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Mini Stories of Hope. The Doily

 


The Doily. Free Flash Fiction



I selected the smallest crochet hook in my collection and observed it dubiously. It was as impossibly fine as the peacock blue crochet cotton in my hand. There was only one thing the cotton was good for: an old-fashioned doily. The kind that looks like a delicate and intricate spider's web. Impractical, yet fascinating. 

I had a pattern. I had the right hook, and the right thread. But could I do it? My hands stiffened involuntarily at the thought of the cramping they would have to endure. All for a rather pointless item.

Despite my doubts, I began. Somehow, several little rounds of chains and stitches formed between my fingers. The brilliant blue shone. My crochet hook flashed. I smiled. For the first time in days. And somehow, the delicate project became a symbol of fragile yet enduring hope.

My faith and my joy seemed just as fragile as the thread between my fingers. Until I remembered how strong my hope really was: that no matter how dark things might seem, I could cling to hope, and I could pray my family home.

***

Copyright: pencil in His Hand

***

With love and blessings.


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