the fabric of us.

i spent time this past weekend doing some mending on a treasured garment. + boy, did Papa poke into my gooey spots + show me some things about some things.

i was up at the cabin this past weekend— an unsolicited, last-minute visit gifted to me by the owners who are beloved family friends that go back to my first decade on the planet.

if memory serves me correctly, the wife was serving in leadership at the Baptist church summer camp evening fireside moment of worship when i publicly declared my faith in Jesus at the age of 7 years old.

i’m gonna tell y’all about that in the book.

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i’ve been going to the cabin now for 4, 4 1/2 years. i’ve never gone to party— well. except for Lola’s 16th birthday. but that wasn’t the same kinda party that most 40-somethings are doing when they go away for the weekend to a cabin.

i miss feeling connected to people. i miss meeting people who practice self-control + are actually able to connect.

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‘seems the cabin may be undergoing some changes along with all of the rest of Life. i have sensed now for quite some time that there is a shift in the cosmos + in the social stratospheres— A Revelation of Heart.

the wicked + corrupt are being exposed— their houses of cards of exploitation are crumbling into the fire of their own making.

likewise— the kind + patient + long-suffering who have been faithful + have worked hard in this Life to avoid wickedness + corruption are standing stronger, taller, more firmly in their Truths.

the Fire has a way of bringing the True substance of its fodder to the surface.

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this garment is one of my favorite bikini cover-ups— long + flowy + sexy. i appreciate sensuality + expressing my femininity more than ever— as the convolution of human identity is under full attack.

i point no fingers. i have no judgments against others.

i am simply trying to deal with my own litany of temptations + self-destructive thoughts, habits, + behaviors.

but in the chasing down of my True self to reveal my best self, ‘seems i tend to ruffle some feathers in my process.

i be the Art + the Art be me.

outside approval not necessary.

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the garment is made of delicate fabric— as to give maximum airiness + movement. but the fragility of the fibers makes for easy tearing.

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i ordered a little sewing kit + some fat quarters of happy fabric, not knowing if the repairs would require patching. packing away the caftan + well-equipped patch kit for my weekend-away— i knew there may be more to the to-do than just merely fixing a piece of clothing i enjoy.

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sitting on the riverbank, cloudy skies overhead, the sunshine trying to peek through every once in a while, like a child who can’t wait for what comes next— i set to work on mending the tears in the ultra-fine fabric, so as to attempt to salvage the garment from further destruction.

+ y’all.

it’s like the garment transformed into a physical symbol of.. this is hard to be vulnerable about, but.. my family. my inner. my core. my nuclear humans that are the main characters of my growing-up, living-with, and knowing slash seeing the very best + the very worst of me.

losing Dad 2 1/2 years ago changed every aspect of my Living.

for me— + for my Mom. for the beans. + i imagine for my Brother, too.

but there have been many tears in the fabric of our family for many, many years. some of them were caused by my own failures + sinful nature. some of the rips were created by others. some of them were Dad’s, + because he is no longer here, someone else either has to mend his holes, or we all have to Live with the torn fabric as it is.

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i want to scream out: “i need you + i Love you + i don’t want to lose another part of me before death!”

+ so i tenderly examine the fragile fabric for holes, rips, even loose seams that may give way to tears in the future— as to begin stitching up the weaknesses i find.

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my mending isn’t the prettiest. i’m not as skilled in the Art of textiles as others. but what became evident to me as i worked was not whether the mending looked perfect— but rather that i was mending the tears at all.

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i think it’s important to note here that tear as in rip is spelled the same as tear as in cry. when we cry— we are leaking from the rips in our Hopes + Dreams. or maybe our families.

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human existence is complicated. especially with modernity’s endless attacks on purity + Truth. therefore, where there is one human, things are complicated. where there are more than one, the complications exponentially compound.

i know very few people who are mentally + emotionally capable of the complexities of healthy, True human relationship.

technology +, what i call, “porn culture,” has all but completely destroyed in-person connectivity or even the desire for such. the screens give you your daily brain chemical stirs. violence on the screen. gossip on the screen. hatred on the screen. perversion on the screen. gluttony on the screen. deception on the screen. rich, powerful elites dressed in golden crowns selling salvation to the poor, tired, + weak by way of the lion’s den— on the screen.

just like the ancient roman forms of entertainment, created to keep the plebs distracted from their enslavement. // all roads lead to Rome, after all.

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but getting back to the delicate fabric— the little sewing kit— the peaceful, unencumbered-by-have-tos day spent on a private riverbank with just Jesus + me + some music. back to the tears that are only going to grow if i don’t do something about them. even if the something i do isn’t perfectly pretty.

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i reach into my heartspace + it swells with Love for the humans i call my family. for each— i deeply crave Goodness, Truth, + Beauty. this applies to the family i come from. this applies to the family that came from me. that the Ones i share the core of my existence with may Live lives full of health, prosperity, peace, kindness, goodness— the absolute best + none of the worst. that the Ones i call my own stretch further than they believe they are capable, to grab hold of Abundant Life + chase every single Promise of Papa down with relentless + expectant energy. that my family accepts the Truth that God is Love, God is Papa, + Papa Promises to give us exceedingly abundantly above what we can think or ask.

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if you are reading this + find yourself wanting more— it’s because

you were Made for more, too.

keep reading, sweet Friend.

the fabric is now mended— with brightly colored threads that show the complexity of the tears in my favorite bikini cover-up. this stitch work would not pass a 1950’s home-economic teacher’s inspection— but i Love the funky, whimsical, overt styling of the reinforced weaknesses.

the new seams say to me: “this was important enough to fix. look how strong these once-fragile places have now become.”

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i want the fabric of us to be the same way. the places we are torn + ripped by betrayal, confusion, uncontrollable circumstances, malice, jealousy, rage, selfishness— things that we just didn’t get right— let’s start mending the tears before they become even wider.

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perhaps if we work on healing our nuclear family dynamics instead of following the world’s trend of labeling everyone except for ourselves as a narcissist— perhaps then the needless wars would quiet down. the needless murders of babies would lessen. the blatant evil of the prevailing beast system would become less seductive. + the wounds within each of us would stop festering rot + disease.. + start healing up into new, strong, healthy scar tissue.

much like my garment mending— which does not blend in well with the original design + structure. but instead, speaks of a level of carefulness + attention that says: “worth saving. worth fighting for.”

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let us mend the tears in the fabric of us. you from your side. me from mine. + one day we’ll meet in the middle. with funky stitches + mismatched threads. but stronger— fortified— reinforced by the care that goes into healing.

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let’s make the world a better place— one stitch at a time.

love you. mean it. <3