Years and years ago, my great aunts Leet and Matt sat together and sewed countless quilts together. Perhaps it was to pass the time, or perhaps it was to meet the real need of staying warm in the winter. I was given two such quilts. One, in the pattern of wedding rings and edged in hot pink, hangs on my bedroom wall. It’s sacred in that no one is allowed to touch it as I am doing my best to preserve it for future generations. The other quilt, a colorful, more common quilt, edged in red, has traveled with our family to countless soccer and baseball games as well as countless photography sessions. It has kept my family warm as we have cheered on our boys and it has kept my photography clients’ rears from getting wet from the soaked ground. I need to retire it from use, but I can hardly stand the thought as it has colored my world with it’s vibrancy for so long.
I think when my great aunts were stitching all those years ago, they were not thinking about what would be passed down. Legacy probably never entered their minds. They did the practical task before them…one laborious stitch after another…perhaps singing hymns, saying prayers, and listening to one another’s hearts along the way. It’s a pure form of worship: taking a menial task, offering praise, and surrendering it to the purpose of One so much higher. In those acts of worship, legacy takes root, and allows people to live on through their impact, oblivious to the grave.
Sometimes even the menial can be transformed into our legacy. The dirty diapers, the countless prayers, the mountain of laundry, the taxi service to all the kids, the meal after meal after meal. Let’s press on and be faithful in those small (and sometimes less than glorious) callings of each day. Perhaps our “handful of stitches” will bless generations and generations after us.