This weekend I finished a quilt I have been working on for three years. It was not a continual effort, because it got upstaged by other projects. It is the kind of handwork that I like to take on a retreat where I will be sitting a lot. The top is pure silk, and gorgeous. I could not imagine defacing it with machine quilting so decided to invest the thirty hours it took to make tiny stitches in curving feathers. The back is soft, bright cotton velveteen, and feels lovely in my lap. So when I packed for a women's gathering in Maine I brought it out of seclusion.
I marked the lines before I left home, using one of those markers that disappears with water or enough time. At one point I carried the pen in my bag, but one day I accidentally used it to write a check. The check came back from the bank completely blank.
"John, this is strange. One check has nothing written on it," I asked when our bank statement arrived. Then the memory gelled. "Yikes! I think I used my quilting marker!"
He laughed. "I've heard you can go to jail for that." Fortunately it held its ground through the process of clearing before the signature drifted away and I escaped the penitentiary.
People who saw me sewing seemed concerned about the blaring blue lines defacing an otherwise pristine surface. They were hesitant to insult me but wanted to know why I had succumbed to graffiti.
"The lines disappear," I assured them. As chance would have it, the speaker Friday night used that very phrase in her talk. The goal of the retreat was to build community between different denominations, and she believes that when we come to know each other the lines that would separate us disappear.
The lines in quilting are not intended to delineate but rather to tell my fingers where to go. Without them I would make lopsided circles. But once I have found my way I can have the satisfaction of squirting the quilt with a hose, which I did. Now they are gone.
It can be helpful to start out marriage with a few lines. No interrupting. No name calling, No eye rolling. No criticism. Following those lines can steer you in a good direction and keep you from losing your way in a curving conversation.
But by the time your relationship has aged like a Vermont cheddar, the lines disappear. You have quilted kindness into your dialogues in a way that keeps the layers of love together.
All that is left behind is beauty and warmth.
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