I Might Need a Nap

My children assure me that Fall is here. They are downright insistent. I hesitate because I know how fickle Georgia weather can be. She’s hard to trust, that one. Still, it’s been a beautiful weekend. Any day that winds up with me and Miss Sophie walking as the sun is setting with a gentle breeze blowing is a gift.

I had a lovely surprise in the form of a visit with a friend–a time of catching up and sharing stories. It’s been long overdue for us to sit and share where life has taken us and the road we’re now on. She wisely chose a place where we weren’t rushed, so a meal turned into hours–the kind of time passing that you’re unaware of as you dig deep in one moment and laugh in the next.

The food was delicious and the conversation priceless–it could have been one between any two women around our age, I suppose. Children, families, homes, worries, joys, funny stories, memories from childhood, the beauty and challenges of growing older with tender hearts that still dream–we moved from one thought to another, shifting smoothly without faltering. It was an afternoon of sunshine and tanning my soul. After hugging her goodbye and both agreeing it was long overdue and should happen again soon, I climbed in my van, filled with things that reminded me of who I am–a Mama with children who are on the go and who shares the keys with them and their activities. And something my friend had shared floated through the rays of sun reflected in my rearview mirror.

The Fair is in town. It’s a big deal around here, and something many look forward to each October. Over the years my favorite things to do have been to see the craft and art exhibits, check out the show barns, ride the Agri-Lift, and watch the sun set over the water. For years, Mama’s cousin Miss Betty entered her needlework in the Fair, and it was like a treasure hunt going through the exhibit hall to find it. As we talked my friend shared that they’d been the evening before, and that she’d loved seeing the quilts.

Oh. The quilts. They are my favorites. The time and efforts put into them are just mind-blowing. There are no shortcuts. Each step has to happen, one at a time, to create those works of art. As my friend shared about seeing them on exhibit, she talked about the art of creating them. And how this is becoming a lost art. She pondered on the way women used to gather to quilt together. We sat there, thinking about what that looked like and how it came to be.

And y’all, I think we figured it out. That’s what came to me on the sun’s rays from my friend’s words. Those quilting bees were about more than just the blankets. Goodness knows, I love a homemade quilt more than most things. Remembering the ones my Granny had and used to make pallets for us on the floor at her house has had me collecting and rescuing old quilts in all shapes of wear and tear, so that one day I can make pallets for my grandlittles. But while I know the finished quilt was a goal, I truly think what we danced around in our visit was that it was more about the intertwining of stories. Patching together lives that were sitting there–sharing joys and sorrows, wisdom and discernment, worries, woes, tears, and laughter. As stitches were made and pieces of fabric, new and worn, were joined together, so were hearts and spirits. Upon completion, that blanket could live a long life, warming families for generations to come. But those quilting bees, they were changing lives as those women sat together–learning they weren’t alone in most things. And in the things they faced that no one else had, they had a sisterhood right there with them, making sure they had what they needed to hold things together. And helping them rip out the stitches that needed to be let go. Y’all, I don’t know about you, but I need more of that in my life.

Tonight I’m thankful for the quilting bee yesterday with my friend. We quilted together our stories, experiences we had in common and those we didn’t. What we shared in those hours is unique and can never be recreated, much like every treasured quilt we each own. Just like every precious visit I’ve had with the other dear treasured women in my life. The memories of the laughter and the hard things we shared will warm my heart for years to come. In a world where the quilting bee may not be common anymore, I think it is so important that we not lose what happened at those gatherings. A time to talk, to share, heads bowed over busy hands–hearts healing, sides shaking from laughter, tears falling down cheeks young and old. Sisterhood. Community. The beauty of what was being created outshone only by the intertwining of lives of all ages, young and old–no two alike, yet when joined together–beautiful and unique. A most precious kind of quilt.

Wishing you a quilting bee of your own this week. Don’t mind me if you see me put up a sign about holding one myself-sewing needles not required.

Love to all.