Before I even opened my eyes this morning, my first thought was a battle cry, “IT WILL NOT BEAT ME!!!!!”
Almost 24 years ago, I decided to take up quilting as a hobby. As I am prone to do, I bit off way more than I could chew by deciding one of my first projects would be a kaleidoscope quilt. For those who are unfamiliar, this quilt is made up of eight triangles joined in the center to form an octagon, then even more triangles are added to the octagon to form squares that are then joined together to make up the quilt. Triangles are VERY stretchy as they are cut on the bias of the fabric, and it is extremely difficult to get all of the angles to match properly. Essentially, I was quite the fool to take on this level of quilt as a newbie.
Another fault I possess is a very high level of impatience…or a low level of patience. Either way, I painted my bedroom a lovely shade of periwinkle to coordinate with the quilt I was sure I would quickly add to my decorating project.
In my younger days, I was, decidedly, a wee bit headstrong and a notorious perfectionist. Thus, after several weeks of trying I was infuriated with my inability to produce geometrically accurate octagons. I simply would not accept anything short of perfection, so I purchased a plain white bedspread and put this project in the dark recesses of my crafting closet.
When it was time to move to our next home, I drug out all of the projects in various stages of completion and sorted them into three piles; 1. Hate it and will never finish it, 2. Love it and will finish it, and 3. IT WILL NOT BEAT ME! There was one project in pile #3.
We lived in that next house for a few very tumultuous years. This was the season of my life when God saw fit to tear down my idol of the perfect family. My existence was in a whirling sea of chaos at that point, and that quilt never once saw the light of day. Yet when it came time to move, I once again packed it up and hauled it to the next craft closet. I would not be defeated!
In our next dwelling, things calmed a tiny bit, and I decided to try my hand at Satan’s quilt pattern another time. With the wounds of my recent trauma still fresh and tender to any kind of prodding, I quickly put it away. I had only just experienced having my imperfections exposed to a vast audience through the drama of my family struggles, and this quilt served as a very textile reminder of all that I could not do properly. Away it went, back into the box in the corner, where I chose to hide my inadequacy from no one but myself.
The next move came along, and the project made its way to Arkansas. After several years of being sequestered in the dark, I broke the seal and peered into the bits and pieces that had come to represent everything I could not accomplish. Each tiny triangle seemed to mock me. I closed the lid back up and replaced the seal, still unwilling to face my imperfections.
After a few years of further aging, and with it increased wisdom, we chose to relocate temporarily into a ministry home for international university students. During that time, I was constantly faced with new information and various cultural oddities. I was forced to examine my own world views and beliefs, questioning my understanding of social norms and learning to appreciate the differences in people and their interpretations of societal expectations. I began to understand that it is not only our victories that define us, but our defeats as well, and I decided I was ready to look at the kaleidoscope quilt with a new mindset. I no longer felt the need to produce a perfect example of quilting ability. Rather, it was merely necessary I finish the task at hand. I needed to see those pieces as one body, joined together to form a solid picture, not of perfection, but simply of completion. I could not let my own fear of imperfection defeat me.
Once again, I painted a room a lovely shade of periwinkle, and I opened up the box, spreading before me a vast array of triangles in varying shades of navy, purple, periwinkle and white. I began the arduous task of gingerly ironing the 20 year old fabric, tenderly lining up angles, and gently sewing tiny seams, mentally willing the fabric to ease into proper alignment. At last, I had the kaleidoscope in one large group, lying before me on the floor. Now, I had to decide; would I add wide borders to put this quilt on a bed, as quilts are intended to be used? NO! This quilt was too precious to be wadded up between someone’s sweaty feet or pushed off into a pile on the floor when nights are sultry and the air is still. I took the quilt, too small for a bed, added a binding and prepared to hang it on the wall above the bed, as a beautiful piece of art. And then, of course, we moved again.
