I fastened the edging with my best slip stitch. It’s finished. But would all my careful sewing be for nothing? I fingered the tiny pink and blue squares. My hand lingered over the pink ones. A girl – God, please bless me with another girl as precious as my own.
I had gotten an early start on my grocery shopping that day – a friend was in the hospital and needed meals made up for her four children and husband. I set my cell phone on the seat beside me and was startled when it rang. 6 am … not a good sign.
“Hey sweetie. What are you doing up so early out there?” I glanced at my clock again and did the math for the west coast.
“I couldn’t sleep Mom.” I pressed the phone closer to my ear when I heard tears fill her words.
“What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“No, but I wish I was. I’m pregnant Mom - fourteen weeks. I was afraid to tell you.” I gripped the wheel with my right hand and crossed into the parking lot.
“You’re joking, right? You just got married. You and Sean wanted to wait a few years.” I watched as an older man struggled to push his cart against the tropical winds just as I struggled to accept what I was hearing.
Her tears turned to sobs. “I’m not ready, Mom! I have a great job and I am just getting used to living here. What will I do?”
I was in shock and whatever else went along with finding out I was to be a grandmother sooner than expected. I sat in a daze in the busy parking lot for forty minutes convincing my daughter that I was happy about her news and why she should be happy too. God had planned this baby and we needed to rejoice. I calmed her down and promised (as all mothers do) that she would be fine. I would pray for God to create not only a perfect baby but a miracle in a young mother’s heart.
One more month. August 13th was circled in red on my calendar. Just enough time to sew the final stitches on the quilt. I traced the bright pattern on the top layer. This quilt was the first one I had made without my daughter’s help. My bedroom walls were covered with projects she and I had sewn together as a result of that first quilting class when she was only six years old and the classes that followed. Ingrid, her soft spoken instructor, had taught her how to cut squares and triangles and sew them into colorful quilts. Ingrid was not only a master quilter but a clever teacher. She made sure I learned right along with my daughter – as well as supply the doughnuts for the ‘basting parties.’
The baby quilt warmed my lap and draped to the floor. I didn’t know if my first grandchild was to be a boy or a girl but I had added one extra pink square just in case. I flipped it over and eyed the patch I had sewn on last night. Ingrid had been pretty stern about the importance of labeling our masterpieces with a title, date, and the maker’s name.
My daughter’s phone call yesterday morning helped me decide what I should write.
“Only a month to go, Mom. I think the nursery is all ready.” She paused, “But Mom… I wanted you to know something else.”
I held my breath in fear that something wrong had developed with the baby. I was seven hours away by air and would be of little help should I be needed.
“I wanted you to know, that I’m ready now too, Mom.” I let out my breath. God had sewn together the final pieces of her heart just in time. “Thanks for all your prayers – I love you.”
A lump formed in my throat as I remembered my daughter’s words. I focused again on the label in my lap and smiled. Thank you for your rules Ingrid.
July 13, 2007
Sewn with love by God
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