Scraps

I dreamed I looked at the mess in the living room of my life.
There, in many pieced lay the fragments of my days.
Fragments unraveling with failure;
Fragments of disappointment and shame.
Some were held together, it seemed, by sheer fortitude,
but lacked purpose or reason.

One piece over there on the couch,
Another on the table.
A piece representing the acceptance of others lay crumpled on the floor.
My eyes searched for success, for some small resemblance of purpose.

I caught sight of a lacy fragment,
a bright spot!
something better than failure...
I reached for it with a trembling hand and picked it up.
It fell elusively from my grasp, and landed on the floor.
It too, was less than perfect...
It was wrinkled a bit and soiled with think of opinions.
ALAS!
The more I viewed the mess, the more despondency grew within.

But then appeared a steady Hand, who began to pick up the pieces.
one by one,
gently brushing them off and gathering them into one place...
within the palm of that Hand.
Then, with quick, steady strokes, the Hand sewed the pieces together,
with cords that could not be broken;
threads that never go bard;
Strands of love!

Then I noticed that the Hand was scarred...
permanently...with nail prints!
suddenly i sway, not a mess; not ugly, wrinkled scrap pieces,
but a beautiful quilt!

He had taken all the plain, the mundane, the failures, the meaningless...
and touched it.
He had grouped all my mistakes and shortcomings;
all my failures and little, soiled successes, into one beautiful masterpiece!

It came to me, that without the fragments,
without the mistakes, there would be no quilt...
no comforter to cover the coldness.

Now there is purpose to the scraps of life...
Reasons even,
For I realized there was apttern to the quilt...
Not of pain and dispair,
But of peace, joy, and hope,...
A perfect pattern of the Cross,
Though not yet complete in my life, gorgeous just the same!