The Art of  "Unpicking"

by Shauna V Brown 

     I recall the day with vivid memory when I was twelve and wanted to surprise my mother by making a blouse. As a child had learned to cross stitch, embroider and made a bunch of awkwardly skilled doll clothes for my Besty McCall doll. Now my mother believed I was ready to begin the next level of learning. She was teaching me how to make straight seams, stitches, darts on our Singer sewing machine. I was beyond excited to become a creator and designer--just like Mama.  Mother and I had long enjoyed selecting patterns from Butterick, McCalls,Vogue, pattern books. Mother had always made my clothes, priding herself that she never purchased any of them from a department store. I had always marveled at how mother and my older sister, Miriam, could make anything out of a piece of fabric.  They were creative miracle makers and masters.  I frequently would watch as mother would scan the piece of fabric and then carefully place the pattern pieces on top, never wasting a scrap of fabric.  Mother would giggle with delight when she announced, “ Made this dress from a fabric remnant for $1.75."It would have cost at least a hundred dollars at Z.C.M.I. ”  Mother was skilled and had won several contests and prizes for her sewing.  She could make anything, and it always it looked professional. Bound buttonholes, lined dresses and suits, embroidered touches were just a few of mother’s specialties.  Sad to say, that hardly any store bought clothes have that “tailor made touch” today. 

    Well, back to the story. Mother and daddy had gone out to do the weekly grocery shopping. I thought it would give me plenty of time to prove my talents and skill at sewing. I set out to find the perfect piece of fabric to make myself a blouse. I dug though deep drawers of fabric remnants. I selected a beautiful piece. I believed that I could make my blouse similar to that of my Betsy McCall doll clothes. I didn’t  have a pattern.  I could tell there would be plenty of fabric as it was as tall as I was.  I placed the fabric on the card table and started to cut away. Imagine a “T” shirt and the visual ability to enlarge the form. I then chose the closest matching color of thread, placed it on the top of the sewing machine and after threading the needle, carefully pushed my knee on the lever to get the needle moving. I was excited with the anticipation of mother seeing my creation.  It wasn’t long before I realized that my non patterned blouse wasn’t going to satisfy. Truly the 'surprise' was mine. My head couldn’t go through the neck opening. So I quickly cut a slit up the front.  I declared I would need some buttons or snaps now. Pride entered as I marveled at my ability while I made straight stitches up the sides. I cut holes for the buttons. Selected five pretty white pearl looking buttons and sewed them on. To my shock however, when I went to put my blouse on, there wasn’t enough room for my arm to go through the sleeve.  I was a frustrated twelve year old!  I cried as I looked at my mis-shaped disaster. I bunched it all up and hid it in the bottom of my dresser drawer. I had so wanted to impress my mother, now all I had was an unusable piece of beautiful material. I tried hiding everything, but somehow upon mother's return home she noticed that there were some tiny scrapes of fabric and thread laying on the floor next to the garbage can. ( da-da-da-dum!)  

To simplify my story my mother was more than unhappy. She was intensely upset.  I tried to explain that I wanted to make a beautiful blouse to surprise her. It was then she explained how she had planned on making it into a blouse for herself. I felt even worse as she showed me the suit fabric that she was planning to make to go with it. She cried, I cried. Then she asked for me to bring my “surprise” blouse for her to see.  She unfolded my mangled piece of a blouse and  held it out for view. That’s when we both cried together.  I was more than sorry as I had wasted her special, expensive, fabric. After a while Mama calmed down. 

         Then Mama did her most incredible teaching. Holding my disaster on her lap she pointed out, "Look Shauna, you made these stitches -- even and straight.” Then selecting a button, “Nice and snug, you did a good job of sewing on this button.”  Gratefully it rendered a slight smile of approval. In spite, of her dismay mother saw some of the good things that I had tried to do. She then taught me of the value of a pattern.  “Shauna, I don’t try make anything without a pattern.” 

     Then she instructed, “You’ll need to unpick it all, as we won’t waste the fabric.” 

 “Unpick it?”  I complained.  

“Yes, every seam, every button, every stitch, every inch.” she emphasized.  

For the rest of the afternoon I spent with a seam ripper and needle in hand.  I became skilled at the art of unpicking.  

          While I sat unpicking my creation mother returned to offer a thought. As she sat next to me  she paralleled the experience with how easy it is for everyone to make poor choices. She then taught me a lesson in the “art of forgiveness.” She had shared a few choice words earlier with me with me--hot, intense, curse, ones. She once again apologized, and expressed how sorry she was. Then she asked for my forgiveness for having spoken so unkindly, “Please forgive me Shauna, ”  Stressing that sometimes we need to “unpick” the unkind words. 

        That day I learned  several lessons from my mother.   We must be actively  “unpicking,” mending, patching and forgiving when we have erred even though it is difficult to unpick the tiny stitches.   Sometimes we say and do things that we shouldn’t. Sometimes we feel the need to prove a point to another.  Sometimes we feel the need to put another in their place, remind them of past mistakes, moments to get even, to pay back. That is the time when we better get “unpicking.” 

    Jesus shared, I’m sure with dismay: 

“My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another 

and forgave not one another in their hearts; and for this evil they 

were afflicted and sorely chastened. “

        Doctrine and Covenants 64:8

My sewing experience that Saturday has long lived within my soul. I guess one could say “Mama, stitched it to my heart.” She took my mistakes and “tailor made” the lesson for me as she taught me about the importance and need for the pattern of forgiveness.

Christ has set the pattern and expressed for each one of us the most important reality:

          “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

               It’s for sure, from my first sewing attempt, I didn’t know what I was doing. 

Good Stitching this Sabbath

Love Shauna