Crazy Quilts

It has been said, that "life is like a box of chocolates, life is a journey, life is a tapestry..." and I am certain you know of your own metaphors (and similes) either by your own experiences or under the teaching of pastors, educators, etc. But, as I have walked through an excruciating several weeks, months, okay..years I have discovered life is really like "a crazy quilt."

Now, for those of you who don't know what that is; let me say it has nothing to do with the mental state of a blanket. Smile.  It has to do with an old tradition of piecing together remnants and/or scraps to create a quilt.



This summer, my daughters and I have utilized the library's free DVD rental almost weekly.  I was please one day to find the complete "Christy" series.  It was based on the books of the same name by Katherine Marshall.  The story takes us on the journey of it's namesake: "Christy Huddleston" as she moves to the Smokey Mountains to start a school in the impoverished region of "Cutter Gap" in Tennessee.  It is a sweet, wonderful story and at one point, Christy receives a "crazy quilt" from one of her students' family.  The child describes how the quilt is made up of "all their" lives.  Work shirts, baby clothes, even wedding lace is sewn together to create a breathtaking creation.

I have discovered my own "crazy quilt." It is not a family heirloom like the one created for the fictitious "Christy," but it has been created out of the relationships of my life.

While Facebook, the Internet and Social networks in general have helped us to reconnect to lost friends and contacts, it has done something else; it has created a lifeline.

Many of you know my story, or at least parts of it.  What you may not know is the integral part so many have played.

My "quilt" is made up of the primary colors; reds, yellows and blues of childhood friends; playgrounds, laughter and the taste of Cheerwine and chocolate ice cream in the summer. We played outside until dark and we rode our bikes all over town without fear.

There are the secondary colors of purples, oranges and greens, those college friends who were willing to pour into my life, no matter how many years it had been. 


There are the deeply saturated colors of woven pieces of those who stayed by my side, when others left.  These are the intricate brocades of those who've prayed with me or for me during my darkest days; the colors of hopelessness, despair, loneliness and failure. Indigo, Violet, Burgundy, Black...

There are the embroidered trimmings of humor, faith, family and love that miraculously hold it all together.

Then there are the unique, hand wrought woven intricacies of my children; who even when parts of the quilt were worn or fraying...had to still feel it's warmth.

My "quilt" is not finished.  It is still a work in progress as am I.  As God continues to repair and construct the parts of me that still cry out "why?" He sits at the quilting frame and lovingly reminds me of the story of redemption my quilt tells. It has never worn through.  It has never become a relic.  It remains a constant embodiment of what is still to be.

Tonight, I am grateful beyond measure for those who have all allowed themselves to be sewn into my life. They have often been called upon for everything from prayer to electric bills to gas for a borrowed car.  Even, those pieces shine like new fabric, though they feel as comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans.  There are those who have chosen not to be part of this quilt and like so many lessons, there are always scraps left on the cutting room floor; not everyone can be part of a masterpiece.