The Fabric of Our Lives:
The Underlying Structure
Fabric: 1a: STRUCTURE, BUILDING b: underlying structure: FRAMEWORK <the ~ of society> 2: an act of constructing: ERECTION; specifically: the construction and maintenance of a church building. 3a: used chiefly of textiles c: the arrangement of physical components (as of soil) in relation to each other 4a: CLOTH, b: a material that resembles cloth 5: the appearance or pattern produced by the shapes and arrangement of the crystal grains in a rock.
I was surprised by what I found when I looked this word up in the dictionary. As usual, I had my preconceived idea as to what fabric meant. In my own defense, I got this idea from the context in which it is normally used. A fabric store is where we go to buy cloth, right? The words structure, building, and framework weren’t in my definition.
When I think of fabric I think of the whole. I used to think of just cloth, natural or synthetic. Hundreds or thousands of fine threads woven together, cut, stitched and formed into a piece of clothing. Now I see knitted or crocheted pieces as fabric, the continuous looping of a single strand of fiber. A fabric built with one continuous strand, what an awesome thing! As a matter of fact, the window screen on your front door or on your windows is a fabric. Once again my black and white thinking had narrowed my vision: there’s more to fabric than just fine threads woven together.
If I were to see a car driving down the road and someone asked me to give a description of that car, I would probably answer with the color of the car. I could tell you if it was a convertible, and if I got a good look at the emblem on it, I might be able to tell you if it was a Ford or a Chevy. I especially like the cars that have the name spelled out on the side or backend for me. That is how most people see fabric. What kind is it? Well, it’s blue, with pink stripes, end of story.
I have known people who could look at a car and tell you the model and year. They could tell you how the head lights or tail lights were different than the ones made the year before that. They could watch it drive down the road or listen to the engine run and tell you what was wrong with it. When they rev that engine and with a smile talk about how it purrs, I don’t understand; I’m clueless because it just sounds like noise to me.
What I do understand though is this kind of passion or attraction to something. I love fabrics. I love the multitude of colors and textures. I never tire of it. I can’t imagine my life without fabrics in it. I’m not talking about the need for clothing although that is a legitimate need. I’m talking about the comfort that I find in its construction. I see beyond the colors and enjoy the many ways the threads can be woven. I am fascinated with the thought that a sweater can be made with one continuous stand of yarn which if pulled on in the right place can undo the entire thing. I love the smell of fabric. When I am ironing a piece of fabric I can tell by its smell if it’s 100% cotton or if it has a synthetic in it. I love the way it drapes and moves or doesn’t move depending on its characteristics. I can tell you if something is wrong with it by the way it hangs. Fabric: 1a: STRUCTURE, BUILDING b: underlying structure: I love the building of it, the underlying structure of it.
When I look at people, I’m clueless. I might catch the color, name and general size but I’m sometimes overwhelmed and irritated by the “noise” that they make. God hears a purr. God looks at me and He sees the many threads that are woven together. He listens to my “noise” and watches me move and knows what needs to be fixed. While He’s ironing out my flaws, He can tell by the smell if I’m being 100% true or not. He knows where the end of my rope is, that if pulled will make me come undone (which, by the way, is sometimes the best way to fix a mistake). Is it possible that for me and you, He feels a passion and attraction to our color and texture to the point that He will not tire of us? Does He find comfort in our construction? Does He find pleasure in the way we “drape” and “move” or “don’t move” depending on our characteristics? Can He imagine His life without us?
I want to have a passion for other people like this. I wouldn’t see just their general characteristics. I would know that there was a pattern, a purpose for all the many fibers that make them up. I wouldn’t tire of their noise.
I want to have a passion like this for God. I want to have an attraction to his colors and textures that I would never tire of and that I could not imagine my life without Him.
I was surprised by what I found when I looked this word up in the dictionary. As usual, I had my preconceived idea as to what fabric meant. In my own defense, I got this idea from the context in which it is normally used. A fabric store is where we go to buy cloth, right? The words structure, building, and framework weren’t in my definition.
When I think of fabric I think of the whole. I used to think of just cloth, natural or synthetic. Hundreds or thousands of fine threads woven together, cut, stitched and formed into a piece of clothing. Now I see knitted or crocheted pieces as fabric, the continuous looping of a single strand of fiber. A fabric built with one continuous strand, what an awesome thing! As a matter of fact, the window screen on your front door or on your windows is a fabric. Once again my black and white thinking had narrowed my vision: there’s more to fabric than just fine threads woven together.
If I were to see a car driving down the road and someone asked me to give a description of that car, I would probably answer with the color of the car. I could tell you if it was a convertible, and if I got a good look at the emblem on it, I might be able to tell you if it was a Ford or a Chevy. I especially like the cars that have the name spelled out on the side or backend for me. That is how most people see fabric. What kind is it? Well, it’s blue, with pink stripes, end of story.
I have known people who could look at a car and tell you the model and year. They could tell you how the head lights or tail lights were different than the ones made the year before that. They could watch it drive down the road or listen to the engine run and tell you what was wrong with it. When they rev that engine and with a smile talk about how it purrs, I don’t understand; I’m clueless because it just sounds like noise to me.
What I do understand though is this kind of passion or attraction to something. I love fabrics. I love the multitude of colors and textures. I never tire of it. I can’t imagine my life without fabrics in it. I’m not talking about the need for clothing although that is a legitimate need. I’m talking about the comfort that I find in its construction. I see beyond the colors and enjoy the many ways the threads can be woven. I am fascinated with the thought that a sweater can be made with one continuous stand of yarn which if pulled on in the right place can undo the entire thing. I love the smell of fabric. When I am ironing a piece of fabric I can tell by its smell if it’s 100% cotton or if it has a synthetic in it. I love the way it drapes and moves or doesn’t move depending on its characteristics. I can tell you if something is wrong with it by the way it hangs. Fabric: 1a: STRUCTURE, BUILDING b: underlying structure: I love the building of it, the underlying structure of it.
When I look at people, I’m clueless. I might catch the color, name and general size but I’m sometimes overwhelmed and irritated by the “noise” that they make. God hears a purr. God looks at me and He sees the many threads that are woven together. He listens to my “noise” and watches me move and knows what needs to be fixed. While He’s ironing out my flaws, He can tell by the smell if I’m being 100% true or not. He knows where the end of my rope is, that if pulled will make me come undone (which, by the way, is sometimes the best way to fix a mistake). Is it possible that for me and you, He feels a passion and attraction to our color and texture to the point that He will not tire of us? Does He find comfort in our construction? Does He find pleasure in the way we “drape” and “move” or “don’t move” depending on our characteristics? Can He imagine His life without us?
I want to have a passion for other people like this. I wouldn’t see just their general characteristics. I would know that there was a pattern, a purpose for all the many fibers that make them up. I wouldn’t tire of their noise.
I want to have a passion like this for God. I want to have an attraction to his colors and textures that I would never tire of and that I could not imagine my life without Him.
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