I attended a Women’s Conference on Saturday in Duffield, Virginia. My precious gray haired mother insists that we attend this event every year and being the good obedient daughter I am, I take her; but only because she is almost 80 years old mind you. Truthfully, I am not a good obedient daughter, but a grouchy rebellious daughter, I just know when to keep my mouth shut, bite my tongue and smile about certain things. I did threaten to wear jeans, which caused a gasp from her (I like messing with her tradition), and I was reprimanded severely about taking pride in myself and wearing appropriate clothing when going to a church function. I did finally put on a skirt and wrestled into a pair of pantyhose so I would not cause her to have a stroke. Modest southern women do not go without pantyhose under a dress even in 103-degree weather. I told mother we might be the only crazy women to attend since Tennessee decided to announce Friday that there was a “gas shortage” due to Hurricane Ike blowing through Texas. Gas or no gas, my mother was going to Duffield, Virginia, Saturday if she had to walk.
Just so you know my world is not completely boring, it was madness and mayhem in my little town on Friday with cars lined down Main Street at the local Amoco station. The citizens in this fair city acted as if Mr. Ike was en route for the mountains of Northeast Tennessee. Everyone decided to go on a milk and bread run except Unleaded Fuel Only was the hot item. It was crazy! Rumors were running rampant about men and women out on the streets punching each other in the nose for a tank of gas. I tell you the truth nothing this exciting has happened here since the local family diner sold out to Wal-Greens.
Despite the fuel shortage, almost 300 other crazy women joined us on Saturday, and I pointed out to my mother that several women had indeed worn jeans and the church was not struck by lightening. She gave me that “shame on you” look that only a daughter could recognize from their mother’s eyebrows.
I dreaded this event so much that my stomach churned unmercifully. I found myself gulping straight from the Pepto Bismol bottle. Besides that, I am not a morning person. Duffield, Virginia, is approximately one hour from our house. Taking into account we had to be there at 9:00, this put us leaving at 8:00, which put me getting up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning. MDH got up and made coffee for me while I stumbled around in the shower. He likes me to believe he was gravely concerned about my welfare and wanted me to have plenty of caffeine in my system before I got on the road, but bless his heart, secretly, I knew he was happy to see me leave. The University of Tennessee was playing football and I have no use for football. Even though he whispered, “I’ll miss you,” in my sleepy ear as he gently shoved me out the door, I knew he was really thinking inside, “YES! I can scream, stomp, and chew out the refs without her rolling her eyes!” I love him anyway.
Despite my bad attitude, I did enjoy the program. This year’s conference theme was “God’s Grace – Day by Day, Stitch by Stitch.” The analogy of God being the Master Quilter is one of my favorite ways to think about how God can work in a seemingly “useless” life. The speaker and the music lifted my spirit, but the details that the women of this church put into decorating the place was what captured my heart. What a lovely reminder of God’s handiwork. He is so capable of taking the scraps and creating a work of art. The sanctuary of the church was decorated with colorful quilts, detailed needlework pictures, and lovely sewing projects women had painstakingly made. Old, new, quaint, and tacky - just like individuals. Thrown together and used, but loved despite their appearance. Worn out, ragged, tired and faded - no wonder I can relate! Simple - yet profound. That is the message of Grace. I am glad I made the effort.
Just so you know my world is not completely boring, it was madness and mayhem in my little town on Friday with cars lined down Main Street at the local Amoco station. The citizens in this fair city acted as if Mr. Ike was en route for the mountains of Northeast Tennessee. Everyone decided to go on a milk and bread run except Unleaded Fuel Only was the hot item. It was crazy! Rumors were running rampant about men and women out on the streets punching each other in the nose for a tank of gas. I tell you the truth nothing this exciting has happened here since the local family diner sold out to Wal-Greens.
Despite the fuel shortage, almost 300 other crazy women joined us on Saturday, and I pointed out to my mother that several women had indeed worn jeans and the church was not struck by lightening. She gave me that “shame on you” look that only a daughter could recognize from their mother’s eyebrows.
I dreaded this event so much that my stomach churned unmercifully. I found myself gulping straight from the Pepto Bismol bottle. Besides that, I am not a morning person. Duffield, Virginia, is approximately one hour from our house. Taking into account we had to be there at 9:00, this put us leaving at 8:00, which put me getting up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning. MDH got up and made coffee for me while I stumbled around in the shower. He likes me to believe he was gravely concerned about my welfare and wanted me to have plenty of caffeine in my system before I got on the road, but bless his heart, secretly, I knew he was happy to see me leave. The University of Tennessee was playing football and I have no use for football. Even though he whispered, “I’ll miss you,” in my sleepy ear as he gently shoved me out the door, I knew he was really thinking inside, “YES! I can scream, stomp, and chew out the refs without her rolling her eyes!” I love him anyway.
Despite my bad attitude, I did enjoy the program. This year’s conference theme was “God’s Grace – Day by Day, Stitch by Stitch.” The analogy of God being the Master Quilter is one of my favorite ways to think about how God can work in a seemingly “useless” life. The speaker and the music lifted my spirit, but the details that the women of this church put into decorating the place was what captured my heart. What a lovely reminder of God’s handiwork. He is so capable of taking the scraps and creating a work of art. The sanctuary of the church was decorated with colorful quilts, detailed needlework pictures, and lovely sewing projects women had painstakingly made. Old, new, quaint, and tacky - just like individuals. Thrown together and used, but loved despite their appearance. Worn out, ragged, tired and faded - no wonder I can relate! Simple - yet profound. That is the message of Grace. I am glad I made the effort.
Thanks for reading, Rosie.
No comments:
Post a Comment