What could I possibly learn from sitting in a sewing room? What could I possibly see? Five women sit in the room, working, creating, and dreaming together. Two are weaving yarn, using a clothing rack as a loom. Two more are sitting on the floor: one is carefully embroidering squares of fabric, and the other crochets. The last woman is working at a sewing machine in the corner. They smile at each other as they work, kindness, and experience in their eyes. Large shelves line one of the walls. One half of the shelves hold stacks of yarn skeins, organized by color. The other side is filled with their finished projects-they’ve been stitched with love. I ask what their favorites are. They show me, and ask what my favorite is. I don’t know. How can I pick from these labors of love? I look out the large window in the room that overlooks the city, and look back at them. I see the freedom in their eyes. I see how they love each other. I see how God has healed them. I see peace.
What could I possibly learn from sitting in a sewing room? What could I possibly hear? The five women talk to each other while they work, laughing and sharing joy. Occasionally, the sewing machine interrupts with a loud hum. The fan blows softly on us. I can hear the steady rhythm of an embroidery needle pulling thread through cloth. Somehow, though there’s no music, there is still worship. I hear the sound of captives being set free. I hear how they love each other. I hear how God has healed them. I hear peace.
What could I possibly learn from sitting in a sewing room? What could I possibly feel? They have welcomed me with gentle kindness. It’s as if whatever was weighing on me was left at the door. I am quiet. I want to say something, but words feel inadequate. I am better off watching and listening to the scene of five free women, working, creating, and dreaming together. I feel chains break. I feel how they love each other. I feel how God has healed them. I feel peace. But what could I possibly learn from sitting in a sewing room?
