There are times where beauty surrounds us. And there are more times where there is little beauty to be found. I grew up in a cold, dark, and ugly museum. Those who know me and know even a snippet of my past seem surprised that I grew up in a wealthy family. For some reason, abuse is often perceived as a lower class problem. Child Protective Services visited my family on a few occasions and they were met with a facade of beauty.
Abuse could not be happening here... not in such a beautiful home... not with such a beautiful family.
Bullshit. It was happening and I believe that our money made it worse. There was a perception of beauty; a deceitful view. Beauty really is skin deep.
I have a hidden talent. I am creative. People are always surprised when they find this out. See, I am logical and analytical. So much so that I solve math problems for fun. Yeah, I know. But I have a whole other side to me; a side that draws, sews, quilts, crochets, etc.
Much like a quilt, I have been cut to pieces. I will never be the original fabric I was created to be. But now I have the chance to piece my life into something beautiful and useful. It is an amazing opportunity. Quilting is a painful process; needle pricks, calluses, and punching through multiple layers make the process hard. It takes patience. And love. The thread pulls and holds everything together and what else could that be other than love? My thread is those in my life who love me, contribute, stabilize, encourage, inspire, and create a beautiful and intricate quilting design.
I could not do this without my thread.