The whir of the sewing machine somehow sets my heart ablaze….I know… weird huh? It is quiet, and the ceiling fan blows dust upon my head because I haven’t dusted it in some time. I figure that it’s a fan, and it will recirculate the dirt to other parts of the house…and Ill ignore the need to clean it yet again.
I’m always in a happy mood when I’m creating something. For one reason I’m a “Fixer.” Have I always been this way, have you? My glue gun is permanently attached to my hip, and I’m wondering if I’m not alone in this?
I may have to go to “Fixers Anonymous” or “FA” soon. If there isn’t a group…it might need to be birthed. Fixing things can be a good and healthy quality….except that when you turn that into trying to “fix” people that major heartache for all persons’ concerned can occur.
Im finding this out the hard way. It’s much better that I stick to sewing new patches on my jeans than trying to sew patches on someone else’s’ heart wound.
Sewing up a heart is much better and wiser to leave to the professional heart surgeon, or to the Great Physician…if you get my drift? It’s no easy thing to fix a broken heart. It takes much time, patience, and a willingness to just be….where you are. It cannot be rushed..
As I search in my desk for appropriate patches to fix my jeans, it reminds me of how my Savior continually is there to sew up my wounds. I’m not the same as I once was as a child, wound and scar free.
Now there are some permanent jagged scars that I will wear until my dying day. There was a time that I would choose to hide these scars, but as I grow older, and hopefully more mature; well at least grow older then, the scars…well..they don’t bother me near as much.
The realization that you can put a patch on something, then wear that article of clothing again, gives me a great sense of accomplishment. Yes..it’s true, I could have thrown out my pants, but I choose not to. Some articles of clothing are worth saving…some are not….but I save them anyhow…haha.
Perhaps I am seeing the corollation between my jeans, and people. As we pass others on the street some wear visible signs of their hurts, and pain, while others look perfectly made up, beautiful clothing, perfect figures, and mistakenly we think they are “hurt free.”
I , personally, think there is no such thing. Everyone hurts, and sooner or later, all hearts become broken, and need restoration, need ultimately…healing.
The somewhat astounding thing I see is that from the outside my jeans look suddenly in fashion with their patches, and frayed edges. However when you look on the wrong side of the jeans, there are many sutures holding these patches in place.
If I were to stretch into a squat…well ya just might hear a mighty rip, and we would be back where we started at, with a dilemma, to fix, or to throw out…hmm…
Sooo… Scarring or being in an accident can make us scared or cautious for our next wound can’t it?
What to do? Do we hide our hearts and our pain away, and never let another into it? Some might say yes to this, but I think a great deal of us would say no. Like the quote…”better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.”
Sometimes I agree with this, but lots of times….I just plainly do not. These hurts teach us if we let them. With each dent in our armour, little bits of ourselves become stripped away, allowing us, hopefully to enter more capably into another’s’ hurt.
When this happens, it’s a sacred place…it is very precious, and cannot ever be taken lightly. This is humanity at its best. When our eyes are open just enough to sense another’s’ hurt, and we don’t walk by, but choose to enter in, we are profoundly changed…and healed as well.
It is incredible to be able to be trusted enough, that someone takes us in, and shows us their wounds…this is sacred, but I think this is life giving and so healing. Ultimately this is such a sign of trust and openness, and this causes the hurt one to hurt a little less, because they let their scar show….it loses some of its power to fester. It’s like fresh ointment on the wound, letting the light and the air in….it breathes, and consequently, so does the wounded one.
Fresh air…we all love it. The smell of the fragrant mist after a hot summer rain. The birds chirping their excitement at pulling a fresh pudgy worm from the dank earth beneath them. The smell of cement as the drops from heaven dampen it…. It all feels new, washed clean..and somehow hopeful.
How many times can a heart be hurt and healed again? I’ve asked myself this question so many times, and still I am answer less. This wonderful muscle that is life giving, seems to be able to withstand so much emotional scarring, it’s truly phenomenal, and exceptional.
It was just Canada Day yesterday, and in a few days it will be July 4th…Independence Day. My heart is thankful that I was brought up in Canada, and have lived in the USA for 25 years…Where the time has gone..I know not. It does feel like one blinks one eyes, and “Le voila..” You are 50, with grown children, and aching knees.
I’m thinking my knees ache from age, or maybe arthritis, but they also ache from lots of praying too..ha. Having kids keeps you on your knees, but also…alas..just living the life does that too.
Thankful today for countries that are free, even though there are lots of issues always running rampant, greatful that we can voice our opinions freely, even if nobody wants to hear what you have to say!
Thinking about patching up more stuff again this morning. To make fresh that which has been worn out, to give new hope to the ragged, and the torn. To lift out of the “give-a-way” bag, and breathe new life into the forgotten, into the unnoticed.
I recall my Grandma “darning” socks, because you just didn’t throw those away when your big toe broke though them. She would have been apalled at how easily our generation, and my childrens’ generation just throw things away.
People throw away computers, fridges, microwaves, tvs , phones, cars….we then just bury our junk… When did we decide NOT to build things to last. Not to build relationships to last?
When did we decide that this was ok? So not only do we throw our appliances away, but people now too? No..no..no…and yes, I guess I’m now high upon my soap box, but it’s astounding to me that this throw away mentality can be a thought a good thing for us, for our children.
I guess all this patching and sewing has sliced a fresh wound in my heart, and opened my eyes anew to the hurt that I see around me. The people that I run into as I walk my beagles around the lake. The look of dejection, and loss in their eyes as they cast their line into the cool water, and hope for a catch.
Looking for a bass, or maybe a trout, while the king fisher, and the pelican scan the depths below, ready to steal the fish off the fishermans’ line.
Im no bird specialist, so I’m not sure if I saw a pelican, however, he or she was big and white with a large yellow beak, and when he scooped his beak down , it came up huge, with a fish which he skillfully swallowed in a big gulp.
As I pass by these fisher people some will glance my way, and I will smile a good morning, while others seem deep in their own thoughts, and seem miles away, or even asleep.
So many hurts, so many owies. There are just not enough bandages to stop the bleeding inside. May my eyes be open today again to those that are hurt. May the people in my day feel like they are loved and cared for.
Let the patches that are sewn create a new hope, a resilience, to try again, and to let hope in to our broken hearts.