My mother, now in heaven, spent much of her spare time sewing.  She made some of our clothes when my sister and I were children.  A year or two before she found out she had cancer, she took scraps of material from my grandmother's sewing remnants and made Ron and me a quilt for our bed.  The entire thing was handmade, no machine quilting whatsoever.  Her meticulous hemming stitches are beautiful to look at.  The spacing is so even that it rivals the precision of a machine.  I baby this quilt, believe me, and instead of using it now (because it gets more fragile with the years), I am thinking of hanging it so that we may still enjoy seeing it.
    On the Christmas before Mom died, she made doll clothes for my, then, five year old daughter.  Once again, all hand sewn.  Little slips, bonnets, pantaloons, all with her tiny, even stitches.  My grown daughter, now a mother, cherishes them to this day. What has been fashioned with love should be preserved at all costs. 
    God made us in His image.  We were fearfully and wonderfully made, down to the tiniest detail.  He loved us with a protective, jealous love, and saw us sin and fall short of His glory.  His beautiful creation was headed for eternal condemnation without the provision of a sin-remedy.  He could have responded to our transgressions by despising us for them, rehearsing them over the course of our lifetime, and ultimately coming in the person of Jesus to pronounce condemnation.  We would have trembled at his holiness and justice. 
Instead, still being holy, his heart bent toward saving us instead.  After all, we are hand-made, His masterpieces, meant to be showcased through the cross to reveal His glory.