The following is a story God gave to me while I was having quiet time a few days ago:
I study the Weaver as he makes his tapestry, his hands strong and steady. He is sure and confident, never pausing, never second guessing himself. I watch, memorized as he falls into rhythm. It’s always the same, but he weaves in such a way that it always seems new.
The process looks chaotic to the onlookers, especially me. Threads lie everywhere and it doesn’t look like he’s making a picture at all.
“How can anything beautiful come from this?” I wonder. I approach the Weaver, a bit too boldly at times and tug on his sleeve as he works. “This, this looks like a mess. All these strings everywhere. All these colors. I can’t see the pattern. I’m not sure you are going in the right direction.”
He should be annoyed with me and my incessant questions. But the Weaver keeps working, never taking a break, never losing rhythm. Gently he says, “Do you ask the weaver, ‘what are you making’? Don’t you see the walls of my shop? The tapestries I have made before this? The threads I have stitched in the past?”
I look at the four walls around me, covered in the finest tapestries I have ever seen. Each one is created using the finest silk, every stitch telling a story. There is not a single frayed edge, not a single unfinished piece, not a single stitch out of place. The colors are rich and deep. I run my fingers along the pictures and can almost feel the coolness of the water, the texture of the mountains. I can almost smell the flowers, feel a refreshing breeze. And though I know the stars are simply white thread on a dark blue background, they appear to sparkle and twinkle before my very eyes.
I am amazed at the Weaver’s skill. And the more I look at his work, the more amazed I become that he would ever take the time to create a piece just for me. And after looking at his work I know that I certainly could never afford such an expensive piece.
I approach the Weaver, less boldly this time and say, “Yes, Weaver, I see your work on the walls. These tapestries, I’ve never seen anything like them. Their beauty is beyond compare. None can match your skill.”
“What about the tapestry I am making for you?” He asks.
“Well, Weaver, I thought that maybe just this once, you might have made a few mistakes. After all, it does look a bit messy as you work. And I certainly do not deserve one of these beautiful pieces. After all, I could work a thousand life times and never have enough money to pay for one. I am just a plain girl of little importance, and you are so busy.”
“You are right, this tapestry is very expensive,” he says. “But the price has already been paid. It cost me everything, more than you could ever imagine. But I bought it for you. All you have to do is ask for it.”
“Yes, Weaver!” I say. “I want one of your beautiful tapestries!”
“Then watch me as I work. Watch how much care I take. See, like the others, I am taking my time, careful to not make a mistake. Watch as I make this beautiful piece just for you.”
I am so excited to receive this gift from him, this tapestry. I watch for a while, enthralled. But soon I become confused again, because it’s difficult to see the exact picture he is making.
“Here,” I say. “I’m not sure you are getting the colors right. And this pattern, I’m not sure it quite suits me.” I try taking the needle out of this Master Weaver’s hand. In the process the thread becomes a tangled mess. I’m sure it’s unusable now. I expect him to yell at me. I’ve ruined his work. But instead he looks at me and says, “I still love you, you know that right?”
He picks up the needle and begins working with my snarled string. I watch in amazement. In his hands this tangled thread becomes usable again. He weaves it in and out of the fabric. Instead of ruining the picture, the tangled pieces add more depth to the piece. It’s incredible what this Weaver’s hands can do!
Next he chooses some threads that are quite ordinary. Dull, really. I’m not satisfied with the colors—I don’t want him to use them. In fact I’m quite sure he won’t be able to make them work in the picture. But again I watch as he takes these ordinary colors, again I watch as they transform in his hands. In the care of the Weaver, these colors are not so ordinary after all.
“Wait and see,” He says. “When the tapestry is finished these threads that you think are ordinary will become some of the most beautiful in the entire picture.”
It’s amazing what this Weaver’s hands can do.
Then he pulls out a box of thread that seems thin, fragile, weak. “Oh no,” I say. “Don’t put that in there. It’s useless. Good for nothing at all. It will break.”
But his hands, so big and strong themselves, take this fragile, weak thread and somehow give it strength.
“Wait and see,” He says. “These weak threads will shine in this picture. When people view this tapestry they will say, ‘How can this be? We know this thread. We know how weak it is. And here now, it’s holding this picture together. This Master Weaver must be even more magnificent than we thought!”
I watch as he displays his skill again and again. His fingers move swiftly and surely as he adds more threads to the piece.
I walk into another room in the shop, because standing there, watching him, feels like work. It’s awfully quiet in this other room. “Excuse me,” I shout. “I haven’t heard you for awhile. Have you given up working on my tapestry?”
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” He replies. “I am still in the weaving room. All you have to do is come near. You will hear my voice and see my weaving much better that way.”
I walk back into the room, timidly because I am expecting to be scolded. But he welcomes me back with a warm smile instead. His smile is no ordinary smile. It outshines everything else in the room, even his most beautiful tapestries. It reaches down into the very deepest parts of me and makes me want to come closer. So I do.
The weaver shows me some of the new threads he has added. “Oh Weaver!” I say. “I don’t like these threads! They are ugly. They are hard and stiff and it’s even painful to look at them. Certainly they aren’t needed in this picture.”
“I know, I know” Says the Weaver. “They were painful for me to sew. But look at what they have done for the fabric. See how strong they have made it? And look, see how these threads make all of the others seem even more beautiful? Remember, these threads passed through my hands like all the others. I was very careful when I placed them. See how the picture is protected, even though the threads are rough? It’s because I took extra care when I weaved these threads.”
To me the tapestry still looks like a mess. But I stay with the Weaver a long time. I watch him work. Sometimes I’m so close I can see him make every stitch. He lets me choose a lot of the strings, although I’m not very good at it. But somehow he blends them in to this master work.
Sometimes I wander into other rooms again, expecting to find something new and more exciting than watching the weaver weave. But all of the other rooms quickly get old, and I find myself returning to the weaving room with my head down, only to be welcomed by the Weaver’s smile. I can’t comprehend this.
Sometimes I grab the needle and tangle the string again, only to watch him transform the tangled thread each time. He is so patient, this Weaver.
I stay with the Weaver for a very long time, still puzzling at this mess he seems to be creating.
And then, one day, he finishes my tapestry.
And he flips it over. And I am amazed. It turns out that all of this time I was staring at the wrong side.
The knots, the tangled mess of string, that’s all I could see from where I was standing before. But now, standing here at this angle, it’s not a mess at all.
This tapestry is nothing like I’ve ever seen. It’s completely unexpected, completely new, unlike any other in the entire gallery. And yet, when I look closer, it’s so familiar as well. I recognize every stitch, every line. But seeing them all together, all at once, changes the piece completely. The colors that I didn’t think would match, the threads that I thought had no place here, all of it has combined to form a masterpiece. I saw the knots, but my Weaver, he saw the completed picture. The ordinary materials have become beautiful in his hands, and the Weaver has been faithful to complete the tapestry, even through my wanderings and complaints.
“Look and see,” the Weaver says. “I have worked everything together for good.”
And he is right. It is good. The most beautiful tapestry in the entire gallery. The colors are radiant, the pattern extraordinary, the picture like nothing I have ever seen before. Only my Weaver could accomplish such a task.
I stare at my tapestry for a very long time, amazed at what he has done with it. Amazed that he would create it for me.
“Thank you, thank you,” is all I manage to say with tears in my eyes.
But the Weaver just smiles that smile of his and puts his arm around my shoulders. And together we leave the shop, ready to begin the next adventure.
