Emphasis Preaching Journal

At an early age I developed a love for words; I like the sound of certain words, the way they seem to roll off my tongue, and the images they conjure up for me. One such word is “remnant.” I first heard it when sitting by my mother's knee in the spare bedroom, where she sat piecing together small patches of material to make a quilt. She called these fabric pieces “remnants,” the remains of a once larger piece of cloth. Prior to their size reduction, the remnants had been part of some grander garment: my grandmother's old apron, my sister's fifth-grade-party dress, and my too-small pinafore.