A peek at the pattern

King Solomon's Mines is on the bathroom floor along with half of the Sword of the Lord.

I glance at their sales cleaning up and smile at some book boasting of "The Christian Woman's" something or other.

Always room for improvement.

I sigh. It has been a good long day.

I was so excited to finally finish a book of fiction that was so highly recommended, only to be disappointed, only to realize that the made up saga wasn't half as gripping as the story on the lips of tonight's company, opening raw wounds and still wondering why.

Who needs fiction when real life, when real hearts are so broken and hurting, and spilling over in my living room anyway??

And my heart is remembering hurts and how I could relate, could retell a story so similar to their own that it made my husband's jaw drop open.

He would look, point, and finally told them, our guests, that I really did know.

And it was a sort of weaver's moment for me.

Where I get a teasing glimpse of the upper side of what the Lord has been weaving in and out of my life.

Just enough of the pattern to keep me satisfied seeing a lot of loose edging hanging out on the underside.

And I am shocked and relieved and almost dumbstruck at the realization that there is a lot of hurt that God's children are carrying around.

A lot of guilt and pain and misunderstandings that cause us to get better or bitter, or even blinded to what real love and truth and loyalty really is.

And we sip cider and yes we are having that a lot lately, and I am wondering if this whole meeting is being watched by angels. If God has orchestrated this just so that I am reminded that it is worth it to forgive and keep moving on, and hug more and grimace less.

And the husband keeps catching my eye as if he is wondering if this night is for him as well. For him to be reminded that there are others like me. That forgiving and growing and learning to trust don't come naturally to everyone.

And stomachs are full, and hearts are renewed and prayers are said by the doorway before we all part ways, and I love that prayer can knit together what came in unraveled good as new. It is wonderful like that. That bowed heads and humbled spirits can remember who is mightier than the sting of remembrance.

Do you ever have a moment when you see your life, what has happened, what you have learned start to piece together?

Tonight was that sort of night for me. And what's more wonderful is that tomorrow morning I can choose to see God's weaving hand at the shuttle and give thanks for a messy past.

Good night of soul rest to you,