You read that right. Yesterday, I started a sewing project. I’m re-upholstering a rocking chair and sewing a few throw pillows to go with it. I’m feeling so very domestic and crafty, and hopefully it will look okay from a distance. That’s all I really care about. Please, don’t ever look closely at my seams because I could guarantee you they are not even close to being straight. And lining up a pattern on fabric? That’s way overrated in Megan style sewing.
Back in the days when I was a young, married, poor college student, I decided that I wanted to sew myself a few skirts. I had done curtains and pillows and even a shirt. A skirt couldn’t possibly be that difficult to sew, right?
First on my list was a denim skirt that came down to a point in the front and back. Remember those? I couldn’t find a pattern of exactly what I wanted, so I decided to wing it. Winging it didn’t work so well. While it wasn’t the worst thing I ever sewed, the points were definitely at 1:00 and 7:00 instead of 12:00 and 6:00. (I really wish you could have seen the look of extreme concentration on my face as I figured out the points in relation to a clock. I am so slow on picturing things like that. It’s the whole spatial relations thing, which probably explains why my skirt came out all wonky. And why sewing and geometry do not come naturally to me.)
The next skirt was to be a simple, black, knee length ensemble complete with an elastic waist because the button and zipper thing eluded me. They elude me still. After my failed attempt at “winging it”, I decided it would be best to stick with a pattern. I measured, re-measured, and effectively took over every square foot of our living room for the project. I focused all of my creative energy on this skirt. It was going to be my very own Sistine Chapel, my masterpiece. After hours and hours of work, it was time for the big moment. It was time to try it on. I was absolutely convinced that never was there an article of clothing that would fit me as beautifully as this custom made black skirt. I slipped one foot in, and then the other. I gently tugged it up to my hips…where it got stuck. My darn hips have been causing me trouble all the days of my life. I tugged a little harder. And a little harder. It was absolutely not going to make it past my hips. Somehow, in all my careful measuring, something had gone amiss.
I felt the anger and the frustration start to build. I felt that little bubble of fire in my belly, and I knew it was not going to be pretty when it erupted. I let out a cry as frustrated tears sprang forth from my weary eyes. I’m pretty sure that I screamed at the top of my lungs. I grabbed that skirt, that fine piece of material that I had purchased on sale for something like $2 a yard, and ripped it will all my might. It tore easily away from my body. I held it in my hands, tears streaming down my face and proceeded to rip out every single stitch I’d spent hours putting in. “You suck! You can’t do anything right!” my inner voice screamed at me. Then, for good measure, I threw it onto the ground and stomped on it. And finally, in a show of utter defeat, I crumbled to the ground in a sobbing hysterical heap, where I lay until my husband came home to hold me and tell me that I was still beautiful and good even though I could not accurately measure and sew a skirt. He reassured me for neither the first time nor the last time that my worth did not come from my ability to do something well. He’s a good man, that Derek. I’m not sure he really knew what he was getting into when he married me. But then again, who really does?
Speaking of being a good man, Derek took on middle of the night hospital duty on Friday night. At 10:00, Connor woke up, writhing with stomach pain. We quickly ruled out that it wasn’t his appendix because of where he was hurting. But 2 hours later when he was still curled on the couch, unable to straighten his legs or walk, we decided a trip to the ER was in order. It turns out that Connor’s little system is unbelievably backed up, and thankfully it’s something we can easily take care of at home. Poor guy…I felt awful for him. He and Derek got back home at 3:30 a.m. and it was after 5 a.m. before he finally crashed out on the couch from sheer exhaustion. Needless to say, we were all a little tired yesterday.
So naturally, I decided that it would be the perfect day to start a sewing project. I have the weirdest timing for things like that. I’ve learned that when inspiration strikes, it best to just go with it. So far so good. Half of the chair is covered, and 2 pillows are 75% of the way complete. I’m planning on finishing it up this afternoon.
As I sewed my pillows yesterday, I couldn’t help but think back to my disaster of a black skirt. I’ve come a long way since then, but some things are still the same. I still need my husband to hold me and tell me that I’m good, and he still does that for me when I need it. I still struggle with putting all my self worth into how well I can do something, and I sometimes think that is a demon I will fight my entire life. But right now, I am confident that no matter how much I screw up my pillows or my chair, or how often I don’t say or do the right thing, my Jesus loves me. He forgives me. He died for me and He rose for me. Praise God! He is good.
Happy Easter to you all!