I don’t particularly care for rag rugs, but I must admit that I like how colorful they are. Many years ago I read a story – I don’t remember where or when – about a rag rug. A young man, reflecting on his life, found himself in the home of an old woman who was weaving the rag rug of his life. The old woman pointed out the many different colors and textures of rags that made up his rug, reminding the young man of the many individuals who had shaped and influenced his life. As he asked about the different strands in the rug he came to see how so many different people had helped him to become the man he was.
I’ve been reflecting on the rag rug of my life. There’s this one vibrant strand that was present in my rug until four years ago – when it was cut short by my mother’s death. Certainly the rug has not been the same since. The rag that represented my mother added a richness and texture to my life that only my mother could add. She was woven deeply into the very fabric of my being for a very long time, profoundly shaping me into the woman I am today. For that I am truly thankful.
As I look at the rag rug of my life right now, I see several pretty dramatic but anticipated changes. I have left one congregation that I deeply love only to find that I am falling in love all over again with a different congregation. But, unlike my mother’s death where the strand simply ended, the rags that have been vividly present until recently have not disappeared. The people I have left behind continue to touch my life – they continue to add color and texture to the rag rug of my life in ways that make that rug rich, life-giving, and grace-filled. And the people I have begun to serve and love are strengthening and enriching my rag rug in ways I could never have imagined possible.
Most of us are so busy living within the weave of our rug that we rarely take the time to step back and see how the people in our lives have shaped and formed us into who we are today. Many of us are so caught up within the weaving that we don’t even realize that we are not alone. That one strand that is our life – the rag that runs from the beginning to the end of the rug – is inevitably surrounded by other rag strands, other lives. Hopefully many of those lives have been good influences; perhaps some have led us astray.
Beyond the rags in the rug, I wonder if we have missed the fact that the Master Weaver has her hands all over the rug of our lives – weaving some strands loosely together for a while before letting them go their separate ways and weaving other strands tightly together so that they are virtually inseparable in this lifetime. The Master Weaver cries with us when someone leaves the rug of our lives permanently. And the Master Weaver surprises us by bringing strands back into our rug exactly when we need them. The Master Weaver is always in control, even when we choose to invite people into our lives who may cause us more harm than good. Ultimately, the Master Weaver, who always sees the big picture of our lives, uses all of the rags – all of the people – to shape us into the beloved children of God we are today.
As I reflect on the rag rug of my life I give thanks to God for the many people who have been so deeply woven into my life – adding so much more than color. People who have added humor and curiosity and passion. People who have added love and joy and peace. People who have shown me Jesus, the Messiah. For all this and so much more I give thanks to God, the Master Weaver, whose hands are all over my life.
