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dedicated to my kid brother

Why are you here? Where have you come from? I don’t know you, or at least I don’t recognize your face. I didn’t plan to meet anyone. I didn’t think anything out of the ordinary was going to happen.

Two threads cross—lost in the twists and dives of tapestry. Perhaps your thread will run parallel to mine for a time, sharing my experiences, sorrows and hopes, or we might touch at a point, double around the other, and go off in separate and new directions. My course has changed because of you and depends on you to a certain extent.

Have you discovered your role in the tapestry? I know my color, but not much more. Weaving in and out, at times catching a hint of my role in the pattern; most times lost in the inexplicable crisscross of the tapestry’s back.

Sooner or later—perhaps when I least expect it—my tread will be cut. Yours as well. Then I will look back on the tapestry and my thread in it. “Ah!” I will say to the Artist, “Even those times when I twisted and snagged, resisting your guiding hand—even then you worked me into the greater whole.”

And then I will step back from inspecting my thread to look on the entire work in its joyous splendor. May I see your thread and mine both stitched into a picture that shows but a glimpse of the face of the Only Begotten.

 

Photo Credit: Joan Baxter

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