Treasures of Time

Treasures of Time
by tammie renea

    Six Decembers ago, there was a
knock at our family's front door. When
I answered, there stood a woman with
a warm smile on her face and baked,
homemade gifts in her hands.
She introduced herself as Margaret and
proceeded to explain that she had
recently moved in across the street and
was out meeting her new neighbors. We
spent a few minutes chatting, and I
learned that Margaret would celebrate
her eightieth birthday on Christmas Day.
Her stature had grown frail with the passing of many years, yet her eyes sparkled with the life of a curious child, eager for the next new adventure, ready to explore whatever awaited her around the next turn. I was enthralled by this kind woman's spirit. Just to be in her presence was comforting and uplifting. Her energy seemed to engulf the room in which she stood.

   Being the busy, distracted mom of two young children that I was at the time, I have to admit that I probably never would have made my way to her front door, as she had to mine. I'm grateful to her for taking the time to visit us that day, but then again, as Margaret has taught me, time is really all we have.

    Her mother died at the age of thirty-three, when Margaret was just twelve-years-old. By the time she was ten-years-old, her mother had taught her to sew - a talent that would benefit Margaret throughout her lifetime. She married and had four daughters, then a son who died in infancy. Through Margaret's sharing of her sadness, disappointments, and heartbreaks, I've seen that scars can remain for a lifetime. Through the sharing of her joy, compassion, and giving heart, I've also learned that life's painful circumstances don't have to deprive us of our faith in something great and purposeful.

    During the warm months, Margaret's front walk welcomes visitors with a colorful array of flowers. Margaret and I share a passion for flowers and plant life, but Margaret is known for aiding even the sickliest of plants in reclaiming their vibrant health. She claims that other than providing water and sunshine, she doesn't do anything special; I personally believe the secret is in the radiant energy and zest for living that she bestows on them.

    Margaret has focused much of her time over the last few years on making beautiful quilts. She has made nearly twenty so far and has nine more in the works. Most of her quilts are given as gifts to family, friends, and those in need. As her declining eyesight makes the quilting more difficult, she has had to simplify some aspects of her work, yet she continues to use her gifts to bring joy to the lives of others.

    Margaret is always full of surprises. I once found a set of curtains that needed to be altered to fit my dining room windows. Margaret made three new sets of curtains for me but refused to take payment for her efforts. Since there was quite a bit of material leftover, I insisted she keep it for herself. She took the material, and in turn, used it to make a quilt especially for me. It's absolutely beautiful, and every time I look at it, I see a piece of her heart in every stitch.

   Whenever I'm discouraged, Margaret's enthusiasm for life reminds me that my problems are not as insurmountable as I may think. Margaret finds the goodness in everyone and everything. As she gradually approaches her eighty-sixth birthday, her mind preserves years of history and precious memories. Her spirit marches on, always plotting the next way in which to give of herself to make someone else's day a little brighter. Margaret reminds me that the rush to get from here to there seldom leads to anywhere. It's what we accomplish by taking slow, consistent, and deliberate strides that endures.

    During our visit with Margaret this week, I quietly watched as my two eldest children gathered around her quilting table and shared her beautiful art with her. Side-by-side, sewing needles in hand, they enjoyed cheerful conversation and playful giggles. In the simplicity of the moment, they found commonality beyond the generations of differences that lie between them.