(Over several decades I have sewn hundreds of patchwork baby blankets. Last week as I sewed another, I thought of a parable.)
I found you, Little Scrap. How long were you hiding in that messy bin at the thrift store? I have come to give you a new life and purpose.
Oh, thank you, Threadsmith. I have heard of you. But I wondered if you would ever come here. I mean, this is just one of so many places where rejected things come. The clothes, books, and furniture—they don’t stay here long. But my cousins and I wait, and wait. The bigger cousins are lifted out and taken somewhere. But the little ones like me—nobody buys us. Maybe it’s my crazy shape. I’m just good for nothing.
I don’t think so, Little Scrap. I know just where you belong.
Threadsmith! You paid so much more than I’m worth! Why did you do that?
Because you are valuable to Me. I wanted others to know how precious you are.
Oh,Threadsmith, is this your workshop? The machines, the cutting surface, the rainbow of threads, the drawers of fabrics—it is greater than I could have imagined!
Thank you. I enjoy creating, you know.
Ow! How can you do that to me? It’s so hot, this iron you’re pressing on me!
Trust me, Little Scrap, this is the first step. The heat will uncrumple your beauty and help me fit you into the bigger plan.
That’s better now, Threadsmith. I think I’ll just rest and cool off on your cutting board.
Hold still, Little Scrap.
No, no, no, what is that sharp thing? You’re hurting me, you’re cutting part of me off. Why are you doing that?
Oh, Little Scrap. I needed to trim away your raggedness. Parts of your “old” shape won’t fit into my greater plan for you. Look over at this pile of other scraps. They accepted the cutting away of what didn’t fit in My purposes. You’ll understand, soon.
Ouch, ouch, ouch! Now you are poking holes in my sides and joining me to cloths I never met. You know I’m not the social type.
My plan is that you live in community. Together you can do much more than you can alone. Keep trusting me as my needles stitch you to a pattern comprised of you and others.
Oh Theadsmith, there are dozens of us now, all joined. Ah, now there is a softness underneath me.
You cannot see it, Little Scrap, but there is a large piece of fabric at the very bottom. Then comes this cloud-soft batting, that you and those joined to you are now resting on. But we’re not done yet.
Ouch! Threadsmith, why are you poking big needles with streamers of yarn in us? Oh, it hurts when you pull.
Yes, I know the yarn is thick. I am using it to join what I call the fabric sandwich—the trimmed-to-fit “you” joined to others, the cloud, and the large piece of fabric. They cannot remain separated. The piercing is part of my plan. Didn’t you hear about my Son? Piercing was part of the plan for Him, too.
More poking? Hundreds of pokes around the edges of all-of-us-together?
Almost done, Little Scrap. Except I have renamed you. You are now Chosen Color, part of my wise plan.
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“A patchwork blanket?” said the receiver of the gift. “You sewed this for me? Look at all those colors and patterns! It’s beautiful. I love patchwork. It’s a reminder of how God loves us despite our raggedness. He lovingly trims away so that we fit into His great, beautiful plan. Every square is unique but fits into the whole. How fitting that this is a blanket. Every time I lay under it, I’ll remember how I’m covered by His love.”
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