Stitched Together with Hope

Finding God in the Mess

I made a post on social media last weekend showing off my new tattoos. In that post, I mentioned that I’d write something explaining the meaning behind them. So, here it is!

Many times people will ask me about my tattoos. They’re a really good conversation starter. And at the same time, they are deeply meaningful to me. So, I get to decide what version of the story behind the tattoo that I share with people. Sometimes I will say that my tattoos are the illustrations of my life. Each tattoo represents a specific time or event in my life that I want to remember—remember how I felt at that time or even remember how strong I was to overcome what happened. But I also remember reading a blog back in 2015 in which the author said that her tattoos “are a timeline of my trials, tribulations, and successes.”¹ I don’t think I could say it any better than that.

The day after Christmas I got the word “hope” coming off a spool of thread. The word looks like it was stitched into my skin. After talking with the tattoo artist, I decided that I wanted to add a quilt block to it. Unfortunately we didn’t have time during the initial appointment to do both; so, I scheduled a second appointment for the quilt block a few days after New Year’s Day.

The quilt block is called Lighthouse Beacon (there are probably other names, but this one really resonates with me). This quilt block symbolizes hope because it draws inspiration from the role of actual lighthouses. Historically, lighthouses have been a source of guidance, safety, and hope for sailors navigating dangerous waters or enduring stormy weather. A beacon’s light signals that safe harbor is near, offering reassurance in moments of uncertainty or fear.

In quilting, the Lighthouse Beacon block can represent the same guiding light—offering comfort and optimism to those who see it. It serves as a metaphor for perseverance and the assurance that even in dark or challenging times, there is a light to guide the way.

When incorporated into a quilt, this block might carry personal meaning, symbolizing someone or something that serves as a source of hope and direction in life. It resonates deeply with themes of trust, resilience, and finding one’s way through life's storms, which is why it’s often used to convey hope and encouragement.

The word “hope” coming off the spool of thread was inspired by a sermon I gave on the first Sunday of Advent which I’m including here.

This Advent, our theme draws heavily on quilting, with images of quilt blocks stitched together, forming something beautiful and whole. Many of you know that I’m a quilter myself, and I can’t help but think of one of my most cherished quilts—a gift my granny made for me when I was a young boy. It was her last gift to me before she passed away, and I’ve held onto it ever since.

The quilt is made up of little Scottie Dogs, each one in a different 'sweater,' a small, unique expression of her creativity. It’s well-worn now, with stains and loose stitches, the binding fraying at the edges. I use it rarely these days, to keep it from further wear, but every time I look at it or carefully wrap it around me, I can feel the warmth of my granny’s love.

I picture her sitting on her couch, with the quilt on her lap and part of it in her quilting hoop, patiently stitching the layers together. Though she’s been gone for more than 30 years, every stitch holds her memory and love. That quilt reminds me that her love, just like God’s, is still all around me, bringing comfort and belonging even now.

In many ways, that quilt is a symbol of waiting—the patience and care my granny put into each stitch as she worked, knowing it would one day be given to me. Though it’s worn and frayed, it still brings warmth, just as God’s love stays with us even through times of waiting and longing. Advent is a season of waiting—not just for the birth of Jesus, but for the hope that is promised to us in every moment. In Isaiah 43, we hear God’s promise to be with us, to walk with us through the wilderness and times of uncertainty. Even in the waiting, God assures us that we are never alone—that the hope we long for is already on its way, even if we can’t yet see it. Just like the quilt, God’s hope surrounds us, bringing warmth and assurance as we wait in anticipation.

Today marks the beginning of Advent, a time of waiting, anticipation, and hope. Our journey through Advent is like unwrapping a quilt—carefully stitched together through time, each patch telling a story, woven by a God who has always been moving toward us.

In Isaiah 43, God speaks directly to the people of Israel, offering a promise of protection and love: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.” Notice God doesn’t say, “If you go through deep waters,” or “If you face the fire.” God says, “When you pass through the waters…when you walk through the fire.” This isn’t conditional. It’s a promise for every moment, especially those moments when the waiting feels heavy, the future uncertain, and hope difficult to hold onto.

