I believe there will be sewing machines in heaven--

There's a chill in the autumn air this morning, but not in this room--the heat is strong and sweaters hang off shoulders and chair backs. On the wall is a sign that reads, Kindred Spirits--on another wall, a bulletin board hangs full of memories--newspaper clippings, photos, thank you letters--obituaries of loved ones and friends. And on another wall a quilt hangs--made by a sister of the three--hanging in her memory. And pinned to the quilt is a poem, A Quilter is Someone Who...

There are sisters here--some by blood--some by the gift of sisterhood from another mother.

And one, she sews vibrant colors of purples and blues together--giving quiet encouragement. She notices I am ironing my fabric and she says, that's good. I do too. One tells me she has made a quilt for every family member and she talks with pride about her grandson joining the military. Another, she lays out her pieces in the most beautiful of teals and orange--the quilt she is making as a gift.

There are three sisters here, and their Mama--my Granny Rhodes would be so proud of them. They work together--helping one another. And over the quiet hum in the room one of them stops her needlework and asks to the other sister, 'Do you remember?' And they talk of memories long ago and the stories come down like manna from above.

It's coffee break, bathroom break. And the room fills with laughter and conversation and she comes close and says, 'I'm so glad you are coming. I'm no expert, but I'll help you in anyway I can.' And another, she brings me the most beautiful patterns and says, 'You can have these if you want them. I will never use them.'

And the noise of the room changes again to the song that no musical instrument can play--this humming of peace--a soothing melody. And I believe there will be sewing machines in heaven.