Embellishments...

Covered buttons, metal grommets, exposed zippers, pockets…  Inanimate industrial items of functional necessity, but since I was a little girl, I’ve been drawn to them on clothing.  I absolutely love these tiny details and most of my clothes and shoes have them to one degree or another.  My mother also loved pockets and pretty buttons on her clothes and a tissue and a hard candy could almost always be found tucked inside her pockets.  As a child, I played with the beautiful buttons in her old rusty round tin container. Even now, at almost 50 years old, when I stumble upon a dress that fits well AND has pockets, exposed zippers, or covered buttons, it feels like I’ve won the lottery.  When I’m concentrating, my fingers will instinctively find and fiddle with whatever embellishments they can find.  It has always been this way.

Today, I received a gift from my person... my wise one… my sister.  She gave me a beautiful hand-quilted lap blanket.  As I unrolled it, squares of familiar patterns began to take my breath away.  There in my hands were pieces of the favorite shirts, silly socks, and blazers worn time and again by our mother, Renee, and by her son and my nephew, Matthew. Some fabrics were faded and soft from many washings; others still bright and crisp, having been worn only on special occasions.  Each
fabric was so familiar, taken from the shirts they each wore most often, and they evoked precious memories of our short time together on this earth.

God knows the details of my heart intimately and in His love for me, He inspired the maker of my quilt to include the sections with buttons and pockets, knowing they would speak to my heart in a most personal way.   Instinctively, my fingers touched the buttons and slipped into Momma’s pockets, just as they had as a child.  The nimble fingers that had once secured those very buttons thousands of times and the hands that had tucked treasures into those pockets are the same hands that I had held for hours.  Hands that comforted me, made my meals, disciplined me and hugged me.  The hands that I watched grow and get dirty had once reached up toward the fabric with brightly colored circles that hung on a mobile above his crib.  Those hands certainly tucked movie ticket stubs into the pocket of a brown plaid cotton shirt.  These are hands that I loved with every cell in my DNA.  

Without the assistance of a human hand, embellishments are useless.  As my own fingers graze
these worn buttons and pockets, my love of embellishments is finally understood.   For it is not the button I love at all, but the need for the hand of the one that fastened it.  This patchwork of fabrics comforts my soul.  Oh, how I miss my mother and Matthew.  I would give anything to hold those hands for a little while longer.