Just a Minute
Jewel Busch 
I'm not an incredibly accomplished seamstress; I have too much natural impatience and impulsivity and far too little desire to be really good at something as detail-oriented as sewing.
But I do enjoy engaging in the occasional craft with my daughter. We worked on a crazy quilt over Winter Break, right after I made T-shirt quilt for each of my five kiddos for Christmas.
During both of these sewing extravaganzas (meaning my sewing machine and the accompanying chaos and clutter any sewing project naturally creates living on the kitchen table for days in a row), I learned a lesson that felt applicable in more than one area of my life.
As I would work for hours on end, running countless seams on my trusty sewing machine, Beulah, my machine would start getting tired. She would make a clicking noise that would get louder and louder, until eventually, threads would start breaking and knotting, and the stitches would no longer be straight and even like I needed them to be for my project to turn out even close to what I'd envisioned.
The first time it happened, I panicked and ignored her while I kept sewing (this was while I was working on Christmas quilts, by the way, so I definitely had a deadline I was feeling anxious about reaching). I didn't want to have to pay for someone else to fix my machine, but I didn't know enough about Beulah to feel confident enough to try any repairs on my own.
Finally, I was getting to the point where my thread was knotting and breaking every few inches or so, and I realized I had two options: figure this out, or figure out a different Christmas present for my kids.
After some googling, I decided that the first thing I could try on my own was taking apart the basic underlying mechanisms and oil them to see if I could get her working more smoothly.
GUYS.
It worked like a dream!
I was astonished (and probably way too proud for how much effort was actually put forth) by how gorgeously Beulah worked now.
And she worked beautifully--through about two more quilt binding projects--until she started clicking again.
Threads started breaking, and, my dear reader, I stalled a LONG time before I finally was willing to stop what I was doing, take Beulah apart, and oil everything inside.
I kept telling myself I just didn't have the time, it was going to be too hard to put things back together again, and what if it didn't actually make a difference? Then I'd be stuck with a non-working machine and forced to give my child a pile of unsewn rags for Christmas instead of the quilt I'd envisioned for him.
I let it go for a while until it was getting to the point where I was having to rethread the needle every couple of minutes because the thread was knotting and breaking so often, and then I finally broke down.
Irritated, I set my quilt to the side, pulled Beulah apart like I had before, and oiled everything before putting her all back together.
And guess what?
It worked.
Just like the first time.
In fact, it was even easier, because this time, I knew a little more of what I was doing, and I could put the parts back together a little faster and more easily. Still clumsy, still unsure, yes, but more experienced.
I remember filing that learning experience in my brain under "Hmmm. That's an interesting metaphor," and then forgetting about it, because, after all, it was Christmas, and I didn't have time to think about mental health metaphors with everything else going on.
Fast forward to this past week.
My daughter and I are getting to attend an upcoming Trek, and as part of the experience, I wanted to help her make pioneer bonnets and aprons. I thought it would be a fun creative experience for us to have together.
The problem is, I've made an apron before, but it's been at least, oh, 20 years....And I've never made a bonnet on my own.
But did those pesky details stop me?
Of course not!
Like the intrepid creator I am, I found an ancient blog post that looked like it'd give some basic instruction, and we dove in together.
We did a lot of laughing and creative problem solving throughout the process, but by yesterday afternoon, it was getting close to dinner time, the house was a wreck, and I had two-thirds of two unfinished bonnets when Beulah started clicking.
Dear reader, please don't judge me too harshly when I say that I once again ignored Beulah's signals for long enough that we had to rethread broken thread a few times before I finally sighed heavily, put the projects to the side, and pulled her apart to oil her.
And yes, it worked like a dream and ended up saving us a ton of time and effort no longer having to rethread knotted and broken threads that had been catching on the sticking mechanisms underneath.
We got both bonnets and aprons completed in time for me to tidy the table up and get it cleared off before bed, and I'm relieved to have put Beulah away for a while longer until I get the creative itch once more.
But the metaphor keeps pressing on my mind in the way God always does when He knows I have something deep to learn.
So many times, I get stuck in survival mode. I push through, get things done, take care of the needs around me, and keep on truckin' along.
Sometimes I start getting weepy or irritated for no apparent reason about situations I'm usually resilient around. Sometimes I notice myself stress eating, or retaining water. Sometimes it's that I scroll social media for a couple of hours and then hate myself afterwards.
My "clicking" often looks a little different, but the signal is always unmistakable when I'm actually paying attention.
There's something rubbing wrong inside of me, and until I take the time to pay attention to it, bring it to the light, and allow my Savior to take me apart and put me back together, its going to get worse.
Yesterday morning, after two incredibly busy weeks in a row where I'd desperately been wanted and needing a coaching session, I finally got an hour to sit down on the phone with my talented friend and work through some stories that had been clicking too loudly for me to ignore.
It was hard work.
I wanted to get distracted, I wanted to get up and work on dishes or go to sleep or do any number of things that would've been easier than looking at my wounds.
But by the end of the session, I felt as though a thousand pounds had been lifted off my chest. I could breathe easily again, and when it came to achieving some of what was on my To-Do list, I knew I could face it rather than hiding under the covers.
I took just a minute to take care of my inner workings.
And it made all the difference.
