Tuesday, August 13, 2013

A treadling mom ..


This is my sewing machine..it has an electric motor. During my growing up years I had  used my mother's treadling Singer sewing machine, that was powered by the foot pedal.

I have been shaped by my mother. Her knees are calloused  with hours spent on her knees praying. She is a praying mom. She sewed all our clothes. And her life was and  is still spent within the portals of the Good Shepherd Church,  visiting villages and sharing the word using local communication media such as the "villu pattu" which is a proven media in villages. As part of the Global Indian Diaspora family, born in Malaysia and having grown up with many blessings, she is a blessing to me. Below is the picture of a figurine that I made for her,  each sheep to represent my parents, me and my 3 siblings. She loves  it. The one with the flowers on the shoulder is my mom! The other holding his head is my dad. I am  atop the staff, and my brother at the other end of the staff and on the other two sides are my two sisters. I made the  coat of the Good Shepherd  in fluorescent clay that glows in the dark. My mom loves the Good Shepherd metaphor and so do I. This piece took me several months to sculpt it. 

I wrote this poem for her  ...

A Treadling Mom 

(tadak tadak tadak is the sound of the treadle on a sewing machine)
"Quietly turns a silvery wheel.
Held within a weathered heel,
The treadle of my heart it moves:
Tadak tadak tadak...
Feet firm and poised;
Forward and behind,
Rhythm, they pressing find,
Tadak tadak tadak...
Seamless love it makes,
Nay the thread may break,
Never a backward motion takes:
Tadak tadak tadak....
Well oiled pieces,
Treadle in harmony,
Music to my ears,
Tadak tadak tadak....
Polished decals in gold
Her nurture care untold,
Pops me from ordinary:
Tadak tadak tadak...
Specially knit, in her womb
Sound of silence breaks
Soothing, rocking me to sleep,
Tadak tadak tadak....
In your heart's treadle
I solace meet
Heart beats of my God I find
Tadak tadak tadak....

This  poem was penned down by me for her  77th birthday on March 6th. This poem reflects my moments as a child, sitting on the floor, by her feet, watching her relentless feet go up and down, to and fro, on her treadle Singer machine foot pedal, while the rest of the household was snug  and well taken care of for the day, and when she found the time to piece together my clothes, bringing meaning to colorful threads of fabric in love.

 She wrapped me with clothes of honor and spiritual values. In clothing me I experienced the Christ in her, clothing me in love. (When saw we you a stranger, and took you in? or naked, and clothed you?" Mathew 25:28.   "I was a stranger and you did not invite me in. I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me." Mathew 25:43) In clothing another  we entertain Christ.
Her treadling feet gave me meaning and purpose. ("He makes my feet like the feet of a deer: he enables me to stand on the heights." Psalm 18:33)
She soothed my soul with the movement of her sole. She filled and taught me the harmonious rhythm of perseverance, with her whole orchestrated being in Christ, hands that set the wheel in motion, feet that sustained the pulse, and fingers that never ceased to push the fabric through, and keen wakeful sleepless eyes, that one minded focus on the tiniest needle point details. (akin to the way she paid attention to the details in my life).  She is a Proverbs 31 woman, a woman after God's own heart. She taught me what a  persistent sole can do with an iron footing and once put the foot forward and yoked to never go backwards. She taught me what it took to start and finish and move on to the next challenge. Her life and actions have shaped and informed me into what I am today and who I am today are all contained within contextual scriptural metaphors through her language of actions and love. As I celebrate my mom  I owe it to her in whose womb God chose me to be planted and knit by His Hands. "For you created my inmost being: you knit me together in my mother's womb." Psalm 139:13
I am blessed to call you "mom".  I am blessed to be her first born and called out and set apart for the Lord's work. I am blessed to have been in her womb vessel, fashioned by the Potter's Hands ("Yet O Lord you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter, we are all the work of your hand," Isaiah 64:8)
Today and always, I thank God for  my precious mom, at whose feet God poured all His lessons into me, to treadle on in His vineyard. I thank God for all the precious moms's in the world. I pray that God bless them and keep them and fill them with peace.

She is on facebook and likes all my art work posts too!! Mom is always a special person and I pray all God's blessings on her.

To my mom ....I love you.

Written by Shanti.
Picture courtesy: My sewing machine and my clay handmade figurine of the Good Shepherd.

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