There is research to suggest that people value furniture more if they helped to assemble it. It has been coined the IKEA Effect, alluding to the wildly successful Swedish retailer that peddles half finished dressers.

 

While I am not handy with hammers, I know a thing or two about sewing. The quilts I have constructed over weeks or months don't simply look more beautiful. They are more beautiful. The one covering my legs now is a Snail's Trail. It has successively larger triangles that swirl outward, and each of the four bold colors spin in interlocking spirals. The back is lavender flannel and quilted leaves dance along the border. It is gorgeous. The one next to me on the couch has sweet six inch houses, with children peeking out of the windows. There is a brown batik border, and robin's egg blue sashing. Two of the houses have mountains in the background, while another has a rainbow. One home rests in the woods, while others dream under starry skies. I love it. 

 

There is another quilt in my possession, one that is more likely to win a ribbon than any of mine. It was sewn by an Amish woman, and the stitches are as tiny and even as punctuation. Her piecing is unimpeachable. But oddly it spends no time on the wall. It does not make my heart skip as much as the imperfect diamonds in my Bethlehem Stars.

 

I suppose if the Creator of the Universe devised a way to hand over a flawless newborn to undeserving parents, without any more participation from them than a night of lovemaking, He could perhaps find a way to deliver us into pristine marriages. But He knows about the IKEA Effect. If we get our hands dirty in the process of crafting a relationship its value increases. 

 

Even if there are a few loose screws leftover when we are done. 

 

 

Photo by Jenny Stein

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