fabric of life | He's Taken Leave

It was embarrassing. To me, anyway.

I don’t suppose anyone else noticed it. Even if they had, they wouldn’t have mentioned it.

The pastor was talking. Something about things the disciples misunderstood about Jesus.

I think that’s what it was. I was paying attention. I was.

But, looking down as he spoke, I noticed them. The threads. The ones hanging from the hem on the right sleeve of my shirt. It wasn’t just one or two, either.

The whole edge of the sleeve was frayed, with white strings dangling like the fringe around the shade of grandma’s old table lamp.

I don’t remember what the pastor said now. I do remember looking quickly from my right arm to the left, only to find more frayed edges.

It is one of my favorite short-sleeved shirts, but I will never be seen in it again. Years of wear, of putting on and taking off, of raising my hands in joyful triumph and of shaking my fists in angry frustration, have taken their toll on the woven cloth and left it weak and fragile.

It has lost its integrity.

No longer do the crisscrossed threads, woven over and under, keep their place. No longer is there a sharp crease at the edge of the sleeve, a clear boundary between fabric and skin.

It has lost its integrity.

I stealthily ran my finger around the circumference of each sleeve, to try and hide the errant threads. Pulling the sleeves tight against my biceps, I hoped no one would notice.

They may have. Or not. It doesn’t matter.

The Lovely Lady will remove the buttons, tossing them into a jar—why, I’m not sure— and the once-favored garment will find itself in the trash bin, come trash pickup day.

Well? I can’t very well go around in a shirt with no integrity, now can I?

When last I wrote, it was scars. Today, a lack of integrity. Both hidden. Both needing to be exposed to the light of day.

They are not the same—scars and lost integrity. Somehow though, we punish folks for both, blaming the injured as much as we do the dishonest.

But, I want to make this clear—crystal clear: Grace suffices for both.

Grace heals our scars, restoring our damaged spirits and renewing our joy.

Grace makes new the fabric of our broken lives, restoring integrity and revitalizing our resolve.

Because of grace, we can journey on. In His redemption, we are made new, neither wounded nor dishonorable.

His offer is for a garment with integrity and without stain. Ours—the price paid completely by our Redeemer. (Revelation 3:18)

No more embarrassment.

No more being tossed aside.

He doesn’t cut off the buttons and throw away the worn out fabric.

He doesn't cut off the buttons and throw away the worn out fabric. Share on X

Grace makes new.

Integrity.

Again.

In great matters, men show themselves as they wish to be seen; in small matters, as they are.
(Gamaliel Bradford ~ American biographer ~ 1863-1932)

May integrity and honesty protect me,
for I put my hope in you.
(Psalm 25:21 ~ NLT ~ Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.)

My young friend has seen more of life in his twenty-six years than many of us do in all of our allotted time on this spinning sphere.

I’m confident there is nothing I have to teach him. Empty words are not what he needs today. I don’t intend to offer any.

We talked about the troubles in this world that waylay us on our journey. I had to work hard to avoid the trite words we who follow Christ keep ready to offer for such occasions.

Count it all joy when you encounter trials… (James 1:2)

My grace is sufficient for you… (2 Corinthians 12:9)

In the world you will have tribulations… (John 16:33)

These words—and many more—are perfectly true. Really. They are. But, that doesn’t mean we need to say them every time we speak with folks who are experiencing trouble.

Well-meant words can become explosive devices when dropped from the great height of wisdom into the valley of loss and sadness. Where ointment and salve are needed, we offer astringents and solvents.

As my young friend and I spoke, it seemed to me he still needed soft words that soothed the hurt.

I’m better at cauterizing than soothing.

Today though, I’m feeling the exhaustion that comes from personal loss and sadness myself. A kindred spirit, you might say. I speak briefly of the person I think I would be, if not for the sad times that have driven me to cower under the shadow of His wings.

Arrogant and self-assured, is who I am when my own strength is sufficient to carry me through.

Our loving Father uses those times of loss to draw us closer, but also to shape us into the followers He needs us to be.

The unhappy events that come throughout life are folded in with the joyous ones—eventually. All of them we have lived are a part of who we are—the sadness blending with jubilation—the horror mixing into the delight.

The warp and weft of life.

I heard the phrase the other day, and a picture formed in my mind instantly. The patient weaver stood, row after row of drab colored thread laid out and running straight ahead on the loom. The warp is in front of him already.

Beside him lay spindles of brightly colored thread, along with more of the same drab twisted material. From those spindles, he will choose what goes into the weft, the cross-weave. His choice will make a dramatic difference.

The exact color and pattern of the finished material are up to the weaver. If he picks up the brightly dyed spindle, the material will come alive with a visible change. Although the beauty might be marred by weakened thread, the dye having caused a reaction with the fibers, the resulting cloth will be more pleasing to the eye.

More of the same neutral color will make a utilitarian piece of material, strong and useful. Possibly, even a complementary neutral hue will lend interest, but not detract from the strength.

The choice is the weaver’s.

Side by side—and sometimes cross-ways—the different threads of life change the character of the material. The good lies alongside the bad, the joyous crisscrossing with the sorrowful. As the pattern is revealed, its beauty is also.

The Weaver plans to finish what He started. (Philippians 1:6)

How would He make a garment which was not of good quality? He knows the plan He has for each of us and it will be for our ultimate good. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Even if we don’t like the color He is weaving with right now—even if the fibers are rough and coarse—His strong and able hands assure the beauty and strength of the completed fabric.

I will admit it. The fibers are not to my liking right now.

Today, I’m not even sure I like the pattern I see emerging all that much.

The Weaver isn’t finished yet.

Sometimes, we simply trust and wait.

The warp and weft are still coming together.

The pattern is still emerging from His loom.

I’ll wait.

For Him, I’ll wait.

The pattern is still emerging from His loom. I'll wait. For Him, I'll wait. Share on X

Man is fond of counting his troubles, but he does not count his joys. If he counted them up as he ought to, he would see that every lot has enough happiness provided for it.
(Fyodor Dostoyevsky ~ Russian novelist ~ 1821-1881)

For the moth will eat them up like a garment;
the worm will devour them like wool.
But my righteousness will last forever,
my salvation through all generations.
(Isaiah 51:8 ~ NIV)