Handmade, Tattered and Worn

I have these pillowcases.  They are quite precious to me.  It started out as a sensory thing, as a child, probably about Noah's age.  I found them in the back of our linen closet, and discovered the story behind them: My great-grandmother had made them by hand.  The first one was more of a tablecloth, I think my mother said--I remember the pattern, a "12 Days of Christmas" theme.  The second was a pillowcase, the edging was baby blue, with gray kittens all over it.  They were so soft, and had these hand-sewn edges I would rub as comfort.  Even now, I can still remember the texture, the feeling of the cloth between my fingers.

I remember, after having children of my own, finding a dusty, dingy cloth in my grandmother's dusting cloths, and immediately knowing the texture and handcraft.  I remember my grandmother saying, "Well, it will take quite a bit of washing to get them clean, but if you want my dust rags, you can have them!"  I remember the musical sound of her giggle, astonished that I found such glory among rags.  I remember being just as astonished that she had deemed them rags.

As an adult, I have wandered through antique store after store, fingering such linens, in hopes of finding such treasures as the ones I found in my childhood linen closet, my husband and I shouting out to each other, "I found one!"

Most of these treasures are in tatters now.  As worn as they are, I still cling to them.  I keep them in my nightstand.  The two I have left are showing their age, but they still clothe my pillows, and I wash them with care.  I could never just throw them away.  They have traveled through life with me, through college, and marriage, and even through my children's births.  My children know the stories behind them, my husband knows their value.

And tonight, I realize...  This is me.  Tattered and worn.  Yet, my Father showcases me.  He does not store me in a drawer, or hide me away, embarrassed by my multitude of sins and mistakes.  I am hand sewn by Him, the One who made me.  I am precious to Him.  He knows my stories, He knows my value.  He knows the price, the cost, it has taken me to reach the point I am at, and the struggle it takes to just be here now.  He knows there is glory among these rags.  He knows there is more to be unveiled.   He has written my story, He has walked my journey.  He will never allow me to travel into waters unknown.  He clings to me, just as I cling to these linens.  He will never let me go.


This is me.  Tattered and worn.  But I am His.  And that is all I need.