Advent is, in itself, a season of waiting. We wait for the light in the middle of the longest nights of the year, for the coming of Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us. It’s the time when we remember that God stepped into the world, becoming one with us, stitching God’s story into our own. And it’s not a distant or indifferent God that we’re waiting for. This is a God who knows us deeply, sees us fully, and tells us, “You are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.”

I know there are times we look at our lives and think we have to earn this love. We’re told by the world to prove our worth, to hustle for our place. But Advent calls us back to the truth: God has already claimed us, even in the broken, unfinished patches of our lives. God looks at us as we are and says, “You belong to me.”

Imagine that quilt again—an intricate tapestry of colors and textures, each piece representing a different moment, even the ones that seem jagged or incomplete. This quilt isn’t just handed to us fully finished. It’s being sewn together in every “when” moment, in every season of waiting, in every hardship we face. And with each piece added, God whispers that same promise: “I will be with you.”

One of the things I love about this passage in Isaiah is how it acknowledges that we will encounter hardship—floods, fire, and deep waters. Our world today is drenched in pain, injustice, and suffering. It can feel like the work of hope is endless, like the more we try to fix or mend things, the more there is that unravels. And yet, there’s this assurance here: the very God who created and formed us is with us in the mess of it all. God doesn’t leave us to fend for ourselves.

In fact, this reminds me of my quilting room. Whenever I’m working on a project, my quilting room is an absolute mess—scraps of fabric all over the floor, tangled threads, stray pins on every surface. Pieces that look so mismatched and out of place are scattered everywhere. To someone else, it might look chaotic or even overwhelming, but to me, that mess is all part of the process. I know that out of it will come something of great beauty, something carefully stitched together with purpose and love.

Isn’t that how God works with us? Our lives and our world can often feel like one big, messy quilting room—full of loose ends, fragments, and pieces that don’t seem to fit. We might see only the mess, but God sees a project in progress, with each part of our lives and every challenge woven into something more beautiful than we could have imagined. Even though it feels like things keep unraveling, God is there, patiently stitching hope into every broken thread, shaping us into something whole and beloved.

In the same way that a quilt’s beauty is in the many pieces and layers coming together, God promises to be with us through every flood and fire, every joy and sorrow. We are precious in God’s sight—not when we have everything in order, but even in the middle of the mess. Out of that mess, God is creating something beautiful, stitching us together with hope, belonging, and love.

This isn’t a naive hope. It’s a grounded, tangible hope, reminding us that God, who stitched us together with love, hasn’t stopped working in us. God is weaving something beautiful through the pain and struggle, even when it feels unfinished or frayed. And so, Advent isn’t just a time to look forward to Jesus’s birth; it’s a time to recognize that God is present with us here and now, in the not-yet-finished, in the waiting.

What would it mean for us to live into that hope this Advent season? To live as people who know that we are cherished, who know that we are called by name? It doesn’t mean we won’t still encounter the floods or fires. But it does mean we can stand together, trusting that God holds us, that God’s love surrounds us, even when we feel the heat of the flames.

Our calling is to carry this hope forward, to be quilted together with each other in love and compassion. We’re invited to be both recipients of this promise and bearers of it—to go out into the world and extend that same precious love to others, to tell the people in our lives, “You are precious in God’s sight.”

As we begin this Advent journey together, my prayer is that we remember the One who moves toward us, not just once or twice, but continuously, always stitching hope and love into the fabric of our lives. And I pray we, too, may learn to wait with hopeful anticipation, knowing that our lives are quilted together by a love that is steadfast, that does not fade, and that will never let us go.

Will you pray with me?

Dear God of Advent hope, thank you for calling us by name and for loving us as we are. As we journey through this season of waiting, help us to remember that we are precious in your sight. May we rest in your promise, even when the waters feel deep, and the fire burns hot. Fill us with hope and courage, so we may be bearers of your love in this world. Amen.

1. https://www.elephantjournal.com/2015/04/tattoos-trials/