I ran across something I wrote over a year ago and just stashed. Thought I would share it with my readers today. I hope you enjoy it.


Our lives are like a tapestry that is woven with an infinite number of threads, both large and small, both exquisitely beautiful and horrifically dark and ugly.

When we stand up close and personal to the tapestry, we see each thread closely.  It is at that point we can see the individual threads and remember them as moments in our lives.  We can see just how beautiful some are and just how dark and horrible others are.

We would like to tear out the ugly threads. I can picture myself with sadness wanting to pick and rip out those horrible dark threads, but they are woven in tightly.

Then when we step back, way back, we can see them as a whole. And he intricate detail of the picture woven before us, amazes us.

We are somehow convinced though that by picking out those ugly dark threads the picture would be much lovelier.  Each thread is a memory for us.  The dark threads are threads that we do not want to remember.  They hurt as the master was weaving them into our tapestry.  We felt the hard and tough moments, the moments of despair and outright devastation. And we want them gone.

But what is a beautiful bright spot in a painting without the dark shading to accentuate it? If we were to pick and pull out each ugly dark thread, the tapestry would not be as beautiful. It would not have the depth and richness it has with all the threads.

So instead of picking at them we resignedly step back and take another look at the tapestry as a whole. It really is beautiful.  That is me? That is my life? Yes, and that beauty in its entirety is what the Father, the master weaver sees.

But why did he create such dark threads in my tapestry? Why did he have to put so many in. They were so painful! I would have been fine to have had a flat uninteresting tapestry.

But he didn’t create those dark ugly threads, they were there from our lives in a fallen world. A world that is not our home.  So he wove them in at just the right moments to create something of worth, something beautiful.

Father God gave me this illustration this morning as I woke up.  I could see myself standing up close touching the huge tapestry on a wall, but all I could touch and feel were the individual threads, and remember.

I could remember the pain, the horrific pain of the dark ones. I could see where a dark thread was just one upon another for seemingly long expanses, deep and wide.

I could remember the beautiful bright ones. Those threads sparkled and shone bright. They almost twinkled with an iridescent supernatural glow. They brought to mind the miracles, yes real miracles in my life.

As I look I realize I have an amazing amount, thousands of bright miracle threads in my tapestry.  As I step back further to view it more completely I realize just how many bright beautiful miracle threads I have.  But even though they glow with extraordinary light from their tiny footprint, they appear even brighter next to the dark ones.

I still can’t say I like it. I am still feeling dark threads even now going through me that hurt. I am so tired of hurting.  I am so tired of the dark threads that seem to dominate the tapestry.

Then to my remembrance comes the most recent bright thread and I smile.  Yes, yes Father that was extraordinary. And I smile.

If I step back even further where I can see many tapestries they are all the same. They are a combination of dark and bright, dull and vivid.

Some start out with so much more dark and then as they continue on they become more and more vivid and bright with fewer and fewer dark areas. But one thing is certain, they are all masterpieces. They are woven by a loving master who can use even the darkest thread in our lives to create a beautiful tapestry with his loving hands.

I still do not welcome the dark threads. They are still painful and I still resist them. And I would prefer that they just weren’t there.  But this tapestry is woven by the maker for His pleasure and so I submit to His skilled hands. Sometimes reluctantly but always willingly in the end.

We could talk more about where the dark threads come from. But let’s be real, we know where they come from. They often and most likely come from our poor decisions.  They come from rebellious acts of selfishness, of going our own way.

They come from the rain that falls on the just and the unjust in this fallen world of ours. Could it be true that we have picked up dark threads just by being at the wrong place at the wrong time? Yes, I think maybe so.

They also come from an enemy who would like to make our tapestry completely black and dark. He has little messengers who do their best to drop dark ugly threads into the reserve of beautiful threads the Master is weaving.

A tapestry as we know it is created for visual pleasure. It is created to hang and be looked at and awed over. So when I think of the analogy above it goes against my grain.

I don’t want my life to just be viewed from a distance and admired. Admired for what the Master has created. Admired for my steadfastness, my faith, my perseverance. What a waste of skill and effort.

I want that tapestry, my tapestry, jerked off of the wall and wrapped around a homeless person to keep them warm.  I want it to be a comfort for someone to rest upon when they are weary. I want it to be of service.

And as that person is wrapped up warm in that tapestry I want them to view the threads up close and see I too have many, many dark and ugly threads just like them. But there are always bright threads too. I want my tapestry to give them hope.

by Nancy Jackson

October 30, 2017

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