The Seamstress of Souls

Threads of Love and Acts of Grace

Photo by Maria Luiza Ribeiro on Unsplash

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She walks with a slow gait. Shuffling, yet elegant. She wears her jewelry, her hair curled. Each Sunday, she picks out a family she feels should play with her special bag of fidget toys. It’s always the Sunday we really need it. The sense of specialness, the joy of new toys, the attention it snags from the kids—it helps me, and it helps them. And, let’s be real, it helps everyone that day. My kids can be loud and wiggly.

She lives right in front of the intersection where we lost four of our dear friends this time last year in a car accident. She seems connected to us all. She’s also one of my ministering sisters, so she checks in on me even more. She comes to visit or tells me to stop by after church near my children’s birthdays for a special gift for them. She knows that loving my kids is loving and serving me.

She is a seamstress by trade, but her stitches go far beyond fabric. Her hands, softened by years of threading needles and hemming edges, seem to mend hearts, too. She hems pants and even a bra for me once, adjusting seams with the same patience she brings to life. When she hands the clothes back, neatly folded and restored, it feels like more than just a favor. It feels like love stitched in, seam by seam.

She alters clothes—and souls.

She delivers pizza without notice, just knowing we need it. It was icy that day, and I watched to make sure her gentle walk brought her back safely to her car without slipping.

I made sure to pick out a special card for her. It has punny sayings on it, like “I ap-peach-iate you,” “thanks a melon,” “thank you berry much” with an applicable fruit drawn on it. I choose one for her and write a heartfelt message inside. I send it via snail mail, even though I’ll see her at church on Sunday. Everyone loves getting handwritten, happy snail mail from a real person.

She comes up to me on a Sunday, grasps my hand, and squeezes it three times before saying, “I got your card. Thank you. You just never know. You just never know. Thank you. It meant so much.”

I hope it touched her heart as much as she touches mine.

can you see her through the window? :)

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Do you know a seamstress of the soul, too? I’d love to hear about yours!