The Wandering Threads

Mae stood in the void as she stared into the darkness. 

She waited. 

All she could do was wait. 

There was a faint howl the cool wind, and a faint chill on her skin, giving her goosebumps. But there was no other sound. The faint noise didn’t help her out.

So, she waited. 

Then she saw one. She saw a wandering thread. It was sunflower yellow, and it drifted lazily above her. It glowed faintly. She reached for it and grabbed the tail of it. She pulled to see how far it went. But within one pull, the thread ended. It was only four inches long. She sighed and cast the thread aside so that it floated behind her. 

She waited for another thread. It didn’t take long. 

Another thread came. It was sky blue. It was glowing as well. She grabbed it and pulled to see how far it went. She pulled and pulled. There were knots big and small in the thread. She pulled and pulled and pulled…the thread had no end. She let it go. It was much too long. It had too many knots.

There came another thread, an emerald one. Its shine was fainter than the first two. She grabbed it, pulled it, it was five feet long. It looked nice, yet something still seemed missing. Frustrated, Mae cast the thread aside with the others, which floated behind her, as if waiting to be of some use.

She sighed. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No inspiration.

Her brain was blank.

Her brain was dead.

She closed her eyes. Maybe she should quit. Maybe she should give up. She had no good threads. None of them led anywhere.

There came a sound of wind chimes. It was faint at first but grew louder and louder as it grew nearer and nearer. Then she felt an object, as light as a feather, land on her head.

She opened her eyes.

A small sheet of paper that glowed brighter than any of the threads combined had landed upon her head. She plucked it out of her hair. It was part of the Bible. It talked about the story of David and Goliath. Before she knew it, other pages fell from nowhere. She read them all. There were the stories of Moses, of Samuel, of Elijah, and of Elisha. All were men. All were people who had fallen from the glory of God. Yet God still used them for His glory.

What art could she make, what story could she tell, for His glory? She didn’t even know where to start.

“I need help,” Mae said. “What can I do? None of the threads will work.”

“Yes, they will,” a still small voice said. “Look again.”

She looked over the Bible pages again. A light bulb went off in her mind.

She turned around to the floating threads. Wait a second, she thought. The threads…they could be intertwined, tied together, weaved into a loom. She grabbed them all. She turned back around, and lo and behold there was a loom. She took the thread to the loom and got to work.

Suddenly, the threads started to weave into each other. Some weaved in clumsily, others naturally. Some she needed to cut. More threads of greens, blues, yellows, oranges, and reds came to her, as if eager to be a part of the tapestry that she was weaving.

As she worked on the tapestry, her surroundings changed. The blackness of the void began to evaporate and started to be washed away by the same vibrant colors of the tapestry. There were soon trees, a garden, a pond, a candy cottage on a green hilltop: all the things she had imagined, and more were coming to life!

Mae looked at the work. It was one-fourth of a tapestry. Not just any tapestry. A tapestry that told a story. It wasn’t finished, it wasn’t perfect, but it was beautiful. Its colors were so vibrant they shone. They had filled the former void with light, with color, and with peace. Peace knowing that she had an idea, and though it was an unfinished idea, it would become a completed tapestry with time and patience, and, most importantly, God’s guidance. She hoped that with time, she would create a tapestry that told a story that would glorify God.

Mae woke up. She saw the trees and the sky as she sat on her sofa on the back porch. She glanced at her notepad on her lap and the pen in her right hand. She looked around for the tapestry and frowned. It was only a dream. The tapestry wasn’t real. She sighed and looked at her blank notepad. 

A cool breeze flipped the pages on her notepad. Leaves blew off the trees. One of the sofa pillows that sat beside her tipped over onto the floor. She gasped. There, on a small loom, was the unfinished but beautiful tapestry, the same one her dream. She smiled as an idea blossomed. Thank you. She picked up her pen, flipped to a blank page in her notepad, and started writing.