It was early December of 1965 and the U.S. had entered the Vietnam War. Psychedelic hippie counterculture sought answers to big questions to which the Beatles soon responded with their song, All You Need is Love. Socio-political protests like the Civil Rights Movement were growing, assassinations took the lives of high-profile leaders like the Kennedy brothers, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, and the Generational Gap was becoming a chasm.

These are some of my teenage souvenirs from that year.

I had just officially become a teenager in 1965 and my grandmother had given me a Singer sewing machine to sharpen my skills after all of the ill-fitting dressmaker projects during my Home Economics classes of middle school. The day our class had to wear what we had sewn was a day I longed to have stayed home sick. A seam ripper was my best friend! Zippers? Button holes? No way!! Give me a straight line seam and my machine was humming.

In 1965 the popular band, The Byrds, hit #1 on Billboard’s Top 100, with a song calling for peace and recognizing that life moves in seasons. The song, Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There is A Season), borrowed lyrics taken right out of Solomon’s Book of Ecclesiastes.

Have we moved very far in 56 years—or, for that matter, in nearly 3,000 years? The wisdom of Solomon is comforting, haunting, convicting, and hopeful, all rolled into one package. It reminds us that God sees the big picture and that seasons were created to be markers of change, all part of life; however, The Creator does not change. THAT is why I run to Him to answer my questions.

My grandmother’s gift had come with a number of sewing lessons which launched me into more than five decades of handmade gifts, tablecloths/napkins, my daughters’ birthday party favor bags to fill with candy, along with yards and yards of home interior decor projects. Each piece of material was a different texture or weight, so it was key to adjust the tension of the thread before locking down a metal piece called the presser foot. That kept the fabric from shifting and ruining the design. I could mark the seasons of my life (and of my daughters) by the fabrics which were being pierced by that machine’s needle.

Design projects like this one was sewn to be an “embracing space” as I looked for ways
to heal after my husband left in 1997. The bed set later moved with me to Israel, as shown here.

When I see those fabrics now at The Place of Stories, memories take me back to some rough times when the fabric of my heart was also being pierced, and ohhhh, the seam ripper! I am thankful that God knew how much tension I could handle and that I was held in place for His design. If I had shifted to avoid the needle I wouldn’t be in Israel. “To everything there is a season. Turn! Turn! Turn! A time to tear and a time to sew. Turn! Turn! Turn.”

As if in a tug of war, that sewing machine moved with me from Missouri to Florida, back to Missouri, back to Florida and then in 2006 it was loaded on a container ship that sailed for Israel. In all of its 56 years it never received oil or servicing; although, it faithfully continued whirring away until the COVID lockdowns in Israel. It wasn’t until this past October that I took it to a small overstuffed basement-level sewing shop in Tiberius for repair and long overdue service.

Communication was challenging in a shop where no one spoke English and my Hebrew, laced with Spanish and French words is, well, deplorable. Kobi, the shop owner, needed help with our “Babel” and his assistant, Malcha, became Queen for the Day (Malcha is Hebrew for “queen”). She translated Hebrew to Spanish for me. I left the machine in Kobi’s hands to repair.

The heavy metal machine survived more than half of a century.

A week later I returned to pick up the machine, but the translation was, “It can’t be fixed. No parts available. Do you want me to put it in the trash?” Trash? Flashbacks to my grandmother, childhood, fabrics, projects past and future, swirled like thoughts in a mind-storm. I choked back tears. How could I just toss that memory-maker in the dumpster? I couldn’t. As I began visualizing it as a “life lesson” at The Place of Stories, my attention had to shift to a new machine and soon Kobi and I struck a deal.

I cried all the way home as lost youth, death of friends/family, choices, and life changes caved in upon me. By the time I reached my village at the top of the ridge, the tears had been swallowed up in thanksgiving. Spread out before me was a magnificent view of Mt. Hermon and the Golan Heights, the lake below, the Jordan Valley, and Mt. Tabor in the west. It was “the big picture.” A large plowed field was awaiting the early rains. That field leads back to the village cemetery where some of my friends are laid to rest. “A time to be born, a time to die, a time to plant, and a time to reap.” “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

Kobi came to the house to give me a lesson on the lightweight sewing machine

That “embracing space” I had created for my bedroom back in 1997 was due for a new look after 23 years and the loss of Gary, my second husband.  The curtains had become sun-bleached, the edges were frayed and the bedspread time-worn, but more importantly, it’s a new season with The Lover of My Soul.

The new design follows the theme of Song of Solomon with vibrant spice colors.
Light from a Moroccan lantern dances on the ceiling and makes me smile.

Are you struggling with the season you are in now? Be encouraged. God has the big picture.

“A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” “Turn! Turn! Turn!”.

 

Enjoying the walk home,
Cindy

p.s.  Due to COVID border closures to foreigners entering Israel I had to cancel my December trip to the U.S.  To support my work in Israel with The Writers’ Gathering you can give via my website www.PlaceofStoriesIsrael.org and click on the donate link.