Kathryn Elizabeth Jones

My grandmother Goldie, used to say, "Life is like (a) carpet. There is a constant weaving between yourself and God. He chooses the colors. Sometimes He gives us sorrow, or disappointments-and then to weave in the brighter colors-he gives us happiness and joy. And some day we will be able to know why the dark thread had to be."
In the late 1880's, grandmother Goldie, along with her family and neighbors, spent hours washing and dyeing rags for the families first carpet. These rags had to be cut in strips, sewn and wound into two-pound balls, and then taken to the weaver.
Later, when sewing machines were invented, the job of providing a colorful carpet for the living area became easier and faster, but the weaving still had to be done by someone who knew what she was doing.
'The weaver', was Goldies' next door neighbor, Mrs. Craner. Using her old loom, Mrts. Craner would weave the rug pattern back and forth and use different color that, in grandmother Goldies' opinion, made "the carpet beautiful."
The weaving of my grandmother's life was rarely easy. Besides carpet making-the threads of grandma's life also included-cow milking, cow herding, garden weeding, filling the straw ticks for all the bed, and kettle cooking. But among these 'working' threads, grandmother's life also included; family deaths, shortages of food, health problems and personal disappointments; poetry reading near the old wood burning stove, simple renderings of service to the neighbors, dating, marriage, and children.
The weaving of Goldie's life with God's came as it was meant to come-one stitch at a time-and the same is true for all of us today.
A young neighbor dealing with four months of bed rest, her veins hooked up to a cold, steel machine for the purpose of saving her un-born child's life, could hardly seem welll, as anything but a black thread, and hardly worth the sorrow and disappointment it creates.
Only later, months after the tragic loss of the child, and return of health from it's weakened mother, can we see the closer relationship between this husband and wife, and the emergence of other threads of color-colors of patience, and wisdom, and love for other faced with a similar situation.
And what about the family of five with their continuous financial difficulties? How can life be fair when someone down the street has just purchased a new car?
It hardly seems reasonable that a muscle illness could out-last the life of it's patient. But so it is.
Even as we speak, God is busily weaving blue waves, and golden leaves and yellow sunsets…into your life's carpet, and into mine. He is weaving read hot challenges, and purple thoughts, and even black night of never ending frost.
But the worst of these, all those black nights, are not for masking, or for covering up. They are for showing and sharing, and learning from, and growing beyond-to something better. Something beautiful. As beautiful, and as varied in shades of color, as my grandmother's homespun rug.

A Stitch of Black was first published in The Golden Age Monthly, May 1997

Kathryn Elizabeth Jones
	*Author of "A River of Stones"*
	*A Novel for Young Adults*
	*"A Stitch of Black"*
	My grandmother Goldie, used to say, "Life is like (a) carpet. There is a constant weaving between yourself and God. He chooses the colors. Sometimes He gives us sorrow, or disappointments-and then to weave in the brighter colors-he gives us happiness and joy. And some day we will be able to know why the dark thread had to be." In the late 1880's, grandmother Goldie, along with her family and neighbors, spent hours washing and dyeing rags for the families first carpet. These rags had to be cut in strips, sewn and wound into two-pound balls, and then taken to the weaver. Later, when sewing machines were invented, the job of providing a colorful carpet for the living area became easier and faster, but the weaving still had to be done by someone who knew what she was doing. 'The weaver', was Goldies' next door neighbor, Mrs. Craner. Using her old loom, Mrts. Craner would weave the rug pattern back and forth and use different color that, in grandmother Goldies' opinion, made "the carpet beautiful." The weaving of my grandmother's life was rarely easy. Besides carpet making-the threads of grandma's life also included-cow milking, cow herding, garden weeding, filling the straw ticks for all the bed, and kettle cooking. But among these 'working' threads, grandmother's life also included; family deaths, shortages of food, health problems and personal disappointments; poetry reading near the old wood burning stove, simple renderings of service to the neighbors, dating, marriage, and children. The weaving of Goldie's life with God's came as it was meant to come-one stitch at a time-and the same is true for all of us today. A young neighbor dealing with four months of bed rest, her veins hooked up to a cold, steel machine for the purpose of saving her un-born child's life, could hardly seem welll, as anything but a black thread, and hardly worth the sorrow and disappointment it creates. Only later, months after the tragic loss of the child, and return of health from it's weakened mother, can we see the closer relationship between this husband and wife, and the emergence of other threads of color-colors of patience, and wisdom, and love for other faced with a similar situation. And what about the family of five with their continuous financial difficulties? How can life be fair when someone down the street has just purchased a new car? It hardly seems reasonable that a muscle illness could out-last the life of it's patient. But so it is. Even as we speak, God is busily weaving blue waves, and golden leaves and yellow sunsets…into your life's carpet, and into mine. He is weaving read hot challenges, and purple thoughts, and even black night of never ending frost. But the worst of these, all those black nights, are not for masking, or for covering up. They are for showing and sharing, and learning from, and growing beyond-to something better. Something beautiful. As beautiful, and as varied in shades of color, as my grandmother's homespun rug. A Stitch of Black was first published in The Golden Age Monthly, May 1997