The Tapestry

brown and blue concrete wall

Yeshua Cristo relaxed his shoulders. The work had been arduous, long, a bit tedious, challenging but not without joy. Tapestry work manages intense focus. Yeshua was born for it. He gave his all to every warp and weft of thread. His work finished, the tapestry hung in the local woolen shop waiting for someone to notice and buy it. Before the week passed, the tapestry sold at a high price.

Admiring his purchase and there for all to see, the new owner hung the tapestry in his home and began to invite his friends and neighbors to see it. As life goes, not all came because they were either too busy or disinterested or thought their friend a little bit odd. But for those who did come, the workmanship of the tapestry amazed them and graced them by its beauty. Word spread and as each received its blessing, each departed in peace.

Soon, the owner fell on hard times and with reluctance, sold the tapestry. Time saves and destroys in gradient fashion and cares not the consequence. So, time passed and the tapestry was bought and sold and with each purchase and each selling, the owner, because he admired the workmanship and unwilling to part with it entirely, would take a piece of the tapestry for himself.

During these years, the tapestry would emerge at art shows and museums. Though it revealed some wear and tear, the essence of its beauty and craftsmanship remained. Those who saw it received its blessing and each departed in peace.

But time saves and destroys in gradient fashion and cares not the consequence. Soon, the tapestry was relegated to obscurity, replaced by lesser, newer tapestries. Passing from owner to owner, the tapestry never hung on the wall, never adorned in museums or art shows anymore, fit only now to be used as a rug. No one knew who made it. Some knew of Yeshua, most forgot or didn’t care. But each owner, because he admired the tapestry and cherished its significance, took a piece for himself.

Seasons pass, history repeats, obscures and questions what we know into myth and lore and mystery, and thus, the tapestry suffered.

The morning was like all mornings. Paul readied his Mercedes. From his garage, he gathered his signs, opened his car trunk and placed them there, then closed the trunk lid. From the back seat, he reached for his highway vest. The weather mattered not. He knew the dangers of the highway, of inattentive drivers not seeing him. But he hoped they would see him. After all, this is the reason he chose his spot on the side of the road, the reason he constructed his signs with care. Paul wanted to be seen. He wanted the passersby to read his sign.

In the corner of the garage lay a worn and tattered rug. Paul placed a remnant in his pocket, a reminder of who and why.

And some noticed his sign, “Jesus Saves!”



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