The Weaver's Daughter and the Thread: Lucy's Story
[Editor’s Note: This is the second installment of The Weaver’s Daughter and the Thread. The first installment can be found here.]
Lucy smiled and walked to the edge of the creek, picked up a small, flat stone and whisked it across the surface of the water. Her smile faded from her face as the stone plopped unceremoniously into the water without skipping even once. Huffing loudly, she slumped to the ground and sat down dejectedly.
It was late afternoon and she was on her way back to the cottage she shared with her grandparents and younger sister. She had just finished visiting with her friend Philothea who lived across the creek and over the big hill. Lucy’s shoulders slumped even further when she remembered how their meeting had ended.
Philothea had shown Lucy the delicate purple thread that her father, a weaver, had given to her to watch over for a time. When her friend revealed the thread, Lucy had become overwhelmed with joy. Impulsively reaching for the gift, she found that in her excitement she had forgotten to be gentle. The thread had quickly tangled up into a huge mess of knots.
Lucy was disappointed, but had not thought much of the mess until she had looked at Philothea’s face. Her friend looked heartbroken. Panicking, Lucy had tried to make light of the situation, but that only seemed to make it worse. In the end, Philothea had walked away, back towards her house. Their friendship seemed, in that moment, as delicate as the thread which Lucy had just ruined.
Now, sitting on the bank of the creek, Lucy felt the full weight of the situation pressing down upon her. It all felt big and overwhelming, like an entire sack full of stones sitting on her chest, preventing her from taking a breath. She had no idea how in the world she could ever make it all better. She would have to accept the fact that she had ruined her one and only friendship. Philothea, she decided, would never be able to forgive her for what she had done to that beautiful thread.
Standing, Lucy kicked a few pebbles into the creek and walked over to the wooden bridge a few yards away. Unsure of what else to do, she hefted the weight of her broken friendship and walked home.
Most of the time, Lucy felt lighter and more joyful when she knew she was returning to her grandparents’ cottage. At the moment, she and her sister, Elaine, were on an extended visit. They were set to stay for the rest of the summer, helping Grandmother around the house, wandering through the woods and spying on Grandfather in his workshop. Grandmother and Grandfather’s cottage had always been a place of peace, a remedy to the strife and discord so often found at home. Every time they visited, Lucy felt her spirits lift the moment the small dwelling came into view.
This was the first time she could ever remember dreading returning to the cottage.
When Lucy arrived, she found Grandmother and Elaine in the kitchen. They were in the midst of dinner preparations.
“Lucy,” Grandmother exclaimed, “Welcome home!”
Grandmother set down the knife she was using to chop the vegetables and walked over to Lucy. She gave the young girl a gentle hug.
“What’s the matter?” Grandmother said, pulling back slightly so she could look Lucy in the eye.
Lucy felt embarrassed that her grandmother had noticed something was amiss, yet she was not surprised. Grandmother always seemed to know when she or Elaine was troubled or upset. She looked back into the kind blue eyes that beheld her. Her heart ached as she looked into the eyes of someone who she knew truly loved her. For a moment, she was about to tell her every awful detail about her visit with Philothea and how terrible she felt inside, and then, she decided against sharing. Shame overwhelmed her once more. She did not want anyone to know what she had done, how she had ruined everything with Philothea.
“Nothing,” she said simply, “Can I go lay down until dinner?”
Grandmother hesitated, looking skeptical, but she relented, “Sure, little one. Maybe you’ll feel like talking later.”
This girl has something weighing on her heart, I can tell, but I know I have to be gentle and wait for her to be ready to open up to me, she thought to herself as she watched Lucy walk dejectedly down the hall to her bedroom.
An hour later, Lucy was called from her room for dinner. Looking down at the food in front of her, she poked the cooked carrots around her plate absentmindedly.
Grandmother rang the dinner bell and Grandfather wandered in from his woodshed with wrinkled cheeks glowing rosy red and wood shavings sprinkled throughout his grey hair. He walked up to Grandmother with a rueful smile on his face and attempted to give her a hug. She laughed, her eyes crinkling with mirth, and deftly dodged his approach.
“Not until you wash up,” she announced with finality using the dish towel in her hand to playfully slap his shoulder.
Grandfather glanced conspiratorially over at Lucy and Elaine as he went over to the wash basin.
After washing up, he walked back over to Grandmother who welcomed his embrace and planted a kiss on his freshly washed, whiskered cheek.
“Much better,” she said.
Grandfather walked over to Lucy and Elaine in turn, setting his large, work worn hands on their shoulders and kissing the tops of their heads.
