A friend asked me to repurpose her son's well loved twin duvet covers into one quilt. She brought along a few hanks of complimentary fabrics and a picture she got off the internet.
When I began to cut apart the covers and slice the fabrics into strips, I realized that some of them were low thread count. That is
not bad, it just means raveling is an issue. She had mentioned that her son is very fond of the fish print and wanted it to be prominent. I knew that if I cut the strips as narrow as the ones in the photo, not only would they shred like spaghetti squash, the fish would get filleted in the process. Hence the decision to enlarge the blocks. Fewer seams. Intact trout.
I enjoyed the feel of the cotton, which was soft from years of being used. It was a throwback to how
quilting began. Women in the 1800's crafted their Carolina Lilies and Dresden Plates from pieces of clothes that had already paid their due and were being invited to become part of something special.
After cutting for an hour I wondered if this was alright with my friend. Was she expecting it to be precisely like the photo? I was anxious. Besides, the description mistakenly said "Log Cabin" and the pattern portrayed is known as Rail Fence. There were several
possibilities for her to be disappointed.
I messaged her. Without going into all the explanations about severed sockeye and stringy edges, I asked if it was ok to make a size change.
In the few hours while she was living her life, not on her smart phone, I worried. Would I need to take apart the blocks I had already sewn? Would she be unhappy?
Then it came.
"I trust your artistic sense. I
am sure it will be beautiful."
Just like that. She trusted me. I continued working, finishing the seams with a zig zag to tame the threads. As it turned out the first letter of her son's name emerged in the center from similar stripes. Cool.
I thought of how many people hand a list of expectations for marriage over to God.
Gentle. Romantic. Good father. Interesting conversationalist. Funny. Beautiful. Well
educated.
Then when He offers us back a handmade spouse we grumble.
Not what I was expecting. Too boring. Jokes are stale. Works too hard. Doesn't work hard enough.
I wonder what would happen if we believed He knew more about the process than we do. He has after all made more people than I have quilts, and that is saying something. But we can be cocky enough to review His purposes as
if we were the resident expert. The thought occurred to me that perhaps God is zigzagging us on the inside, to keep us from unravelling.
Maybe I will try what my friend said. Perhaps He has His reasons for placing me in this marriage.
"I trust you. I am sure it will be beautiful."
Despite the fact that John and I are both worn around the edges, we are invited to be part of something
special.
