Ripping a seam out for the second time brings a hot-headed fury of frustration.  Mostly self-inflicted fury because I made the same mistake twice in a row...Then, I remember that ripping seams in this particular situation is moving forward.  And moving forward is living in the moment GOD has given me. Ripping seams out is still creating and making and giving. And by this point, I am better at ripping seams out than just about anything else.  

Sewing is also my very own calm, clear pool of water gently stirred with the whirring sound of the machine, or the scissors scrunching the fabric or of the isolated awareness of needle and thread and nothing else.  Sewing is being surrounded by color and texture and the contributions of so many sewists and designers before me that mended and made and loved through cloth and thread.  The beautiful stillness of sewing is mine but not just mine--and that is special too.