Quilting Bee

As a child my doll Betsy and I spent great gobs of time lying on our backs looking up at the large quilt being made over our heads to the sound of the cackles and chatter of my grandmother’s quilting bee friends. Betsy and I were surrounded by dozens of feet, clad in orthopedic type shoes, supporting dozens of legs, covered in beige colored hose rolled and tied in knots just below the dozens of knees that were covered in a variety of the floral print fabrics of homespun dresses. These womanly limbs served as if pickets in the fence that enclosed my little encampment.

Because of the light on the ceiling, my view of the bottom side of the quilt allowed me to see dozens of hands working, working, working up on top. The teeny tiny stitches of each needle eventually blended together to form an intricate pattern of blossoms and leaves and curly ques.  I loved these times. I was always alone in the crowd, being the only child there since my sister was at school and my Mother had dutifully dropped me off on her way to work.  But oh how I delighted in the story being told with those needles.

Curiosity would eventually get the better of me and I would find an escape route, come to the top side of the quilt to run my fingers along the stitching that followed the expertly pieced design and take in the whole masterpiece.

Another treasure would soon be ready to be bound and folded and stacked with the others at the church bazaar where it would be sold allowing the women to hand a nice cash donation to the bishop for the good things that were needed for those who had less.

I’ve been sick this week, spending much more time than usual lying on my back in bed looking up at the ceiling.  This time, it is my mind not the nimble fingers of the quilting bee ladies that is stitching together the story. Remembering things that have been, imagining things that will come. An intricate pattern is developing.   It was Robert Frost who said: “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: It goes on.”  Dale dying did not stop the progression of my story.

There is still so much to learn and to do and to accomplish before my life quilt is ready to be bound and folded and handed to Heavenly Father as a Thank You for this beautiful gift of life. It won’t be as intricate or beautiful or varied or even as colorful as other life quilts but I’m determined to have it be a one-of-a-kind-me life quilt. A pattern being woven with my life experiences lived the best that I am able.

I need to remember to stop every once in a while (like today) and take a look as if from the top looking down to make sure things are going right, even if the seam ripper must be used from time to time or a flaw mended or patched or a new direction required because amazingly...life goes on.