The threads were in place
the colors all chosen
as space and time, perfectly woven,
Stretched out across the void.
Creation sprang into being
God’s universe unveiled in a word
The tapestry stretched out in perfection
Unspeakable beauty - divine.
With the first act of rebellion,We ripped a jagged hole
Cain’s murder - another,
And so on.
Frays, tears, threads wrenched from the glorious patterns
And pain - freezing and burning pain -
Seeps in
Darkness stains the bright design
Hopelessness wells up as we stare at pockmarked glory.
Yet when hopelessness rises in the tears
And pain pokes through the holes
The master Weaver whispers,
“Look again.”
And pulls us up
Up
Up above the tapestry.
New sight reveals startling truth,
Gentle in its power:
The design, that desecrated art!
Seen from above, the frayed ends lend a softness
The darkness, washed and faded - a depth
The holes and mendings, a new pattern
The Weaver could have used metal thread
Indestructible material,
Bound us in place inside it
Keeping the original intact.
But no, he is more creative
More sovereign.
Some holes He keeps from happening
Some rips He renders void
And all that He lets happen
Creates the grander design.
We exist in millimeters of fabric
We can’t see the whole today
But glimpses of the glory
He reveals - when we draw near
Sometimes just another millimeter,
Sometimes more
But always, Himself, the Weaver
Meeting us where we are.
For he did not leave the fabric in disgust
At sign of the first hole
Nor indeed in its ravaged glory.
He wove Himself into the holes
His body ripped for us
And with His mending made us whole.
So while we live in riven cloth
We choose to trust the grand design
And with Golden thread given free,
We lend our feeble fingers to the task
Menders of the rips,
As part of the Greater Design.