Prayer is the Stitches

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 Jessica emptied the bag of quilting scraps on the table and  slouched down in front of it. Rain was drizzling down the window and she felt like she had to do something to get out of the blue mood she was in. 

She shuffled the pieces recklessly and some fell on the floor. "What's the point of praying," she whined, "I've prayed and prayed that Michael would stop drinking and be a decent husband but nothing ever changes." 

Her mother, who was visiting for the day, pulled up a chair beside her. She picked up some coordinating pieces and laid them aside. 

“What quilt are you planning to make this time?”
Jessica noted that she hadn't responded to her comment, but wasn't really surprized. She knew that her mother took her own good time about answering off-the-cuff remarks, and that certainly didn't mean that she wasn't thinking about them.

“ Oh i don't know, yet. I have various ideas. One is of a picture quilt. I saw one on display in Chicago that really got me inspired. It was of a curved white bridge in the park.”

Jessica got up and brought her mother a scrapbook. It was gradually filling with photographs. Some were of projects she had done, and others of quilts and other creations she had admired. The book was similar to a Pinterest Board but much more hands-on and each page was attractively decorated.

“It will take you a long, long time to get it done,” Diane observed as she took note of all the tiny pieces that made up the Bridge Quilt.

Jessica nodded. “I know. And I might chose something different. But it's not that I have anything better to do. For some weird reason Michael doesn't want me to work outside of the home. (Controlling, that's what he is.) We've been married for seven years already, and there still isn't a baby on the way.”

Jessica looked out of the corner of her eye to see if the older woman was going to preach to her about thankfulness or some other sermon she didn't want to hear, but she didn't.

“Knowing your carefulness for detail, I'm sure it will be lovely.” 

“Will you like a cup of tea?”

“ That would be refreshing. I don't know why we Henderson ladies are so determined to take on projects that take months if not years to finish,” she said with a little laugh.

Jessica nodded. She went to the kitchen to fill the kettle with fresh water and plugged it in, but when she returned, she remained standing in the doorway. Why wasn't her mother addressing her remark about Michael?

“I've quilted for years, also, as you well know.” her mother continued.

Jessica nodded. “That's how I learned to love it. I still remember the first little doll blanket you patiently taught me to make. I probably still have it around here somewhere.”

Diane smiled. “Fraid not, cuz I do.My sewing projects have taught me a lot about God, “ she continued. “You don't see a pile of meaningless cloth scraps on the table. You have this vision in your mind's eye and you will pick and choose until you find exactly the colors you want. Chances are you will sort through your other bags of scraps and buy new, until you have exactly the right colors. Or maybe that exact one comes only with precut fabric.”

“It does, come to think of it. But what does this conversation  have to do with Michael?” 

“God has a plan for his life also. We can't see how He's working with Michael but every prayer is like a stitch helping to put it together.”

“I can't see anything changing.”

Diane looked sad. “Michael's 'quilt' may never get finished the way we want it to be, but God is working on it, and our prayers are the stitches.” Her hands dropped idly to her lap as she looked directly at the younger woman. “It says somewhere in the Bible that we should make straight paths for our feet. Not for someone else's feet. God can make a beautiful quilt out of our lives if we let Him. And we can help Him with other peoples quilts also, but mostly by praying and trusting.”

Jessica went into the kitchen to make the tea, then pushed the pile of material fragments aside to serve it.

While she was doing that, her mother picked up the scrapbook and leafed through it once again. “I like this quilt. What is it called?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I'd call it Travelling to Glory. See how this black strip winds round and round and the pieces are brighter in the middle?”

Jessica nodded.

“Our lives may look like a meaningless pile of scraps but the Master Quilter knows what He is is doing. We need to let Him pick and chose the colors. So that we also can make our way to Glory.”

“But what about Michael?”

“If he sees your life developing beautifully, it will be a drawing to Him. Work on your own quilt, daughter.”

Jessica nodded. “Here's your tea.”