Made, but not forgotten

We memorialized a friend in January. She passed away December 14, not the best time for a funeral. The family needed certain people to be there, and chose to wait for the service until weeks later. And the service was a blessing.

We spoke of her humor, her faith, her life and loves, and her attentiveness to the people around her.

Memories are precious things.

We make quilts to preserve the memories of some people. My daughter's friend passed at the tender young age of 14, and her parents took her tee-shirts and made 2 quilts for her siblings. Some of us make quilts to become memories. I made a quilt in honor of my son's wedding to let them know they were loved and create a memory for them. My friend took her aunt's dresses and made quilts for the family after she passed. These are memories that will last at least one generation, and maybe more, if we document them for future generations.

Quilting is part of making memories. We remember most of the quilts we make and who we make them for. Pictures of them fill our scrapbooks and computer files. We remember our first quilt with pride or humiliation, depending on the results.

And some we forget. I have taken the time...and it's a lot of time, making things for people...cross stitch projects, quilts, aprons, and other things...and later I see them or they remind me of them, and I marvel that I forgot that I had made it at all... I had taken the time, love, and materials, focused so hard on the making that I forgot the gifting...relieved to have it done, it was done, given, and forgotten.

I am so grateful that God does not forget me...I had spent my hours on something I though was worthy of my time and for giving, and forgot once I had it done. God is still working on me, but also promises that He will never leave me nor forsake me, and never forget me. He stitches my life together meticulously, creating without need of instructions, charts and graphs, or even supplies...He makes me with just a Word from His mouth, a thought from His “brain”, a touch of His finger...and it is done. He orchestrates my every move...who will use me at any given time, and knows if I will be hung to admire, get wrapped around someone as a quilt, or stuffed into a closet, received with grace, but not loved. He reminds me that even if a mother could forget her baby she bore, He could not ever forget us...He bore us like a mother, created us, nurtured us, and gave us to the world to be used...but He doesn't just give and forget. He gives and tends, mends, cleans, and treasures His work, no matter where it ends up. He keeps track...and for that I am eternally grateful.