The finished quilt went back into yet another box. It had become almost a comedy of errors, watching this project come to various stages of completion, yet never actually reaching it’s destiny. It was as though the sewing gods were at war with one another, and this poor little quilt was at the center of their battle.
Finally, as my husband and I reach this phase of life we call “empty nest,” I have been afforded the opportunity to proclaim one room of the house my craft kingdom! There was never a question in my mind as to the color that the walls would be painted or what would adorn the main wall. Of course, the kaleidoscope would reach the ultimate finality of its metamorphosis on a sea of pale periwinkle aptly named “Wishful Blue.”
And so it was, that I climbed the ladder yesterday to hang this testimony to my own lifelong lesson in learning to accept, embrace and appreciate my imperfections. With hammer and quilt in hand, I climbed each rung in triumph, feeling a sense of overwhelming pride and accomplishment. I was finally finished! Or was I?
As I reached the top, and leaned precariously over the top of the ladder, my slightly protruding belly pushed the hammer off the ladder. I watched helplessly as it bounced off the edge of my brand new sewing table, nicking the perfectly smooth surface. I was furious with myself. How could I be so stupid? I began to stomp my sock-clad feet down to the next rung and quickly realized I had grossly underestimated my own stupidity as I lost my footing and fell the remaining five feet to the ground, feeling the back of my head forcefully meet the table just before slamming to the ground.
I woke an unknown amount of time later to find my sweet little pup, Mister, frantically licking my face. Feeling the back of my head, and carefully testing my various appendages, I slowly sat up, pushing the ladder aside from where it laid atop me. I stood shakily, willing myself to walk toward the last place I remembered seeing my phone. Do I call 911? No, I’m able to walk and nothing is bleeding. I called my husband who took me to the ER, where we waited through CT scans and x-rays to determine that nothing was broken or bleeding internally. I was sent home with the diagnoses of sprained wrist, mild concussion and wounded pride.
After a drug-induced slumber, I awoke this morning to the aforementioned, internal battle cry, “It will NOT beat me!” I have come too far on this journey of self-love and acceptance to allow that quilt to stay out of view for one more minute. I had no choice. I simply HAD to display it on the wall, to prove nothing other than the fact that I could.
I tied the laces of my shoes, set up the ladder, and once again climbed to the top. I hammered in each tack slowly and methodically, even forcing myself to look down at the ground, reminding myself of why I was up there. As I slowly and ever-so carefully stepped down off the ladder, and backed up to gaze upon the quilt, I admit I shed a couple of tears. As I looked at my project that spanned two decades, seven moves and innumerable hours of self-loathing and doubt, I began to narrow my focus and every imperfection jumped out at me like tiny little poisonous darts aimed right at my soul. NO!!!! It will not beat me! I forced myself to widen my scope of vision and look at the piece as a whole, and suddenly, there I was, looking at my life, each piece gently stitched together to form a beautiful image. On their own, each tiny triangle seemed pointless, but together portraying a gorgeous symmetry of loveliness. Of course, there are mistakes. Some of the angles don’t quite meet. Sometimes I pulled at the fabric, fighting against it, stretching the bias, but I learned not to do that anymore. I learned to give it time and to be tender, just like I need to be with myself and with others.
We have that choice, though. We can narrow our focus and pick out the errors and flaws in ourselves and each other, or we can step back and see the beauty that each of us plays in the beauty of humanity. There are times that I still fight and try to force my will or beliefs onto others, overtly and internally judging and allowing my fear to defeat me. But I can choose to accept those challenges and look past it, continuing to grow, accepting my past, my imperfections, even being grateful for them. Every time I look up from a new project and see that quilt, I will remember; it did not beat me. I won, it is beautiful, and I love me for it! More than anything, I am thankful for a loving, compassionate Heavenly Father, who takes each little triangle of my life and gently stitches it together, helping me reach my destiny as a testimony to His glorious, majestic, merciful heart.
