Just Another Brians...

August 31, 2010

Dear Ones,
Today I felt like a Brians. I hadn't thought about it until I was sitting in the middle of the floor putting the last few hand stitches in the binding of my lap quilt and smiling to myself as I thought about the beautiful quilts that my cousin Leslie makes, they are works of art. I smoothed the edges down and looked at it thinking to myself, "The inconsistencies in this product are part of the inherent qualities of the craftsmanship." And, “I will never enter this one in the fair.” I began praying for Leslie and her precious son William and then all the others began pushing their way to the surface of my mind and as I stitched I began praying for each one.
There are things that bring to your mind waves of thoughts and this quilt had been doing that each time I took a few minutes to put a couple more stitches into it. Hand piecing and quilting the entire thing had given me plenty of time to think, no machine stitching here. Victoria Mayo and I started this together during her visit so my first thoughts were of her, praying for her with so many of my stitches. Then of course I thought of my mother who patiently taught me to use a needle and thread, and I prayed for her. Then my mind began to take a journey down memory lane and how I ended up sitting here on the floor in China with a hand sewn quilt and enchiladas baking in the toaster oven. I began to think of home and all the things I do every day that make me who I am and though I may not carry my mother’s maiden name, I still recognize the many things that connect me to them in so many ways. I thought of Great Grandma Beulah and the incredible work she put in to making all those quilts so many years ago, the ones that grace so many of the Brians family homes to this day. She began making quilts when she was a young woman and continued it on as a young wife and mother in a small homestead in the Oklahoma Territory. But the things I remembered were her little single wide trailer surrounded by geraniums, filled with the smell of fried chicken, and the quilt frame that hung in the center of her living area. It was the one that she cranked up to the ceiling when guests arrived. Then I remembered the quilt blocks my cousins and I did when we were looking for something to do at Gramma Opal's house. I remember the patience of my mother and aunts as they attempted to teach and encourage while keeping some sort of order to the lively bunch that we children could be. For those who don’t know there were 19 first cousins and never a dull moment “back at the ranch.”
The oven timer beeped as a tear slid down my cheek and I stood to pull the enchiladas from my “easy-bake” toaster oven. “Why,” you might ask would that make me cry? Well you see this is the first time I have ever made enchiladas all by myself and as I told my momma later all I could picture were Gramma Opal’s hands covered with enchilada filling as she scraped out the last of the ground beef and stepped to the sink to clean the mess from her hands, we would each one follow as our portion of the assembly line was finished. They had to be coated, filled with meat and cheese then rolled and put snuggly into the pan. Something about Mexican food reminds me always of my mother’s family. Whether that is my uncles with their hotter than hot peppers fresh off the BBQ, Aunt Lori getting up early to make breakfast burritos for all the guys on the work crew, or Aunt Theresa’s family dishes filled with chili verde. The memories go on and on, tears and laughter, fun and frustration, with each moment God molding and growing me into who I am. I even had to smile as I thought of the words to a country song…

“Who I Am”
“If I live to be a hundred
and never see the seven wonders
that'll be alright
If I don't make it to the big leagues
If I never win a grammy
I'm gonna be just fine
Cause I know exactly who I am

I am Rosemary's granddaughter
the spitting image of my father
and when the day is done
my momma's still my biggest fan
Sometimes I'm clueless and I'm clumsy
but I've got friends that love me
and they know just where I stand
It's all a part of me
and that's who I am

I'm a saint and I'm a sinner
I'm a loser I'm a winner
I am steady and unstable
I am young but I am able

So when I make a big mistake
when I fall flat on my face
I know I'll be alright
Should my tender heart be broken
I will cry those teardrops knowin'
I will be just fine
'cause nothin' changes who I am”

Each one of us is a product of our family. Each day I hold children who are part of my “family,” unlike being a Brians or a Bywater, these children will never know their biological parents. But by the grace of God they will know who their Heavenly Father is. They will know that they are loved, and they will know that He has sacrificed everything so that they can be a part of His family. They will know who they are, precious and beloved in the sight of God, bought with a price, fearless and wonderfully made, woven together by the hand of God and placed here for such a time as this. Isn’t it amazing what God chooses to remind me of in the everyday moments of quilts and enchiladas?

“Justin Other Brians,”
Mariah