As I searched through the trunk in the attic looking for a suitable costume for my son's school pageant, I came across a dress. I held it up. "Hey Mom, I'm not wearing that," said Phil indignantly.
I smiled at him and laid the dress aside. I went back, to the trunk, and found a shirt and a sword that would help him look like the knight from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.
"Why do you keep that old dress? Why don't you throw that old thing out?" queried Phil as I lovingly folded the worn faded blue fabric back into the trunk.
"I can't throw this out, Phil. This is my miracle dress," I said.
"What do you mean, Mom?" he asked.
"When I was in the fourth grade at our Catholic elementary school, Sister Anne told me that I had been one of six girls chosen to be leaders in the procession of children making their First Holy Communion. This was a special honor and I was so proud to have been considered. I ran home just bursting with the news. But when I told my mother, she didn't seem to be happy at all. In fact, she looked terribly upset. She told me, `I don't know if you can be a leader; it will mean paying for a dress and flowers, and with so many expenses now, I don't see how we can do it.' Tears welled up. I'd never thought of the expense. I tried to be big and brave, but the tears wouldn't stay in.
"Grandma Harp (Mosnee), who was sitting in the next room, heard the conversation, and as I walked passed her with the disappointment wetting my cheeks, she called to my mother. 'Dorothy,' she said, `I want to talk to you about the dress for Iris. Do you think you could afford the dress if I tried to make it?' Mother looked startled, for Grandma had come to live with us just the year before after suffering a series of major crises in her life. Her husband had been killed by a hit and run driver. Four days later, her mother, whom she had cared for, also passed away, and within the following month she had to sell her home and come live with us because she had no means of keeping up the payments on the house. Also, during this time of grief and turmoil, Grandma had developed arthritis in her hands and back and was in a good deal of physical pain. So, although she had been a fine seamstress, Grandma's fingers were so stiff that mother had to help dress her each morning and comb her hair. Yet, she was suggesting she make the dress - and we had no sewing machine! She said, 'I don't think I can handle the scissors to cut out the material, but, if you laid it out, Dorothy, I could tell you what to do and you could cut it out. I'd really like to try to sew the dress by hand.' Mother said she would talk it over with Dad. That night it was decided that this offer of Grandma's was worth a try.
"The shimmering blue material was purchased, and mother cut the pieces out. I remember seeing Grandma working so hard with the needle and thread. I could tell it was painful for her, but she continued on, despite the pain. Finally, the blue taffeta dress was finished and each tiny stitch a work of love. I was so caught up with practicing for the big day and so happy that I had my beautiful dress that it wasn't until a week, or so after the First Communion day that I realized Grandma was dressing herself and combing her hair without help and her fingers were not as stiff as before.
"So you see, Phil, this dress is precious to me. God loved me through Grandma's sacrifice of pain and she, too, was blessed with healing, and later she made many more articles of clothing for her many grandchildren and great-grandchildren."
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