There are spaces for three full sized quilts to hang in my home, such that you can see them in their entirety. These rotate with the whim of people who enjoy choosing. This weekend the one with snow scenes is coming down, in deference to something less frosty. 

Quilts on our bed also have a chance to stretch out, although there is the issue of which is on top and therefore visible. They tussle about hierarchy when they think I am not eavesdropping. But I am. 

The quilts on the racks, and those folded on the couches are less prominent, for which I feel a twang of guilt. They are lovely too. The one of Starry Night fabric deserves a gallery nook with direct lighting. But that is unlikely to happen. Even the stained glass quilt is longer than the wall allows and suffers the indignity of being crumpled at the bottom. And the accompanying dust. 

There are a few smaller ones, including miniatures with a hundred pieces squished into a square foot. They get to show off to their heart's content, although it is admittedly in the bathroom and kitchen. 

Something is lost when you can only see a corner of a piece of art. There is a children's book that does just that, giving kids a chance to zero in on a few inches of a Rembrandt, or a Picasso. It's like a teaser. Then they turn the page and can view the whole canvas. Which is glorious. 

God has a pattern in mind for our lives. Yet the scope of it reaches wider than a day or even a decade. We are wont to focus in on smaller fragments of the whole picture, giving too much weight to an event that will lose its impact when we stand farther back. Or wait half a century. 

Recently a friend admitted that he has been stuck in one place for ten years. He is ready to find a new perspective. Looking at photos of myself in my childhood, or as a young wife is a stark reminder that the matters that can seem all encompassing are sometimes just a teaser. 

It is only when I turn the pages of two or three score years that I see the whole canvas. And it is glorious.