This is a piece of art that hangs in a hallway of my home.
It is more than a piece of needlepoint behind a glass: it is a special treasure that brings memories of my childhood. It was created by my mother who died when I was 12. It has survived moves, attics and storage boxes for more than 40 years. This summer I discovered it in the bottom drawer of a dresser in our storage unit.
I haven’t always treated this piece as a treasure. I remember the day my older sister brought it to me several years ago. It was still in its original frame, somewhat worn with water stains and frayed edges. I received it with hesitation… “What am I going to do with this?” “Do I really want it at all?” Each time I looked at it, I felt the familiar ache and longing to know more about my mother. “Why that quote?” “Why are the words in turquoise blue – was that her favorite color too?” It was easier to get rid of this treasure than feel the ache. And, there was something about this piece of art. I couldn’t bring myself to discard it, so I quickly and purposefully laid it in the bottom drawer of an old, abandoned dresser.
When I found it again this summer, I was stunned. Something had changed. Not so much with the picture itself, but something inside me. My heart has grown in tenderness and kindness toward my story and the memories of my mother.
I took the art inside, placed it on the dresser in my bedroom, and leaned it against the mirror. My eyes were drawn to the frame that held it. It was cheap, made of fake wood with gold plastic strips stuck to it, broken in places. It irritated me to think that the love, time and care spent to create such a sweet piece of art would be placed into such a cheap frame. I began taking the frame apart, piece by piece, careful not to tear the fragile muslin that held the stitches. I just couldn’t settle for a cheap frame.
I am a woman who has herself wrestled with a plastic frame. I have stuffed my heart, my dreams, my sins and my beauty into a frame of perfectionism, volunteering, leading committees, being a wife, mother and friend whose ‘busy-ness’ left people asking “How in the world do you do it all?” Really, I was living to numb the ache of my emptiness, hiding my insecurities and the secrets of my story. When I got tired of holding it all together, I sought counsel. One of my counselors, a man I consider to be brilliant, once told me, “You’ve earned the right to come undone.” “What?!!! Not hold it all together? REALLY?”
Wisdom.
No. The plastic frame I had put around my heart to hide the painful secrets of my past sexual abuse did not work well.
Neither did the plastic frame around the needlepoint. After taking it apart, I lay the frameless muslin gently on the bed.
Today, even though the muslin is weathered and worn, it remains intact and holds hundreds of stitches with threads of vibrant colors, all coming together, an offering of art and a message of beauty.
I can still read the words that stand out in their unique color of turquoise blue amidst the fall colors…the sentences slightly slanted and imperfect…
|
“What need we teach a child with our books and our rules? Let him walk among the hills and flowers let him gaze upon the waters let him look up to the stars and he will have his wisdom.” |
Wisdom.
The treasure of my mother’s needlepoint needed a new frame. My story needed a new frame as well.
One of my favorite quotes says it best…
“Until our stories have been framed with the gospel story, we will not want to hang them up for others to see.” Dan Allender
Yes. In my desire to know more of Jesus and his grace, love is changing my heart.
The words describing my treasured needlepoint resemble the colorful words Love has sewn into my heart…
Amazed, weathered, worn, remained, in-tact, held, vibrant, imperfect, slanted, stained, frayed, unique, broken, fragile
And, as I look at my re-framed piece of art, I am given a gift in my longing to know more about my mother. She was creative. She sowed seeds of creativity into my life through the life of my older sister who she taught to sew.
Here is another piece of art, embroidered by my older sister. It hangs on the wall, in front of my computer and is a reminder that Love Never Fails…
The beauty of creativity lives on. I love the question I hear from my daughter…. “Mom? Can I monogram some t-shirts for my friends for Christmas?” “Yes, sweet girl, you can.”
 
Ellen Oelsen lives in the Texas Hill Country with her husband of 24 years. She is a mother of 4 children and loves their 2 dogs and 1 cat. Her hobbies include cooking, nature, reading, plays, and two stepping. She delights in offering hospitality of the heart and creating spaces of care, rest, play and reflection to inspire hope. She is beginning to expose the writer within her.
&nb
sp
Ellen- you are beautiful! I LOVE what God has done in your heart. It’s so evident, in the kindness that shines through your eyes…and your life.
Always buy beautiful, high-quality frames for those moments when your heart resonates with grief or goodness…because whatever condition you may be in, you are cherished.
Lovely, lovely, lovely…deeply touched by your thoughts, Ellen; thank you for expressing your heart.
Ellen, your story is beautiful, as is your piece of art, and as is your heart! I so enjoyed reading your article. I’ve always known you were a special, beautiful person; just didn’t know about your hidden talents as a writer! I’m so proud of you! Love you!
Judy Oelsen
What a great piece of art with a perfect message about children. I love your curiousity about your mom and yourself. The reframing is lovely as always!
Dear Ellen, Your story about your mom’s needlework is so lovely. I am looking at pieces around me that my grandmother and daughters have done. It takes me back to parts of my story. You have a lovely way with words and hope you continue to express yourself is this way. Miss you. Sandy B.
My grandmother had that same needlepoint in her living room (wisdom) and I’ve been trying to find more about it maybe it was a needlepoint kit sold in the 60s? My sister has it now, and we treasure it also. Thank you for sharing here.