Patchwork Words
“How could I have said that?”
Have you ever beat yourself over the head after words flew from your mouth? Sometimes the agonizing struggle is more than the deed warranted. Or perhaps that is really fear of the possible consequences.
A writer’s prompt challenged us to look at life in patchwork and write about it. I don’t sew, but it was interesting to try this. At the time, I had recently experienced a scenario like the above.
It seems that sometimes our mistakes look like a patchwork flag flying in the wind for all to see. We feel exposed. It is of our own making and that makes it worse. We continue to replay the situation in our heads over and over.
Of course, it gets worse with every mental repeat.
Colors of Patchwork
Orange and yellow represent the words spoken in the heat of the moment. We sure do wish those words could be recalled. In the fading to pink, the embarrassment is not so acute.
A light shade of green means some time has passed. Maybe we can get past it. Yet, the dark green may bring on despair and some depression. Or even the blues.
“Oh God! Help!”
Covering Patchwork
A corner of white flaps in the banner. Just a small patch.
“Yes, Child. I was waiting for the sound of your voice. It’s time to tell Me about it. I’m the only one who can do anything about it. Will you risk trusting Me?”
“Oh, Jesus! I am sorry that I thought of You last. Calling on You should have been my first thought. I don’t deserve that You should cover my sin.”
“Covering your sin is what I do. It doesn’t matter to Me if I am your last call. You arrived at My feet. Now I lift you to My chest where My heart dwells. Rest your head, Child. I am covering you.”
Resting on the chest of Jesus is the only place to find rest for our weary souls.
Why is it so hard to get there?
“Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure” (Psalm 16:9 NIV).
Beautiful, Linda Jo. The threads you offer mend our souls.
How often “I” wield the needle in the aftermath of regret, rushing to baste my sorry self (or others) back together. I’m just trying to suture my own mess!
Thank heavens for the Quilt-Meister, who picks out the ill-sewn threads of my words and actions: In His tender alterations, all that is threadbare or torn becomes whole again, perhaps seamless?
Amen, Laurie, Amen!