Five new tubes of quality Egyptian cotton thread. They look perfect! And one very old boat shuttle (possibly from the 1800’s). Quite worn and used, it has noticeable flaws and imperfections. This shuttle is very simple, but it fits perfectly in my hands, and easily glides across the warp, carrying weft thread across. The shuttle’s worth is measured by what it becomes in my hands as a weaver.
If I am noticed by people, that makes me important, right? And if I’m never noticed — what then? Does that mean I am less important? I hope we can base our personal value on something besides popularity and opinions; if not, we’re left trying to prove our worth.
It is marvelous that there is a grand weaver who knows us personally. The one who stretched out the skies like a piece of cloth and sprinkled it with stars as if they were glass beads, knows each of us by name. He knows all the flaws, yet he delights to pick up that worn, imperfect shuttle and use it to create something spectacular. My worth is defined in his hands.
May you hear your name pleasantly spoken.
Imperfect, but happy,