Secret threads hold this thing together.
It was a conspicuously homemade coat of many colors. A coat fashioned from a boldly patterned plaid blanket woven with orange and green and gold.
In the deep hours finally quiet from four teenage children living loud, a mother bends low with machine and needle and tired eyes, creating so not to ruin surprise.
In the silence of the night with only the whirling of the sewing machine humming to her, she wonders if her girl, longing to find identity in her world, would react with delight or disappointment in this handmade offering. In the dim light as she threads needles, pulls out missed stitches, twists each knot, she longs to cloak her fragile wounded girl in love.
Is she confident the effort of love will eclipse the standards of her girl’s teenage world? She simply has to depend on the strongest thread of all. The one that stretches and frays as her girl strains to find her way, but doesn’t break. The one that seems to unravel with every slam of a door, every harsh spoken broken word, but doesn’t break.
The same thread woven into the pattern of our lives. Lives twirled and tried and tied until there is only…One. Exhausted. Knot. The knot holding us all together.
Standing in the light of the Christmas tree, childlike expression, eyes wide with anticipation, her girl unwraps the large box. Exclamations of wonder…How? When?and…Yes. Yes. Pure joy!
Her beautiful girl may never know the hours spent in the night, stitching love into this homemade coat of many colors, but one day she will discover the secret threads that hold this thing together.