Threadbare and Thriving

On joy, boundaries, and binding the life I want.

It’s Monday morning. I’m tired. I’m overwhelmed. I’ve got a to-do list longer than the bolt of Kona cotton I just bought on sale.

And yet? I’m happy. Like, actually happy.

It’s a weird, beautiful tension—feeling both full and fraying at the same time. Kind of like trying to shove a king-size quilt through the throat space of a domestic sewing machine. You know it’ll make it through eventually, but not without some cussing, crumpling, and elbow grease.

This past week, I came out to a group of my quilting friends. I’m sure they already knew (we queers have a way of finding each other across the fabric store), but it felt really good to say it out loud. To feel safe enough in that space to share myself more fully.

Also, someone stepped up to lead Sunday School. I almost cried. (Okay, I did cry. But just a little. In the church office. Where no one saw. Probably.)

These little things—a hug, a check-in, a mission opportunity that finally clicks, a text from your favorite sister (yes, I said favorite, and no, I won’t be taking questions)—they’re the things that get me through the weariness. They’re the things that help joy live right alongside the tiredness, like two mismatched but somehow complementary quilt blocks.

But not everything is cozy. I’ve had to cut some people out.
I’ve realized that not everyone deserves unlimited access to my time or energy.
If you want to be in my life, you have to show up for it.
And guilt? Shame? Those threads don’t hold anymore.
I’m done patching up relationships that keep pulling apart at the same seams.

What’s holding me together right now?
Well… there’s someone.
Yes, I’m dating someone.
And it’s going sooooo, sooo good.
He’s kind and steady and sees me—and he’s helping me see myself more clearly, too.
You’ll meet him soon. 😉

I think about teenage me sometimes—the kid who was told he was a mistake. That he was disgusting. That he was worthless.
If you told him that one day he’d be in a doctoral program, designing quilt shows, pastoring a church, building a life with love and chosen family?
He’d laugh in disbelief. Maybe cry. Maybe both.

I’m still piecing things together. Some projects are halfway done. Some are just in the fabric-pulling stage. Some are stitched up tight, binding on, label sewn.
That’s life. And I’m being more intentional about the fabrics I’m choosing.
I want a life that holds, that breathes, that wraps around the people I love and keeps them warm.

This isn’t a grand declaration. It’s just where I am on a Monday morning.
Threadbare and thriving. Frayed and full.

And honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A Benediction for the Threadbare and Thriving
May you know that being tired does not mean you are failing—
only that you are human, and beautifully so.

May the small things—the text, the hug, the stitch—
be enough to carry you through the unraveling.

May you have the courage to cut what no longer fits,
and the joy of choosing what truly belongs in your life.

May love—steady, surprising, maybe even a little sparkly—
wrap around you like the quilt you didn’t know you needed.

And may you keep piecing it all together,
one thread, one breath, one brave choice at a time.

Go gently. Go boldly. Go blessed.