A Stitch in Time, by Lisa Shirey

By Lisa Shirey

Like many of you, I’m struggling right now to find my balance on this tippy earth. I don’t wish this to be the case. I wish to have the tundra firmly under my aching bunions, or at least no list to the ship. Each day I wake up with the resolve to do better than I did yesterday. Be a better, kinder person. Reach out to someone in need. Offer a ray of hope and sunshine to someone who is hurting. But by 11am I’m about tapped out. That’s not the message I want to offer the world, but it’s the truth. I’m not alone.

One thing that keeps popping into my mind when faced with learning new coping mechanisms for iffy times, is thinking back over the books I have read or the movies I have watched over the years. Quite often, especially when it comes to the frustration and fears of women, they turned toward a practical task. One that would keep their hands busy and create something positive out of the angst they were experiencing. What do you do when your darling is marching off to Gettysburg, or departing for foreign ports on a three masted schooner, carrying nothing more than a sextant and a pint of rum? Needlework comes to mind.

For years I have collected samplers extolling the virtues of positive thinking, friendship and home comfort, stitched by fingers far nimbler than my own. When changing the bed recently I stopped to read the samplers dotting the walls of one of my guest rooms. They clearly illustrate that sometimes all it takes is a reminder that we can do whatever we are faced with, and perhaps do it with a smile. We can rest into the belief that; life will get better. I have no doubt. Let’s face it, we’ve all dealt with tougher stuff.

Needlework has been an artform, at least since the ancient Egyptians. Of course, the first needles were not the steel we know today, but instead

made of bone or wood. During the Middle Ages, clergy often wore embroidered robes which the monks and nuns stitched. Often the work was so detailed that one could tell where someone was from in Europe based on the needlework on their garments. (Needlework-short-history-html)

Progressive and consistent effort developed the art. Often young women were quite competitive in their needle skills which developed through hours of practice and patience. It was not uncommon to be dissatisfied with the results and pull the threads out to begin again. By the 18th century, it became a common practice to commit bible verses, poetry, prayers and letters to linen or sackcloth.

Needlework samplers served a far greater service than simply filling time. Of course, creating something of beauty to adorn the family home was part of the motivation. But ultimately cross stitch, needlepoint, rug hooking and embroidery, gave women, with historically fewer outlets for creativity and competition, a way to hone their needlework skill and to highlight it for their small world to see. There was a sense of accomplishment, pride, and mastery in its creation.

But at least as important as that, I believe it served as a healthy distraction. When the world goes to bits, as it sometimes will, we need to know we can sink our hands into the raw muck of material and create order from disorder. We may not know what will happen tomorrow, but by goodness, we can pick up the ingredients of our craft and have something to show for it at the end of the day.

Many of us look at art as something folks far more talented than we, create. We hesitate to knock at the door of creativity, fearful that we won’t measure up for entry. Or that what we may produce won’t be “real art”.

I often wonder if the great artists of history were filled with mortifying self-doubt occasionally. If that paint brush or carving knife wobbled like a newborn kitten in their hand? If they hid their work in the back of the closet, deeming it not good enough? At what point was their expertise in their craft deemed worthy?

More than likely most went to the end of their days feeling as if they didn’t quite measure up. But still…they created, and today we stand in slack-jawed awe of that work.

We all need to create more. Let the anxiousness of our times reflect in the mirror of whatever our hands may mold, and stroke, and stitch, or sing out.

This is where worth and beauty come from. From the pain of the soul about to burst from the wanting of that energy to reflect in it’s art.

In its creation.

In its agonizing gorgeousness. Perhaps if you do, some future soul will be warmed by your words, your tune, your captured moment, and gain some much-needed strength and encouragement. You never know.