For a moment, Lucy felt relief from her pain. Grandfather’s hands pressed down on her, making her shoulders sag with the weight—he was notoriously bad at knowing his own strength and the weight of his embraces. His hands were warm and he smelled of fresh cut wood. Then, he sat down and asked the pair of them how their days had gone. Elaine started chattering away, eager to fill Grandfather in on the quilt she had been working on for most of the day. Lucy on the other hand, sank back into her own mind.
Over the next two days, the storm inside Lucy’s heart grew more and more turbulent. Lucy knew she needed help, but every time she thought of telling someone about what she had done, she felt more and more sure that she would be rejected again.
Grandmother was the kindest, most loving person Lucy knew. She wanted to trust her with this situation, but she also did not want Grandmother to know what a terrible thing she had done. She dreaded the moment when she would have to look Grandmother in the eye and tell her how she had ruined her friendship with Philothea. It did not help that her grandmother and Philothea’s grandmother were close friends, having grown up together in the same village in which they all now lived.
So, instead of unburdening herself, Lucy tried to hold it all inside. She decided that it was her mess and she would have to deal with it on her own. She had made the mistake and now this was the consequence. The more she thought about it in the solitude of her own mind, the more firmly she came to believe that she deserved the pain she was feeling. After all, she had chosen to misuse the thread. No one could be held responsible for what she herself had done. The problem and the pain seemed to increase in her heart and mind no matter what she did. Every time the pain returned, she re-doubled her efforts to deal with it all on her own, sure that all she had to do was try harder.
Grandmother and Grandfather watched Lucy carefully during this time. They made sure to be available to her and to offer her their presence as she struggled. Having raised three children of their own, they knew well the danger of pressing a wounded heart to reveal itself, and the agony of waiting patiently for someone in pain to ask for help.
On the third evening, after Lucy and Elaine had gone to bed for the night, Grandmother sat in her rocking chair next to the fire knitting and Grandfather sat across from her, tending the fire and mulling over the day’s events.
“Dear,” he finally said, “I think we should do something more to help Lucy. She has been so miserable since her visit with Philothea. And she has been growing more and more angry. I felt sorry for the poor turnips she was chopping so vigorously this afternoon. I was sure they would be turned to mush before they even made it to the soup pot!”
“Yes, I know,” Grandmother replied, “She has been so short with Elaine as well. Lucy has picked a fight with her sister every chance she gets. But I’m not quite sure how to proceed.”
“I was over at John Weaver’s house today, ordering the new rug you wanted for the sitting room. He was updating me on the family,” Grandfather continued, “He mostly told me about how upset his daughter has been. It seems there’s been a rift of some sort developing between Philothea and Lucy. And based on Lucy’s behavior, I would bet my best hand saw that she was the one to hurt Philothea. She seems to be acting mighty guilty if you ask me.”
They sat in silence for a moment, each praying and thinking about how to proceed.
Again, Grandfather broke the silence, “I think you should take her on a long walk tomorrow morning, maybe to the berry patch at the south edge of the property. I find that fresh air and exercise always help me when I’m struggling.”
“I think you’re right,” Grandmother replied, nodding, “And I think a good story would be in order as well. I know that always helped our children when they were struggling,” she thought for a moment and then continued, “Maybe the one about how Marge let me borrow her best dress when we were girls and my cat tore it to pieces.”
Grandfather nodded in agreement, “I think that might be just what the doctor ordered.”
They settled back into their previous activities, Grandfather planning the details for the carving he was set to do in the morning and Grandmother knitting and thinking through what she would say on her walk with Lucy in the morning.
The next morning found Lucy and Grandmother winding their way through the woods to the southern edge of their property, empty baskets in hand. The sun was just rising in the sky to their left, casting a gentle glow over the trees and flowers.
Grandmother had worked hard over breakfast to convince Lucy to accompany her to pick berries. In the end, Lucy had given in because she found she really had no excuse not to go—other than feeling miserable over her friendship with Philothea, and she was still keeping those details to herself.
As they walked, Lucy found her spirits lifting little by little due to the warm sunshine, the clean air of the forest and the comforting presence of her grandmother.
Reaching the berry patch, Grandmother sat down under a great oak tree, claiming she needed a rest after the long walk. She invited Lucy to join her. Again, Lucy acquiesced, at first sitting stiffly next to her grandmother and then slowly snuggling close and laying her head on Grandmother’s shoulder. More of the weight slid off her chest as she sat there, eyes closed, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Grandmother’s chest as she breathed in the beauty of the morning before them.
After a time, Grandmother spoke, “Lucy, come, sit in front of me for a minute. I want to tell you a story.”
