So maybe some lives are like patchwork quilts, a mix of patterns and colours coming together to create something solid and warm and real. The pieces laid down one at a time, edges pinned and sewed into a whole.
Others are woven from myriad threads, so fine and slight as to be nearly imperceptible.
Which life am I making?
And wasn’t it Charles de Foucauld who said that our lives should be so closely united God that we cannot but proclaim His life through our actions and thoughts and words?
I turn again to Paul, to the letter I have been reading over all week long. The death of Jesus is reflected in the passing away of our outer nature, “so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies” (2 Cor 4:10). But does this come through in our living?
I ask myself this and am brought low.
Because the life I long for is a one-fabric life. Each thread, divinely given, waiting to be woven. Or a stack of patches needing to be bound together. The result either way is a single whole.
This is where I have been brought and my fingers find the edges of all these mismatched pieces; I worry them to fray.
How to unite all the parts so they reflect the one in whom we live and move and have our being.
So it stands like this, with no answer, though I know I want to envelop myself in a life that draws me closer to Him.