I never imagined that stitches on a canvas could lead to prayer, but that is exactly what happened when I found a long-forgotten sewing project that I had packed up in 1987 as our family prepared to move. Finding the project tucked away in a drawer evokes many memories of Ed and me and our three little boys. I carefully take out this piece of my past. My arthritic fingers ply the labeled green yarns that had been gathered by younger, more flexible digits. I survey the canvas and find that only four colors of the total twenty-four had been worked: black, white, brown, and the first shade of green. This resonates. My younger self thought in black and white, right and wrong. Unlike today, back then there wasn’t much time given to life’s gray areas.

I study the diagram and stitch directory and separate the huge bulk of unused threads. I slowly guide the material between the two round stretchers. My needle resumes its rhythmic in and out, up and through. This piece is creating an extraordinary bridge between my younger and present selves. Memories cascade through my very being with each stitch. I smile as I recall leaving Kevin’s stuffed panda bear under the blankets in a hotel bed during the move. The hotel staff mailed us the wayward bear and our youngest was full of glee when he opened the soft package. I can still picture the bulky lettering of the thank you note he sent to the thoughtful staff.

I outline three white buds with a dark lime green. The green of today is anchored by the white of yesterday. I wonder what else I did on the day I filled the white buds. I picture the room where I sewed after the boys and their teddy bears had all been tucked into bed. I feel the old comfy couch where I cuddled my babies and played peek-a-boo. I hear the constant commotion of laughter and antics meshed with endless tasks. Back then, I could only imagine the day when the canvas would boast of a completed vase of colorful flowers.

I sew and remember, remember and sew, and God’s grace helps me realize that my project may have been interrupted, but God’s creativity never missed a stitch. The years I spent as a young mother are an integral part of my life canvas. The finished crewel holds the blessings of loosely held French knots as well as tight ones. Each one is necessary and part of the whole picture. Weaved together, the varied threads of my relationships and experiences have created a tapestry of light, shape, density, and form. Throughout it all, God has been present in my ordinary and extraordinary days. He is present in the mundane and in crisis, ever-present in the packing and unpacking, sewing and unraveling of our lives.

The rhythm of my current season includes a daily walk. I savor the smell of autumn leaves and the sound of birdsong. I meet young parents for whom I breathe a slow prayer. Some push strollers. Others tug at muddy tricycles. And one beams as she receives an imaginary vanilla ice cream cone from a small, clenched fist. The past and present entwine, interconnect, and transform. God gave me the ability to see the significance of old yarns. The pastel pink strands mingle with the deep purple in the same way lightheartedness and toil, then and now, caress and expand the contours of life. I pray: Thank you, Creator God. I knocked and you answered.

About the Author: Joanne Bennardo is a wife, mother, grandmother, and writer. She is also a contributor to Bringing Home the Word, an e-newsletter with suggestions for prayer and reflection for the “home church.” A new edition is posted every weekend at the link below.

CCGR Weekly Newsletter (10-23-22)
Bringing Home the Word (10-23-22)
The Kids Bulletin (10-23-22)

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