Rags

Things happen we wish we could take back. Something we did, or said. Everything spins out of control. Anger is delivered with a flame-thrower. Lines are crossed and somebody gets hurt. Children die in friendly fire. Somebody earns a black belt in sarcasm and draws blood. Someone dies a thousand deaths, but has to go to work in the morning.

Every one of us has scraps of memory we’d like to throw away, but who would want them? Who could possibly want every humiliating failure that is a part of our permanent record? Who salvages our self-destructive choices and wasted years? Who picks up the pieces of broken dreams?

In the early 30’s, a man pushed a cart through the neighborhoods of Cleveland shouting, “Rags! Rags!” Women would come out their front door bringing him bags of old rags and scraps of material. A boy asked his mother what the man did with the rags.

“He takes them home, washes them and makes the most beautiful loop rugs. His rugs are big and round with every color you can imagine. He has been making rugs out of rags ever since I was a little girl.”

Nothing that happens to us is lost. No experience is worthless. No moment is empty. Nothing is junk. We store away scraps of our childhood when we felt left out and forgotten. But when we tell children these stories, especially after a sad day at school, they feel less alone.

Do you ever hear someone pushing a cart down the streets of your life asking for the rags and scraps you’d like to forget? This Artist has been working since the beginning of time; and will accept any and every scrap, however dirty and worn, to work into a beautiful and original pattern that tells the story of our lives.