“We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning.”

— Henry Ward Beecher

One of my favorite ways to think about life is as a tapestry that we weave from the time we are born until the time we die.  If I close my eyes and remember times in my own past, I can imagine how they would look if they were woven into my tapestry.  I see the pale pastels of my baby years when the harsh colors of the world were softened by the cocoon of my mother’s love and protection.  I see the crisp, clean colors of my first conscious view of the sky and the sun and the grass and the trees.  There are the childhood years, with colors bathed in the glow of sunlight and the vibrant energy of youth that skipped and ran through endless, carefree days.  Here and there, a smudge of disappointment, a blot of harsh awareness, a torn thread of broken dreams would mar the landscape; but always new threads would be pulled into place to repair any sadness or sorrow or hurt.

As the years have gone by and the tapestry has grown, there are scenes of joy and scenes of loss, scenes of sorrow and scenes of growth, scenes of young love and of love aged by life to a robust ripeness.  Always, from the first thread to this very moment, a deep blue river winds from day to day through years and years, connecting it all with love.  In my darkest days, I could walk to the river and rest on its bank and hear its music as I dipped my fingertips into its power and let it wash away all the cares of my day.  And each time that tears would dim the colors, the river would capture the rays of the sun and conjure a rainbow of sunlight and tears that would beckon to me and call me on to new life.

My children have danced by the river I’ve woven, and now it is theirs who weave dandelion yellow in specks on the grass by the river of love.  Still I return as my tapestry grows, and I’m thankful that only my body is aging; for still I can weave the most beautiful colors that seem to grow brighter with each passing day.  What a blessing each scene is, and what a delight to take time to give thanks for the gift of a new day to weave memories and dreams in the fabric of life.