i was sewn love

she spun thread like Rapunzel, turned my sadness into fabric-gold.




i'd told them at supper, father, grandfather, mama, sister, chewing chicken and potato, sun a silhouette on the evening floor, "she might buy it. she's thinking about it." and husband had shaken his head once, enough to make me turn inside myself and cry.

i'd hurried to do dishes so no one would see. there was a woman who'd seen our house the week prior. we'd had no answer yet. and while flower-weeding, soil upturning grubs and grunge, spirit-voice had whispered, "i'll care for you." then, the warning. "do not doubt."



and so, i'd believed. but in a moment fast as spearing potato with fork-prong, faith fled and so had i, to the sink, to make white soap bubbles and scour dishes and pretend i wasn't a fool believing God to make things right. to sell our house, somehow.

that night, visit to friends--her birthday--and me, having energy only to cut her some flowers and stick them in a mason jar. me, faithless, the whole drive to hers.

and i'd handed her the mason jar, and she'd turned, secret seamstress and had spun gold in front of me, handing me a sweater she'd made for me. "God told me to," she'd hummed humble. "I prayed, and saw him wrapping you in love." She'd made it all--sweater, design--one of her "life line" pieces. and i put it on, soft fabric on skin, and it fit, Cinderella-style.




and i'd fled inside myself again to weep and bow, to ask God forgiveness for no faith...








he'd told her to clothe me in love. because he would care for me.




sewn tiny black stitches of faith....







and i believe.