For keeping...
For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother's womb. Psalm 139.3
The crisp morning air took my breath away that fall morning. And maybe it was that air, or the wooden pew that creaked below me, or the wise friend sitting beside me, or the warm sanctuary of the church, or maybe it was the perfect combination of it all, but that morning I had a lot to be thankful for. You know those moments...the ones where it all makes sense. Those moments that have you in pure gratitude for your life, your journey, and then every blessing from our good Lord. As my hands rested softly on the row in front of me and my knees settled into the kneeler below, I bowed my head in utter thanks to God.
I think I'd like to call that moment perspective. So easy it is to notice my trials, to see my struggles, and to count my losses. Even in my thanks, I am often recounting the crisis avoided or the challenge overcome. But in that moment, I knew pure thanks, for the good.
"Lord, help me to see..."
Black ink on the page in my hands challenged me to pray just that. And then to fill in the blank. Well, maybe it was too early, or I was too cold, or the tasks of the day overcame my thoughts, but I kept repeating the first part of the phrase but I could not fill in the blank. Help me to see. Help me to see. Help me to see.
And all of sudden, I saw.
It was like a map with the path I took highlighted in neon pinks and yellows. The roads I had taken, the way I have traveled, all lite up for me to see. It made perfect sense. Each trail led to the next. Small signs along the roads prepared me for hills and curves that lay ahead. Each moment, refined me. Each moment, brought me along. Each moment was a beautiful process of becoming the now.
Perspective. I had always known each thing happened for a reason. But in this moment of grateful clarity, I saw it. I saw it all so obviously.
A few years ago I asked my grandma for a quilt to throw on the end of my bed. She's a knitter and loved to create these beautiful treasures for us. She asked me the color and I picked a soft cream that melted into the quilt on my bed perfectly. I unwrapped the quilt at Christmas that year. And in my room the tightly woven threads remain. That quilt has consoled me in sorrow, warmed me in cold, rested under me feet in the heat of summer, dried my tears and consumed plenty of drips of cold coffee too.
The tiny threads held together through it all.
There is this book called, The Keeping Quilt. The quilt itself is made of the patches of old clothes. The blanket passed down from one member of the family to the next. The quilt was there for weddings and funerals and in and out of lifetimes. It's tiny threads held together through it all.
In each special moment, happy or sad, the blanket held a history. It was the ultimate symbol of a family's roots, connected in love.
The moment I asked God to help me to see, I looked around me and realized God had revealed to me my very own keeping quilt. It held patches from every fabric in my life. Some squares were filled with color, others tattered and worn. It was like the quilt at the end of the bed and the one in the book. All these pieces of the fabric of my life were delicately woven together. Each piece was a moment that held my history. From season to season I carried the quilt with me. It was a part of who I was and who I am.
In that moment, clear perspective, I saw how God had been planting seeds, lighting roads, and cutting patterns that would lead me to this very moment. No stitch was in vain. The quilt was a reflection of my life, and the life the Lord had so clearly designed just for me. It was like the quilt my grandma made me; simple, warm, and completely my own.
In the midst of a crisp morning, when the warmth of an actual quilt may have blocked the cold, a keeping quilt, the one that is my life, became the beautiful perspective I needed to remind me of every moment God has given to me. The quilt, I'll keep and pass on to those I love in the future. It's the quilt that reflects my roots in my faith and my trust in a fathers unfailing love. It's a quilt that shows me who I am, holds my history, and carries so much love. It holds pieces of advice, laughter with friends, creative days, and sleepless nights. Passed down with care, I hold onto this quilt now with boundless thanks.
I'll keep this quilt, the one that warms my soul and holds all the random pieces together, as the most beautiful reminder of the One who keeps me.
The crisp morning air took my breath away that fall morning. And maybe it was that air, or the wooden pew that creaked below me, or the wise friend sitting beside me, or the warm sanctuary of the church, or maybe it was the perfect combination of it all, but that morning I had a lot to be thankful for. You know those moments...the ones where it all makes sense. Those moments that have you in pure gratitude for your life, your journey, and then every blessing from our good Lord. As my hands rested softly on the row in front of me and my knees settled into the kneeler below, I bowed my head in utter thanks to God.
I think I'd like to call that moment perspective. So easy it is to notice my trials, to see my struggles, and to count my losses. Even in my thanks, I am often recounting the crisis avoided or the challenge overcome. But in that moment, I knew pure thanks, for the good.
"Lord, help me to see..."
Black ink on the page in my hands challenged me to pray just that. And then to fill in the blank. Well, maybe it was too early, or I was too cold, or the tasks of the day overcame my thoughts, but I kept repeating the first part of the phrase but I could not fill in the blank. Help me to see. Help me to see. Help me to see.
And all of sudden, I saw.
It was like a map with the path I took highlighted in neon pinks and yellows. The roads I had taken, the way I have traveled, all lite up for me to see. It made perfect sense. Each trail led to the next. Small signs along the roads prepared me for hills and curves that lay ahead. Each moment, refined me. Each moment, brought me along. Each moment was a beautiful process of becoming the now.
Perspective. I had always known each thing happened for a reason. But in this moment of grateful clarity, I saw it. I saw it all so obviously.
A few years ago I asked my grandma for a quilt to throw on the end of my bed. She's a knitter and loved to create these beautiful treasures for us. She asked me the color and I picked a soft cream that melted into the quilt on my bed perfectly. I unwrapped the quilt at Christmas that year. And in my room the tightly woven threads remain. That quilt has consoled me in sorrow, warmed me in cold, rested under me feet in the heat of summer, dried my tears and consumed plenty of drips of cold coffee too.
The tiny threads held together through it all.
There is this book called, The Keeping Quilt. The quilt itself is made of the patches of old clothes. The blanket passed down from one member of the family to the next. The quilt was there for weddings and funerals and in and out of lifetimes. It's tiny threads held together through it all.
In each special moment, happy or sad, the blanket held a history. It was the ultimate symbol of a family's roots, connected in love.
The moment I asked God to help me to see, I looked around me and realized God had revealed to me my very own keeping quilt. It held patches from every fabric in my life. Some squares were filled with color, others tattered and worn. It was like the quilt at the end of the bed and the one in the book. All these pieces of the fabric of my life were delicately woven together. Each piece was a moment that held my history. From season to season I carried the quilt with me. It was a part of who I was and who I am.
In that moment, clear perspective, I saw how God had been planting seeds, lighting roads, and cutting patterns that would lead me to this very moment. No stitch was in vain. The quilt was a reflection of my life, and the life the Lord had so clearly designed just for me. It was like the quilt my grandma made me; simple, warm, and completely my own.
In the midst of a crisp morning, when the warmth of an actual quilt may have blocked the cold, a keeping quilt, the one that is my life, became the beautiful perspective I needed to remind me of every moment God has given to me. The quilt, I'll keep and pass on to those I love in the future. It's the quilt that reflects my roots in my faith and my trust in a fathers unfailing love. It's a quilt that shows me who I am, holds my history, and carries so much love. It holds pieces of advice, laughter with friends, creative days, and sleepless nights. Passed down with care, I hold onto this quilt now with boundless thanks.
I'll keep this quilt, the one that warms my soul and holds all the random pieces together, as the most beautiful reminder of the One who keeps me.
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