Sob stories are often used to persuade people. Some are brief like a short story in Readers Digest, while others are epic sagas.
Epic doesn’t do justice to the sob story I told in 1972. The barracks I was housed in was a World War II structure that must have been built without any insulation. It was as drafty as a tent with the flap up, and the cold wind blowing off the snow covered mountain peaks was a frigid and unwelcome guest—It visited too often and stayed too long.
With chattering teeth and artic adjectives, I began to spin a tale to describe my sorrowful plight. My sob story had a clearly defined plot designed to convince Mom that I needed her to relinquish one of her beloved quilts.
To say that I wanted one of her quilts for the warmth it would provide, would be true; however, I also wanted one because it would have the loving touch of Mom’s hand on it. Every square of her quilts were carefully stitched together to produce a beautiful piece of art that was also a piece of Mom.
I was reminded of my sob story while I was reading the 139th Psalm this morning. Two words of the Psalm, “knitted” and “woven,” caught my attention and reminded me Mom.
For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Psalm 139:13-15
The quilts that Mom made were no accident. They were carefully designed and crafted out of many separate pieces of cloth that had been saved for the purpose of creating a tapestry of love; likewise, you are no accident.
God loves you, and He is intricately weaving you for a purpose. You may not understand how and why things happen, but God is at work in your life. This is the message of the Master Weaver:
Our lives are but fine weavings that God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned and fashioned in His care.
We may not always see just how the weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master’s hand and follow His design,
For He can view the pattern upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath and trust in Him to guide…
Sometimes a strand of sorrow is added to His plan,
And though it’s difficult for us, we still must understand
That it’s He who fills the shuttle, it’s He who knows what’s best,
So we must weave in patience and leave to Him the rest…
Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why —
The dark threads are as needed in the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.