The Tapestry

On my daughters bed is an old family heirloom, a handmade, patchwork quilt.
It is faded from use and tattered and torn.
I remember it being on my parents bed almost as far back as I can remember.
The other day I noticed that there were patches that had almost disintegrated.
They were threadbare and showing through was the old batting.
I looked closer in concern and could see that other patches were as strong as ever.
Their stitches still tight and secure. I noticed the patches which were worn down,
were made of a thinner, lighter, summer fabric.
The heavier stronger fabric. had stayed strong and resilient.
Now I wonder why my wise, usually practical Mother did not foresee this end,
to her precious quilt.
I mentioned to my daughter that we should try and replace those patches.
She looked at me in horror and reminded me that this was part of it charm.
It's vintage she exclaimed that's why I love it.

Well I took a lesson from the old quilt,
It has covered our family in sickness and in health.
It was made with wise, loving and artistic hands.
I wonder now, As my mother choose the little fabric squares,
Why she threw caution to the wind and used such a poor choice.
It must have been the lively colors or patterns that tickled her fancy.
I guess I must admit it was a mistake on her part, BUT
It's still here 40 some years later still covering her granddaughter at night.

I wonder how many prayers were whispered at the bedside of the old quilt?
How many tears were shed and how many dreams were dreamed under it's cocoon?
I know of the many hours I spent under it's cozy warmth listening to stories.
Hearing lullabyes, Tales of honor and courage, read from the big gold book
Of Bible Stories for Children and my favorite Uncle Arthurs Bedtime Stories.
It's where I first heard of Aslan the great Lion of C.S. Lewis's Imagination.
There I met The Little Women and learned about the Five Little Peppers and How They Grew.
I'd listen to my Mother recite poetry and sing me such sweet, sad, ballads,
That tears would run down my face. It is a special, special quilt yet it is so very flawed.

It reminds me of my life, she made the quilt and as wonderful as she was, she made some mistakes, by using poor materials part of the quilt has not stood the test of time.
My Story is like a tapestry, there are parts of it which are strong and resilient and still brilliant.
I can still see the beauty and be proud of the beautiful fabric of my life. There are also places in the tapestry I am ashamed of and I wish were not so disappointing and threadbare. They are so open exposed and broken that I fear it's value has been diminished. I am painfully aware that those areas will not and have not stood the test of time. I am also sad to say I am to blame for building those parts of my life on a flighty fancy of a passing, pleasing color or whimsy. Poor, careless choices that can never be mended. The love of this world and it's flash and instant gratification, Then There are portions I did not choose to weave into my life but they were cruelly handed to me by the enemy and I was powerless to stop the stitching. Yet it is all these parts that make up the whole and make me who I am. Gods word tells me "I am fearfully and wonderfully made", so I must take him at his word and trust that I am still a work in progress and the tapestry is still being constructed and
One day I'll see what he made of me...........