mind, I pictured something like when Helen Keller put her hands on Braille and must have “seen” the words coming to life…
March 16, 2010 at 10:57 pm
Jim
Wow! What poignant economy – real grief blooming into real hope – the real, metaphoric, mythopoeic hand can grope so much more fruitfully than the blinkered imagination. OK – so I’m gonna go read this one again. It’s that impressive…
March 23, 2010 at 7:30 am
Dan
“Now, when I run my hand over the stitches she made, it is like I am reaching back in time to the moment she made them.”
^^This!^^
March 24, 2010 at 6:57 pm
gettingoffthepot
Danielsan, I don’t understand what ^^This!^^ means?
March 25, 2010 at 2:24 pm
Dan
It means I have been rendered mute by excellence and can only gesture in the direction of that wonderful expression. And no, I’m not being sarcastic. This whole graf made me pause (in a good way).