I’ve stitched a few more pieces together.

I’ve been gathering scraps, collecting stories and reliving fragments of my life.

Memories can be elusive as a vapor, even as a whole life is said to be.

Enough pieces have come together now, that I am beginning to comprehend my patchwork life.

Seeing it more honestly.

The colors are more clear to me and patterns are emerging as I’m stepping back,

viewing it from a perspective that allows me to appreciate it as a whole.

I see the mistakes and flaws, but also purpose and beauty in its assembly.

Some bits of fabric are obviously well suited to sit close together, while others appear to clash until I pull back and view them from a distance.

This vantage helps them make sense to my eyes and they no longer strive, but draw purpose from the surrounding patches.

We do need to come in close to look at snippets of our lives, but only for a time.

If we stay there too long, the pieces we’re focused on will begin to quarrel and stop making sense and we’ll be tempted to think the entire piece is a ruin.

The confusion can make us want to run and running never frees us from a distorted view. The last image is all we’ll remember and we’ll think it’s the whole truth.

Small salvaged portion of an old quilt made by my great-great grandma

Sometimes we freeze at the closeup view of our imperfect life.

Unable to move in any direction.

Stuck in a close examination, we hold our breath.

We take in details -

and some aren’t pretty.

We see missed stitches.

We notice poor quality.

Parts are torn.

Colors don’t harmonize.

Places worn thin.

Others fading.

But we must keep breathing-

so we must step back-

and as we do

- we can exhale -

For now coherence forms.

Now we see pieces that jarring up close, actually harmonize from a little distance.

This mindful look, up close and from a distance, has revealed to me that some bits of my life were lovingly chosen and others found their way into this life-quilt from the bottom of the scrap pile.

Pieces I prefer had been discarded.

Yet as these unwanted, unchosen scraps have been stitched next to the pretty ones, they’ve taken on value.
I can make some sense of them only within the context of the whole.
The beautiful parts of my life become accentuated in their distinction from the ugly parts of my life.

But they must sit together.

Be stitched together,

or they won’t make sense.

And they won’t make beauty -

- WHOLE life beauty.

I don’t have to hold these two truths separately and divide them, (which actually leaves me perpetually torn and forever in pieces).

The good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful can and do exist together.

I consider the contrast to a blanket made from one, unbroken, uniform piece of cloth.

Like a “bed-in-a-bag” or a cheap catalog coverlet.

Nothing rent,

no fragments,

no need for a mindful Artist to lovingly suture what has been cut, into intricate, meaningful beauty.

Such a life would only be a blanket.

Never a quilt.

Being broken draws Healing Hands to hold and mend.

Being in pieces invites Creator Hands to place and form us into beautiful patterns that make sense.

Being brave trusts Guiding Hands to help us look closely and to draw back, seeing the truth and appreciating the WHOLE.

Being thankful rests in Comforting Hands, free to relax under God’s cover and warm love.

I allow these scraps, stitched close, to gather around my heart.

I breathe deeply and close my eyes.

I rest under this quilt, seeing who I am and who I am becoming, and thankful for this WHOLE life.

Postscript

Quilts have always been a comforting, artistic part of my life. As creative expressions and utilitarian warmth for many generations, we continue to be quilt makers in this family. I love the way God uses everyday, ordinary pieces of our lives to speak to our WHOLE life.
I pray that you will have eyes to see and ears to hear the Holy Spirit show you more of your own story and how He is creating something beautiful even from the not-so-beautiful pieces.

Hi.

Jan 18 WHOLE life beauty

The confusion can make us want to run and running never frees us from a distorted view. The last image is all we’ll remember and we’ll think it’s the whole truth.

Stuck in a close examination, we hold our breath.

Yet as these unwanted, unchosen scraps have been stitched next to the pretty ones, they’ve taken on value.

I can make some sense of them only within the context of the whole.