Transformation.
The word frightened me. Never in my whole life had I been so consumed with uncertainty, I was afraid. What would happen to me? What would I become?
I was practically handed over without any emotional attachment, my previous owner gave suggestions on how these strangers could use me.
My white Egyptian cotton surface would be hurled into a mop bucket, polishing and buffing floors. I sorely was dismayed. All because I was tattered in an unseen corner... I was imperfect and useless now, was this my destiny?
I had been so glorious! I had once glowed beneath the winter white comforter in the home of a prominent doctor, but now since I had been tattered, my integrity had been broken, I was ready to except my fate. I deserved nothing better, nothing beautiful could come out of this...
Yet despite my flaws, the strangers were insistent on bringing me home where I could be transformed by a young unknown artisan who could turn me into something interesting... however even in this, I remained hesitant.
After I had been brought home and thoroughly washed by the seamstress, she laid me out on the dining room table and folded me up neatly, setting me aside in a basket for the day.
The next evening, the girl gingerly lifted me from the confinement and spread me across the wooden surface once again. I didn't know what she had in mind, but somehow I was beginning to trust her.
Her touch was tender and caring. She smoothed me down as she measured me inch by inch, marking me with a pencil lightly and etching out unreadable notes on my pure white surface. I was nervous, but I was okay, everything would be fine... but the horrifying truth lay before me in the grasp of the artisan...
Scissors.
Cold, lifeless stainless steel scissors, blades that could slash me into pieces until I became lint... I watched awestruck as pieces of fabric fell from the table... would anything be left of me?
Moments later I had been divided into 2 sections, with a remainder of another smaller segment, what was the plan? What could she make of 3 pieces of fabric? After I had been cut, she had set me aside a few days to gather some supplies. This is where my story unfolds.
Evening to evening I was pinned, stitched, and re-stitched again. She would sew, then take out, contemplate and take out some more. As days turned into weeks, our bonds were strengthening and a trust was beginning to develop between us. She knew my material, and I knew her guiding hands.
Day by day the fog of her strategy was becoming clear, and the mystery of her genius was beginning to be solved, it was going to be more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. A simple bed sheet seemed trivial compared to the workmanship of her design... I was to become a garment.
There was nothing truly elegant about my cut out, after all I was practically just a three piece gown, but the artisan had transformed me into something beautiful, a flowy elegant work of art! She swelled with satisfaction, making me feel special and appreciated. My destiny was fulfilled, this was who I would be.
I was taken aback the evening when she took me upstairs into the sewing room, was there something wrong? Was I not yet completed? I would soon discover what she had in mind.
I found myself being stretched tightly across a wooden hoop, securing me down firmly. With my material sprawled atop a coffee table, the artisan sorted through a myriad of colorful floss; greens, pinks, blues, and others were neatly strung beside other coordinating threads. I was immediately intrigued.
Fetching a small tin container that rattled with small metal objects inside, she afterwards drew me to herself and revealed a thin, sharp, metallic needle from the case; the eye staring at me coldly. Threading some floss through the needle, she licked her lips and positioned me closer to her so she could see the fine lines she had traced on my surface. I braced myself accordingly.
The needle pierced my smooth white material, the pain of knowing how many tiny holes would cover me made me cringe. But immediately following it a silky smooth floss replaced the hole with a colorful string, vibrant and alive. None would ever know that the colorful threads that swirled around me were swallowed within small pricks freckled across pure cotton. The artisan's design was more brilliant than I had ever imagined. And as the weeks passed by and our friendship grew, I was becoming more lovely than ever.
I was being transformed into a masterpiece.
And now here I am... completed. Wrapped closely around my artisan. She wears me about with pride and satisfaction. She has transformed me into the garment I am today. And if I had never ripped in the corner of the seam, I wouldn't have been here at all.
I have met various materials; wool, linen, (even cotton as myself), who come from various places, who had functioned as different things before being brought into the house of the seamstress. They fear the transformation process, claiming that their immediate state is the best there is... and if tattered, they would come to nothing. When they see me they are amazed, claiming me as the most prominent of what the artisan has made. I smile sadly, knowing that they too can be transformed into something astounding.
When I was a bed sheet, I had a happy life. I was pure white, flawless, protected underneath the comforter. I was owned by a doctor with beautiful home. What more could I ever want?
But when I was ripped and brought to house of my maker, I became something much more than a bed sheet. I am now radiant with color, I am wrapped around my maker throughout the day and stopped by crowds to examine her labor. I can feel her heart against me and her hands brush across my surface as they swing on each side. I am no longer hidden beneath a comforter, but outside in the sun! My life is an adventure, colorful and unique.
Just because your tattered, doesn't mean it's over for you.
Just take it from me.
