My Mom’s Sewing Machine

I remember that my mom’s short curly hair was always covered with bits of thread of all colors when I was a child. Sometimes I even found a needle among those threads in her hair. “Whirr, click, click, click…” My mom made clothes with a sewing machine. Among my five family members who lived in a small room in our clothing store, I was particularly sensitive to the sound that the sewing machine made. The irritating sound always hung around me with annoying persistence when I went to the bathroom and when I had a meal. It even bothered me until late at night. I pulled my blanket over my head and tried to cover my ears with a pillow, but it was no good. One day, I was so angry that I got up from my bed and threw open the door to let loose a temper tantrum at my mom, but I was at a loss for words. My mom’s eyes were heavy with sleep but she was still working, barely clinging onto the sewing machine. Since my mom had worked day and night, once when she dozed off, she hurt hand because of the sewing machine needle. I thought, ‘If she’s sleepy, she should sleep. Why is looking for trouble?’ I could not understand my mom at that time. Until my mom’s hand healed, I did not want to hear the sound of the sewing machine. The quiet night, that I had wanted so badly, came at last. To my surprise, however, I couldn’t fall asleep. After the irritating sound had stopped, I found out that before I knew it, the sound of my mom’s sewing machine was something like a lullaby to me. One day, it suddenly began to rain and a big crowd of moms who brought umbrellas for their children gathered in front of the school. While my friends went with their moms who had come to bring them home, I crouched down in front of the school gate and waited for my mom. However, she didn’t come even after a long time. I was sad and upset, so I headed home, intentionally getting rained on. As soon as I threw open the door, I was about to blow up at her. But right there, I found my mom sleeping, curled up at the door sill as if she wasn’t able to make it into the room. Then I was reminded that the sound of sewing machine had stopped when she had prepared breakfast after working all night. I was a little girl, but seeing my mom sleeping at the door sill, I felt very sad and my heart even ached. My mom sensed someone’s presence and awoke from her sleep. Seeing her daughter standing absent-mindedly, soaked with rain, she ran to me barefoot and wiped me off with a towel, and repeatedly said that she was so sorry. On my way home, I kept thinking over how I would show how angry I was to my mom, but my mind changed; I was so sorry to her. After that day, I did not feel bad even though I had to walk home, without an umbrella, on a rainy day. Only after I married and became a mother could I understand my mom’s love for us. Even though my family was badly off and she was very busy making a living, she never let her three daughters miss a meal. She did not regard it as a bother to pack four or five lunch boxes every morning. While she eked out a living by sewing, she expressed her love for us by working at the sewing machine without rest and preparing every meal without missing even one. That’s why I feel like I received much love from my mom even though she hardly played with me nor told me that she loved me. As my mom worked hard, though not expressing her affection for us with words or gestures, now I want to make efforts for my mom’s soul without speaking loud. In the morning, in the afternoon and late at night, I will beg Christ Ahnsahnghong and Heavenly Mother again and again, praying that my mom who spent all her life only for the happiness of her children will realize the value of salvation that we received from Elohim God, and will enjoy the overwhelming happiness in the hope for heaven.

KSJ from Jeongju, Korea