photo © 2011 Gabrielle | more info (via: Wylio)
My fingers trace along each patchwork square, over every knot tied. I think of the hours she spent bent over needle and thread – how the issues of the day resolved over fitting the pieces together one…square…at…a…time.
Calico print cuttings smoothed flat and simple across a kitchen table with a single light above guiding determined hands. I think of how they stitch the years together into something solid, something real, and how something so simple made perfect sense. Each square, each threaded path serving a purpose and making up a piece of the whole…sort of like those who make up me.
The delivery truck drives away and I’m left holding a patchwork piece of my own. I dig through wrapping to find a rusted weather vane; a present – a missing piece of my heart from days faded and spent but never forgotten.
In a box upstairs I find yet another piece. It’s the familiar handwriting from the same handsphoto © 2008 Adrian Clark | more info (via: Wylio)
that always knew how to stitch me back together again. I read her shaky words, simple thoughts scratched across recycled stationary - the same hands that pieced the calico prints together, tying up all the loose ends and making sense out of the pattern.
They’re all like pieces of a puzzle coming together to make up who we are. God places us in the middle of people and events that somehow shape us, yet we become a little part of each one; each blessed embrace, each “I love you” and lesson learned. The patchwork of life.
“…but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.” (Exodus 20:6)
“But from everlasting to everlasting
the LORD’s love is with those who fear him,
and his righteousness with their children’s children—“