Vague pangs of excitement and terror stirred inside of me this Forth of July.
I unlocked the sliding barn doors and swept the wood floor for the one-hundredth time. My wares seemed scant and laughable displayed here in this cabin. Splayed out over my room at home they were deceivingly numerous.
Many questions and fears played in my mind.
What if nobody ever comes to see me here?
What if someone actually does come, and I have to talk to them?
What on earth should I say?
What? What? What?
Thank goodness my Mom accompanied me, helped me arrange tables, and talked to people who walked by. I can talk too, but Mom has an uncanny way of making people open up to her and feel at ease. I don’t think I can make others feel at ease unless I’m at ease myself.
Today I was not at ease.
Then came the boys.
They sauntered in, at ease themselves, and one volunteered his brother for a sewing lesson. The quieter boy chose a blue, polka-dotted fabric to sew into a drawstring bag. I walked him through the steps, demonstrated how to stick in the pins, and watched him guide the sewing machine. His skill at keeping so straight for his very first time impressed me, and I encouraged him to persevere.
After he finished and showed his mom, he decided to embellish his bag with buttons. His patient, young fingers maneuvered the needle and thread with interest. I thought he’d be satisfied with one button, but he continued sewing a total of three and took two more buttons for the road.
If anyone dares think that sewing is too girly, I wish they’d seen how hard that little man worked on his project. Now he can carry rocks, frogs, money, or whatever he wants in a drawstring bag he made with his own, patient, young hands.