Stitches of Faith

Eyes squinting, I count the stitches. Over one, two, three; up four, five. I glance once more at the pattern. The tiny black and white shapes blend before my eyes in a swirl of confusion. Despairingly, I glance back at the floss-riddled fabric in my hands. It doesn’t look anything like the pristine model in the picture. 

Maybe if I change this part and add a few more dark patches here it will even out. In hasty confidence, I forge ahead. However, my ingenious improvements only succeed in worsening the tangle of threads. In abject repentance, I painstakingly pick the prodigal stitches with my needle. Cut and pull, cut and pull.

I glance again at the pattern. The limp material in my lap doesn’t look anything like the model, but placing my trust in the Designer, I submissively follow the steps laid before me. Every so often I glance at the flawless photo of the Designer’s creativity with the faint hope that mine will turn out the same. 

Several hours later I gaze at the masterpiece before my eyes. What I thought was an oversight on the Designer’s part was really part of an intricate plan in the mind of an artist greater than myself. All I needed to do was have faith in the plan of the Designer.