Lucy lifted her head, repositioning herself to face her grandmother. Eager to hear the story, she sat with rapt attention.
Grandmother was glad to see a positive change come over Lucy.
“I’m going to tell you a story from when I was about your age—I know those are your favorite,” Grandmother began, smiling as she looked into Lucy’s brightening eyes, “One day, I was over at my friend Marge’s house. I mentioned that I was going to be going with my parents the next week to visit my grandmother, my mother’s mother, in the next village over. I told her how I wanted to make a good impression and I wanted her advice on what dress to wear. Marge squealed with delight and told me how her father had just bought her a new, pale blue dress that would be perfect for the visit. She insisted I borrow it for the occasion and I thankfully accepted the gift. The visit went well and when we got home, I laid the dress on my bed and went to do my chores. When I came back an hour later, I found the dress torn to pieces. I must have left the door to my room open. Our cat, Snowball, must have snuck in and thought the dress was a plaything. It was well known that she would rip any scrap of fabric to pieces if she found it lying around.”
Lucy gasped in horror, her heart aching at the thought of the loss of the dress—and at the loss of her own friendship with Philothea. As Grandmother told the story, the wounds of her mistakes with Philothea felt fresh and raw.
Grandmother could see the pain in Lucy’s eyes, so she reached out her hand comfortingly and placed it on the girl’s arm.
“I was heartbroken when I found the dress,” Grandmother continued, “I cried for hours. My mother came in and tried to comfort me, but the tears kept coming. I was sure Marge would never speak to me again after such a terrible mistake.”
Lucy’s eyes were now filled with tears, tears over her own misfortunes that had been held back by shame and guilt. At last, she let her emotions come to the surface, finding a safe place of refuge in her grandmother’s arms. Grandmother just held her as she worked through her emotions, confident that the tears would eventually subside when the emotions had run their course.
“I know it feels like it will never end,” Grandmother said, “But I promise they will.”
As usual, Grandmother was correct. The tears ebbed and Lucy sat up, wiping her eyes. She still felt terrible inside, but she also felt softer and less burdened. She noticed the front of Grandmother’s dress was stained with tears. Grandmother followed Lucy’s gaze and then smiled back.
“I wear those tears with honor,” she told Lucy, “It is an honor to me that you have shared your pain.”
“Oh, Grandmother,” Lucy exclaimed, “You have to tell me the end of the story. How did you ever tell Marge? How much did she hate you? How much does she still hate you?”
“Still hate me?” Grandmother asked.
“Yes,” Lucy said, “I am sure she could never have forgiven you. When someone makes such a terrible mistake, there is nothing that can be done to fix it.”
“Dear,” replied Grandmother, “Are we still talking about Marge and me? Or is there something else you would like to tell me?”
Lucy lowered her eyes, took a breath and poured out all the details of her encounter with Philothea.
“I ruined it all,” she exclaimed as she finished the tale, “I’m sure Philothea will never forgive me. And I don’t think she should.”
“Oh, little one,” Grandmother said, pulling Lucy in for another long hug, “We all make mistakes. You are allowed to make mistakes in life. No one expects you to be perfect, except maybe yourself it seems. Do you really think you should never be forgiven for this?”
Lucy hesitated, “Well, part of me does…the other part of me really hopes I can be forgiven. Living with all this guilt is so difficult!”
She flung herself around her grandmother’s neck.
Grandmother thought for a moment, “How about I finish the story?”
Lucy sat back expectantly and Grandmother continued, “The ending is quite simple really. I followed my mother’s advice. I went right over to Marge’s house, the destroyed dress in hand, and told her the whole story. She was devastated of course. And she was angry at me. For a time, I thought she would be angry at me forever, but as I explained and apologized, her anger ebbed. Both of our mothers were present to help us work through our emotions instead of just attacking one another. At the time, it was one of the most difficult moments of my life, but now, so many years later, I realize how important this all was—for me and for Marge. We both learned and experienced so much about love and forgiveness that day.”
Lucy stared in disbelief, “So she just forgave you and let it go?”
Grandmother smiled, “Well, it was a little more complicated than that, but in the end, yes. It took time for us to rebuild our friendship, but when we did, it was even stronger than it had been before the Dress Debacle. So, Lucy, do you see what I am trying to tell you?”
“I think,” Lucy said slowly, “You’re telling me there is…hope”
“Yes, there is always hope.”
Grandmother hugged Lucy again and they sat in silence for a time.
“Lucy,” Grandmother said, “I think maybe the most important thing in all of this is for you to realize that you’re not alone. I’ve watched you isolate yourself more and more over the last few days. I could tell you were feeling ashamed and guilty. It pained your grandfather and I to watch you try to do all of this alone.”
