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About seven years ago, on a hot summer day, my husband and I decided to go exploring in the abandoned home of his long deceased German grandmother. His uncle Hans, who had inherited the property, told us to help ourselves to whatever we found. The place had sat uninhabited for so long that it had fallen into a sad state of disrepair. Everything that had not been removed was left just as it had been when she was alive, down to articles of her clothing neatly folded in drawers or hanging forlornly in the closet. There were letters, delicately scrawled in German, some old photographs, and her passport, documenting her visits home. I rescued these for posterity and took only one other thing: an old Singer sewing machine. It was back in a corner and so covered with dust and cobwebs, I almost didn’t see it.
It has stood in a corner of my kitchen these last seven years. I like it for its decorative design and for its sentimental value. Made of solid cast iron, it is much heavier than it looks. As a boy my husband often got scolded for sitting on the treadle and rocking back and forth. It was on this machine he learned to sew at his grandmother’s side.
A few days ago he declared that he was going to start sewing again. On that machine! That machine that was made in 1923! That is ninety years old! That doesn’t even use electricity! But he merely bought a new belt, oiled it up and voila!
I have since learned from him and YouTube that this machine will sew through six layers of denim plus a layer of leather. Singers made in the 1920’s will even sew through a tin can. It was a selling point that was used to demonstrate to frugal shoppers why they should spend more on a Singer. The salesman would start with a gossamer thin piece of fabric and continue to sew through thicker and thicker cloth. Finally, when it was clear that he couldn’t possibly go any further, he sewed through a heavy tin can.
So much like David, who we often think can’t get any better, go any further and yet he surprises us every time. How’s that for a smooth segue to David? You knew I would get there eventually, didn’t you?
In fact, the revival of this old Singer has become to my mind a metaphor for David. It stands in my kitchen, a testament to the fact that not all singers are alike. A rare few are made to stand the test of time. They have a strong base and are built to last. Designed for beauty as well as function, they operate with few moving parts, but what they do use, is poetry in motion. And they don’t need all the bells and whistles or even electricity to perform well. In fact, the technology most singers depend upon is superfluous to them. In their element unplugged, they have the power to penetrate the thickest layers, mending the tears that lie so deep; they bind what others cannot reach.
The Voice David Archuleta 