She made her living with her needle—hemming up pants, letting out dress seams, lowering hems, patching up holes in the knees of jeans (something we pay big money for now). She even darned socks because during the war they had to last.
But needles were hard to come by, and seamstresses kept their precious assortment carefully attached in a row to a piece of felt, then rolled up in a quilted fabric cover with ties. Certain needles were for certain tasks—a circular needle for mending upholstery, a long sturdy needle for thick rugs and heavy blankets, and the precious alteration needle.
My life was shaped by testimonies like hers from the characters in our village who faithfully came to the Wednesday night prayer meeting at the church my parents pastored. And, thankfully, I was a child and teen-ager before churches decided that children should be partitioned off from the adults to “do their own thing”.
Our church was in a farming community, and the faithful in that congregation lived close up to the provisions of God, tithing their butchered beef, making sure the pastor had eggs, and helping each other by sharing what they had.
Mildred made her living with her needle. I must have been about four years old, sitting with my mother and grandmother while daddy invited the folks to share their testimonies. There were several that night, some to request prayer for illnesses, some to thank the Lord for the crop they’d just harvested, and then there was Mildred.
Usually shy and uncomfortable standing to speak, she fidgeted with the handkerchief she had in her hand as she said: “I just want to tell you how thankful I am that Jesus is our best friend and is truly ‘closer than a brother’. I had a lot of sewing to do this week, and Monday when I went to do my hemming, my hemming needle was gone. I tell you I looked that house over. I went everywhere I’d been, even crawling on the floor to see if I’d dropped it. I was praying all the way from room to room. I told Jesus, ‘You know how I need that needle. Please help me find it. You know where it is.’ But with all my searching, I couldn’t find it. Finally, I just sat down on the couch to think and pray. I was desperate. I gave my search to the Lord, and like I do when I’m cleaning, I ran my hand along the cushion of the couch, and something pierced my finger. It was my needle! Tonight I want to tell you to trust the Lord with the problems you can’t solve. He knows your every need. Praise His name!”
Now, these decades later, I remember in detail Mildred’s words, her desperation over that needle. I learned two things that prayer meeting night. Jesus is your best friend, and don’t underestimate the understanding of a child.
