Ponder The Pattern

I watch her weave the threads in and out, over and underneath. Nimble fingers crafting her masterpiece. She is lost in the art of creating. “Do you like it mama?”she asks. “It’s beautiful,” I reply.

Lyric has been working on a woven coaster for about an hour now. It takes a lot to slow this pixie down. Since the day she was born, Lyric hasn’t stopped moving. But for the time being, she is engrossed in stillness, contemplating her craft.

Her weaving makes me still for a moment and contemplate my own life. I am also weaving, day after day, night after night, there is a pattern emerging. The pattern of my life. Each moment is a thread woven into the fabric.

What is the pattern my life is weaving?

I read it in John Baillie’s book on prayer:

"Almighty God, in this quiet hour I seek communion with thee. From the fret and fever of the day's business, from the world's discordant noises, from the praise and blame of men, from the confused thoughts and vain imaginations of my own heart, I would now turn aside and seek the quietness of thy presence. All day long have I toiled and striven; but now in the stillness of heart and the clear light of thine eternity, I would ponder the pattern my life is weaving."
-A Diary of Private Prayer

My life is weaving a pattern little by little each day. Sometimes it’s the little threads that create the most impact. I sit down for a think and ponder the pattern.

Is it a pattern of fret? Running from one thing to the next, never settled in my spirit because of all that is left undone.

Is it a pattern of fear? Resisting the invitation to trust, knowing that He has it all in His hands.

Is it a pattern of unrest? Reaching for more, when I know He is asking for less.

What is the pattern my life is weaving?

Ephesians 2:10 celebrates that, “We are God’s masterpiece.” We are His creation. Our lives are evidence of the handiwork of our Creator. God is working out in our lives evidence of His goodness, His love, His compassion, His peace.

The word masterpiece in Greek is actually poiéma from which we get our word “poem”. We are His poem.

I married a poet. It was no secret when I met Tim he would woo me with his words and song. It took him about one minute to convince me that if we ever had a daughter, her name would be Lyric. 

We often remind Lyric that her name means “poem.” Her middle name means “noble.” Our prayer for her is that she would be a noble poem for her Creator.

Might we see our lives as poems, masterpieces of the Creator?

The poem is not finished; it is ongoing. We are joining with the Master Artisan to display His presence in our lives. Hence, the patterning. We are artisans, weaving the pattern, by the grace of God.

Great Master, teach us with Your skillful hand;
Let not the music that is in us die!
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let
Hidden and lost, Your form within us lie!
—Horatius Bonar

 

 

Momma to three pixies, Lyric, Brielle, and Zion, wife to a Viking-loving writer, daughter of the King. My blog reflects living the lyrics of the cross in the beauty of everyday. I hold a Masters in theology, but more importantly, I host several barn owls in the second acre. We are all about breathing deep here and soaking in the glory of life.