Them hath he filled with wisdom of heart, to work all manner of work, of
the engraver, and of the cunning workman, and of the embroiderer, in
blue, and in purple, in scarlet, and in fine linen, and of the weaver, even of them that do any work, and of those that devise cunning work.
When I was growing up, it was a common sight to see mom sitting at the sewing machine. She made most of my clothes and she and I spent many hours looking at patterns from the McCalls and Simplicity catalogs.
At the right hand side of her machine sat a cardboard box. This box was necessary for her and invaluable to me. It was the scrap box. Bits and snips of fabric filled it to the brim, and many times spilled over.
It wasn't an ordinary scrap box...it was a craft waiting to happen, a Barbie doll dress to be made, a crazy-quilt block or a stuffed animal. It was a treasure trove that I would dig through on wintery evenings and boring Saturdays.
And no matter the color of the material, she had the thread to match it. I don't really remember her teaching me to sew...I guess I mostly learned because I sat beside her while she sewed.
I'm not a great seamstress by any stretch, but I can sew up a skirt, quilt block or owl pillow without much difficulty. I can also mend blue jeans and torn shirts for my "men". To do my mending, I often need small pieces of material and I automatically reach into my scrap box to find a suitable match.
I was mending a pair of Jason's jeans and cut off a small piece from a mutilated piece of denim and it hit me...I now have my own scrap box.
When mom was my age now, I was young and excited over the possibilities in bits of fabric. Now I am a grown-up with a family of my own. I have a scrap box that my son loves to rummage through.
Life has rolled a full circle and did it while I wasn't aware of the time going by. But looking back, I can see that it has been measured by things like the scrap box. It has taken a while to fill my box with the items I use now.
I have sewn many a piece of fabric to have the box filled up. I can measure time by the pieces that accumulated while I was busy sewing and carrying on with my projects.
My life is like that box...it is filled with all sorts of pieces that make me a whole. All those snips and bits have formed me, molded me. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend. And I am a woman who is capable and prepared because I have my scrap box.
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