Lucy shifted uncomfortably, “I just felt like since I messed it all up, then I should be able to figure out how to fix it all.”
“And did that work?”
“No, it really just made it all worse in the end.”
Grandmother smiled knowingly, “Yes, that’s how it always is when we try to do everything in this life on our own. You know, Lucy, that none of us expects you to be perfect. We are here, with you, no matter what happens, because we love you. It’s really as simple as that.”
Grandmother could tell that Lucy’s heart had unfolded during their conversation and was now drinking in the truth of what she had just shared. She could tell Lucy was feeling more peaceful as the truth settled over her. She knew it would take time, but she had hope that all the grief and pain of the last few days would eventually be transformed into something greater.
“Well,” Grandmother said, “How about we pick some berries and then head home? Grandfather told me he has it on good authority that Philothea will be down by the creek at midday. I think it’s time the two of you had a good, long talk.”
Two hours later, after Grandmother and Lucy had dropped off the berries to a very appreciative Grandfather, they were just approaching the bridge to cross the creek onto the property owned by Philothea’s family.
Lucy halted at the edge of the clearing, feeling once again the weight of her guilt and shame. She felt paralyzed by fear. It seemed like all the hope Grandmother had given her just a couple hours ago was fading away in the face of the reality of meeting with Philothea. She was just about to turn and run when she felt Grandmother’s warm, soft hand envelop her own small, clammy one. Hope flowed through her once again, not eliminating all the fear, but seeming at least to hold it at bay.
She looked up and saw an encouraging smile spread across Grandmother’s face.
“Remember, Lucy,” she said, “I love you. And I know Philothea loves you. It’s time for you to choose to love yourself as well. Choose to forgive yourself. Be honest with Philothea. One step at a time. Slow and steady. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Looking up and across the creek, they could see Philothea and her grandmother starting to emerge from the forest.
Grandmother raised her hand in greeting and called out, “Good morning, Marge!”
Lucy started and looked at her Grandmother again, “Marge? Is it…?”
“Yes,” Grandmother said, “The same Marge from the story this morning. She and I have been best friends for almost sixty years now.”
The revelation bolstered Lucy’s spirits even further.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” she said, giving her grandmother another giant hug, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“I love you, little one, no matter what happens,” Grandmother replied, “Now, go. It’s time.”
Lucy started forward slowly. She could see Philothea walking up from the other shore.
They approached the bridge from opposite sides and met in the middle.
A Prayer to the Holy Wounds of Jesus:
O Lord Jesus Christ, I thank you for your five sacred wounds.
In your Left Foot, I sink and hide all the sins I have ever committed; have mercy on me.
In your Right Foot, I sink and bury all my desires, that they may be purified and remain unspotted by any earthly stain.
In your Left Hand, I enclose all my spiritual and bodily ills, that in union with your sufferings they may become sweet to me, and by patience become a fragrant scent before God.
In your Right Hand, I hide all the omissions which I have committed, that they may be atoned for by your ardent works.
In your Sweetest Sacred Heart, I place myself, and there unite my imperfect love to your Divine Love, that it may be perfected.
On all your Wounds, I lay flowers of gratitude, and I ask in return that You mend my heart with the dart of your love.
Amen.
Prayer inspired by and adapted from the writings of St. Mechtilde of Hackeborn. You can find it on the Life-Giving Wounds website here.
About the Author:
Stephanie is a wife and mother of three boys. She and her family live in Pennsylvania. Her husband works for their local parish and she homeschools their boys. She likes reading, watching documentaries, playing board/card games and going for walks without her phone.
About the Artist:
Murielle Blanchard attended the first online Life-Giving Wounds retreat in 2020 and has been passionate about the ministry ever since. She and her husband of 11 years live in New Mexico with their 8 children, ages 10 to newborn. She enjoys bringing beauty into everyday life through her artwork, a little at a time. Find more of her work at desertshipofbeauty.etsy.com.
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals:
What strings of this story resonated in your heart? Did it speak to you in some way? Did it bring up a particular memory?
How can creative stories, such as this one, communicate more deeply the experiences of ACODs?
Think back to a time when you made a mistake. How were you treated by others? How did you treat yourself? Did those reactions help resolve the situation or deepen the pain?
If you were to write a children’s story related to the experience of ACODs, what would it be about?
Now, turn to Jesus. Ask Him to show you where He is in the memory. Ask Him to show you how He is responding to your mistake. Allow Him time and space to show you Divine Mercy in action.