I pale in comparison as a quilt-maker to my sisters, who make quilts for babies, graduations, and weddings. But I’m an heirloom maker. I deal in the art of saying yes to meaningful opportunities, often working out the details later.

     I’m also a resourceful re-user, a byproduct of being raised on hand-me-downs with few things I called my own. This served me well as a stay-at-home mom and farm wife who raised kids on thrifting and garage sales before they were trendy.

     Redoing things is where creativity begins for me–taking what is or what was and reworking it to be something beautiful.

I thought the project would be minimal. Just sew a few replacement patches and Shazam! On to the next thing.

     Looking closer at the thirty-year-old blanket, it was evident that a complete redo was imminent. I jumped into the process, but soon realized my first plan wasn’t the best.

     Discouraged but determined, I tried a different approach. I used the original design as the foundation and covered each original quilt pattern with new ones.

     I was often frustrated throughout the project at what was taking shape. I was unsure how it would look when finished. When completed, it wasn’t the disaster I imagined. Instead, it was even stronger.

     That’s when I realized the quilt mirrored much of my life. Professionally, I help people create something beautiful from what has been worn and torn in their lives.

     But the quilt also mirrored the redesigning, reworking, and replacing, God’s been doing in the most foundational parts of my life.

     Ones that have been well-loved, ones that have been tattered, and some that no longer fit the space it once occupied.

     That’s when it hit me.

     Holding on to the threadbare things in my life because of  history, comfort, and familiarity isn’t best. God can’t use us when we cling to what was just because it’s what we’ve known.

     Like this quilt, these former things don’t need to be discarded. Instead, God may have new plans for familiar life patterns, replacing them with vibrant colors that make us stronger, better suited to our season, and more beautiful.

     Just like the sturdier quilt I gave back to my grandson, God’s redesign is intentional and current. Just like the season that God is recrafting for you.

     Do you feel worn, torn, or threadbare as 2025 draws to a close?  You may be clinging to what was, because it’s familiar, though it doesn’t fit your life or is no longer God’s best.

     You’re not alone. Perhaps God is redesigning your season, but it feels like he’s ripping out everything you knew.

     God’s redesign will be strong. It will be purposeful. It will be beautiful.

     He’s not wasting what was.

     He’s repurposing and remaking His best for what’s ahead.