Wet fingers grasping
onto a slippery rock,
Reaching above the waves
That crash upon the shore.
Reaching for some firm place,
Some solid ground,
And peace I’ve never
Known before.
Today it is floods,
Restless crashing waves,
Yesterday it was desert,
That burned and wearied me.
The weather is always changing,
‘Round me twirling, spinning,
My eyes go blind,
And I cannot see.
No matter the weather,
No matter the seas,
The way I’ve always made it,
Is clinging onto God….and He clinging onto me.
The Gift |
She sits, hunched forward over her loom. Her eyes intently searching through the vast array of yarns. “Which yarn would look best, for this part of the design,” she wonders as she fingers the yarn to determine texture and strength while examining the color in bright light.
The pattern had taken her so long to design, in her mind she saw the completed work, beautiful—if only in black and white. Now is when the dream becomes reality as she selects her materials and places in line after line, upon the large loom of her life.
Her heart rate races, as she feels she has found the perfect yarn, and begins to weave her dreams, so beautiful, so colorful, full of depth and texture she had never imagined possible. Her imagination races forward 8 lines, dreaming of how that next part of the pattern will look with the beautiful yarn she has found. She dreams a new, vivid, colorful dream. Her hands carrying the yarn through while her eyes are glazed over with daydream. They are affixed on some indiscernible object in the vast fields of dancing grass out her window. She is so caught up in her dreams and her planning, that she fails to realize that the new yarn is too bulky for this section, creating gaps in her design. She is too caught up to realize that her foundation yarn is frayed. Too, distracted to noticed the gap she has just created. The yarn fits poorly in this place, and the pattern is missing something essential.
She continues on, line after line, without ever looking down. She wants to get to line 8, then line 15, then line 23, for the picture in her mind is so clear, so perfect, so beautiful—for the lines to be laid in the future. She forgets to notice where she’s at, to check the progress. She misses out on current beauty, caught up in the dream of future beauty.
After line X she looks back at the progress, in a moment of reflection on the past, and sees that somehow she has gotten far, far off-track. The whole pattern shifted, too high on one side, too low on the other. And there, her heart sinks, is a large hole. On the other side, a row or two below, evidence of frayed yarn, threatening to unravel the piece.
Tears fill her eyes, what can she do? Her heart is woven between the lines, her being now a part of the art. Not only has she woven herself into the past, she is part of the future as well, with this pattern, with this yarn. However, she knows it would be foolish to continue on with the errors in place, for the whole thing could unravel. No, not all at once, not even in a few days, but it could, indeed, over time fall apart. Yet, this is not the greatest error, it is the weaving herself into the future, before the future is here. How do you undo, what has never been done?
She knows, her in her novice skill, can never correct the errors of this rug. Unsure how to even correct the errors of the past, she knows she cannot unweave herself from the future as well.
Lifting her eyes from her piece, she notices she is not alone. The one who gave her a loom, the power to dream, and yarn to weave, sits beside her with the deepest of compassion in His eyes. Fearful to give up full control she tries to get him to help, while her hands are still at work—while she tries to create what has not been done, so that it can be undone. She would do something, and he would undo it, thinking she hadn’t tried hard enough, she would begin again. Only to have Him take it out, once again.
In exhaustion and confusion, she stands up from her stool, and takes a seat on the other side of the master weaver, giving Him full access to the loom. Carefully, tenderly, His hands work over the piece, unraveling a section, and building it up again, filling in areas that had once been empty.
It looked vastly different from the dream in her head, and discomfort became a constant friend. It seems abstract, from where she sits, she cannot see the pattern. It is too large, the scale too grand, to tell what is being created from where she stands.
Once the errors corrected, and gaps filled, He takes her hand, and places a piece of yarn in it, apparently at random. In confusion, she looks at Him with questioning eyes. What is she to do with this yarn? Yet, she weaves it in. Once that yarn runs out, again, he hands her another, and another.
It is beautiful, she must admit, but she still a different pattern in mind, yet, she continues to let Him guide.
What it will be, we will have to wait to see. But each line, she admits, seems to fit so well with the last, even if the future is still a mystery.
She cannot even imagine 8 lines ahead, but the struggle is to pretend she can, and weave what she thinks should come next, and deny the yarn in His hand.
Thread through my fingers,
Under and over,
Weave the wool,
Create the dream.
Imagine the possibilities,
Of all that life can be,
The loom so large,
The pallet so vast.
Each new day,
Gives meaning to the last,
Creating a work,
Beautiful and unique.
Planning and dreaming,
Create the look you seek,
One thread at a time,
Wove into my life.
Until the error is spotted,
Back ten dozen lines,
A hole left unfilled,
3 unders all in a row.
A frayed thread,
Which may not show
Is all it takes,
To unravel it all.
[I’m sitting here listening to my Pandora “David Nevue” station, as I write this. I recommend you do the same as you read.]
Melancholy, that is what flavor I taste when I look back at this year that has passed. In some ways I want to run back to this place last year, not to redo things, specifically, but to slow the forward procession of time. I can’t believe a year has passed me by, again.
Sure, there are many things I’d like do overs on, but even if I got the opportunity I don’t know that I’d think of a better solution in the moment. For, I’ve had many moments to think of my ‘mistakes’, and I still don’t know how I get into them. There are rare times I figure out “why”, and often it is because of who I am, that I do what I do.
I’ve been called a people pleaser, I’ve been called fake—I’ve been disliked and dismissed, but most often, I think I’ve just been misunderstood.
If this year has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that this is me. Strip away hopes and dreams, strip away my plans, throw in some isolation, and see how I respond. This is how I respond. This is who I am.
I didn’t achieve the things I had planned, and I feel somewhat incomplete. I did not gain hold of the substances of my hopes. I did not find my calling, and the wind has been knocked out of me more than once in the past year.
But this is who I’ve been this year. I’ve gritted my teeth and faced my fears. I’ve taken tough situations and made the best I could of them (through prayer and allowing myself to remain vulnerable). I’ve stayed put when I’ve wanted to run. I’ve stayed in view when I wanted to hide. I’ve cried and I’ve laughed. I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I’ve prayed for a ministry partner to love, and God has instead given me more ministries to love. I’ve struggled to know where God is leading me, but I’ve kept following—fearfully, timidly, at times—but following. I’m filled with hope. I am not held down, for I have let God lift me up.
Anyone looking back on my life, if my footprints were left indefinitely in soil of life, would see this year full of circles, of turning back, and of times I fell to my knees in confusion and discouragement. If that same person, would take a moment to look, they would see that where I am now is miles from where I began. If they could see what occurred as a result of those times I fell to my knees—they would believe and never doubt, this is me, and I am where I need to be.
They will know that though this year, to the untrained eye, may look as though I’m lost— it isn't as it seems. If they follow the tracks, my footprints, they will see that I am, indeed, getting lost—lost deep inside my Saviors love. Lost in my love for Him.
So, I have peace, this silent night, that God has lead me here, and here I am—daily nearer to Him.
Good-bye 2010, it has definitely been a year of growth...and I am yet growing. **Grow me, Lord.**
