Last week, for the first time in nearly a year, I cut out a dress and started sewing it. As I worked, I felt a swirl of nostalgia and excitement and happiness. It wasn’t quite as fun to sew in a different place from my mom’s well-stocked sewing room, but it was still fun. Even if I don’t know yet if the dress will fit.
I remembered how my mom taught me how to sew. Her fingers on top of mine, she’d guide my hands in the tricky parts. She could always sort out the tangled pieces or thread tension. She’d always calm me down when I made a mistake and helped me see that it wasn’t wasted effort even if I had to redo something.
For reasons that I haven’t been able to verbalize, I love working with my hands. I love the feel of fabric or paper or thread in my fingers. It’s in my genes, maybe. I value modesty and simplicity which is the main reason I sew all my dresses, but even if I didn’t care about being modest, I would make some of my clothes just for the pleasure of it.
I like to think that God likes finger work too. The song says stars were the work of His fingers. I bet He had fun with that. (And how big does that make His hands?) Menno Kuhns, a patriarch at Bible school, was fond of saying that God’s creation was the work of His fingers, but when it came to redeeming men, it took the work of His arms–and here he’d raise his arm to bulge the muscles.
Whatever significance is in that wording, I like the fact that God is a creator and that He likes working with His fingers. It’s a strange kind of way in which to feel an affinity with the Almighty. Not that He’s like me, but that I’m like Him.