July Can Create Awesome Pictures

It’s July here in the South (US), not to mention it’s also hot and humid. Even with different activities to involve your day, there’s still time available for awesome pictures this month. Take advantage of those ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ shots. And while you’re enjoying the summer, take a read of Part 1 of The Fabric Of Dreams. I guarantee you’ll like each part.

He spent hours at his weaving, even choosing to skip meals from time to time. His work was flawless, beautiful, and definitely unique. It hadn’t always been like that. He had struggled in his early years just to get the weaving itself straight, integrating the colors just right with the visual concept. But in time it became easier and even he was often amazed at the designs appearing before his eyes.

Art and art work had always been easy and pleasurable for him. He could see majestic pictures forming from the simplest things—trees turning into monuments of faith, flowers shouting of God’s glories. Not many understood the meaning of his tapestries beyond their basic artistic pleasure. Even he didn’t understand the totality of their meaning, but when he finished a piece, he knew it would touch the very heart and soul of the person needing it.

He started a new piece the other day and thought it would be a nice tapestry for someone’s house. He rarely knew who received his artwork but nonetheless he diligently let the weaving take its form and design as the threads worked through his fingers on the loom.
Today he worked with great intensity. He wasn’t rushed and felt God’s presence through his fingers as they moved the threads over and under each other, together, just like the woof and warp of life. Many times he already had a picture in his mind before he started a piece. That was somewhat the case today. He had already visualized part of the image he was to create and worked assiduously bringing it to life. He knew without a doubt that the person receiving it would truly receive more than just a piece of art. They would receive faith and hope, and that excited him more.

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Carrie sat on a blanket by the stream along her mountain home property. Here she often came to relax and reflect. It was easy to receive inspiration in this location. The sun radiated as glory rays through the trees and danced in glistening spots on the water by her feet. Even in the beauty of the morning, her heart was troubled. She was uncertain. She felt at a loss of what to do. She’d always been able to pull herself together and refocus in this place of tranquility but she was empty this morning, and it felt like the heavens were closed to her.

She sat staring at the glistening water as it advanced rapidly past her, perplexed at the dream she had just hours earlier. It had been violent yet exhilarating, daunting yet peaceful. It didn’t make any sense to her. And what bothered her most was that it had been the exact same dream several nights in a row.

She picked up a handful of mountain dirt and let it sift through her fingers. How like life this dirt was she thought, that the days and hours slip away and to what purpose.

Her mind immediately replayed one particular scene from her dream: a darkened sky offering no solace, no explanations, just darkness, loneliness like she had felt many times. Yet within seconds this same blackness exploded with bursts of light in a variety of colors. It was like watching the final fireworks display on the 4th of July. Vivid colors shot across the sky and burst into more colorful embers as they floated downward, disappearing before they touched the earth. Then everything became dark and silent. It was an eerie silence. That was when she usually woke up, startled and breathing hard. What was going on?

She shook her head in an attempt to remove the image and uncertainty from her mind and thoughts. She wasn’t sure what it meant, if indeed it meant anything. She wouldn’t be held in fear by it she decided. Wiping her hands on her pants and picking up her blanket, she walked back up the hill to prepare for her day of teaching.

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He didn’t really enjoy working strictly with the darker fabrics and knew that this particular piece needed that. He was always drawn to the lighter, brighter colors, because they were full of joy, and life, and peace. But today this particular piece took on a somber display. His fingers paused as if waiting for direction, and then just here and there he began to see sparks of color breaking through the darkness of the weave. He continued his work until well past his usual dinner time. His eyes were tired. His hands were tired. He would need to wait until tomorrow to work on this particular piece.

Later that evening the Weaver fell into a deep, dark sleep. He’d been there before, standing next to some of his art work while others gathered around. He felt vulnerable and didn’t like it. He could feel an invading darkness but as a young woman approached his display, the darkness began to fade. He could tell even in the darkness that her features were obscured. He blinked several times, but as hard as he could try, he couldn’t bring her into clear view. He could see the outline of her head but the edges of her arms and body were very ragged. He saw small holes that went completely through her body as if a hole puncher of greater strength had taken its widespread frustration out on her.

Suddenly his blaring alarm jarred him back to the reality of a new morning. He wasn’t sure what the dream meant, if anything; but it puzzled him all day long.

To Be Continued Next Month…