A Tapestry of Many Hands
(Happily ’N’ever After – When Sandcastles Fall, Post Four)
A tapestry is never the work of one hand. Historically, entire teams of craftsmen were needed: painters to design, weavers to pull the fibers tight, seamstresses to bind the edges. The earliest fragments date back to ancient Egypt, and throughout the Medieval and Renaissance periods, tapestries hung in castles not only to insulate the stone walls but to tell a story. They were living art.
Each of us begins as a blank loom, and over the years, countless threads are woven in. Family, friends, even strangers who pass through for only a moment — each bring their color, their thread, their hand in shaping the fabric of who we are becoming.
The Fast Ride — Lightening
My life has been anything but slow. Speed seems to be the theme woven into my fabric. If I were riding a horse through my storybook, its name would no doubt be Lightening.
I guess there is just so much life to live, and so little time to do it all. I met my prince at the “Castle on the Hill” in the busy suburbs of Atlanta in June of 1991. We were engaged by September and married in February of 1992.
Three short months later, I accepted a job with the Atlanta Braves. Their name carried the imagery of warriors and arrows, but those weren’t the arrows meant for my story. Theirs belonged to a different era. My arrows would not be loosed in battle, but in the quiet antiquity of legacy and faith—arrows meant for building, for shaping, for guiding.
Just a day before I was supposed to begin that new adventure, I discovered our family would be growing. The arrow that struck its target was not a career, but the call to motherhood.
I never did work for the Braves. Instead, the golden strands redirected my path, leading us to our first castle. Both of our families lived in the same state, and since family was paramount to us, we moved to South Carolina and purchased a castle centrally located between the elated grandparents.
In time, I would discover that our arrows were less about conquest and more about celebration—more like the Popinjay shooting of old festivals, where arrows were lifted toward joy, community, and tradition. And those celebrations would become a central thread in the tapestry of our lives.
The Strangers Who Became Family
The landscape was vastly different from the bustling suburbs of Atlanta. Our castle sat in an extremely rural community where people were friendly and life moved at a slower pace. Church life became a foundation piece in our marriage and family. We joined a small local church and were welcomed with all the love and warmth a young family could ever hope to find.
The seniors of that church became like additional grandparents—faithful, steady, and full of wisdom. Over time, we were no longer just a couple, but a family of four.
The girls grew up in a community surrounded by love, where celebrations abounded. From my earliest memories, my mom had woven in me a golden thread of joy: that life was meant to be celebrated, especially birthdays. They were the grandest celebrations of all—marking the miracle of a day when a unique and unrepeatable life entered the world.
Mom helped weave that same thread into the lives of her grand-princesses. Their birthday parties were always themed, always spectacular. They felt like family reunions twice a year—one for each girl. Our new church family joined with our lineage family, filling the house with laughter, food, and joy.
Even the “activity director’s” celebrations brought smiles to every guest — two-legged or four.
As the girls grew older, Corey stepped into the role of “activity director.” Every party soon included a little show for entertainment, with costumes, music, and skits. These were days of abundance, where celebration itself became a craft. The entire team of “craftsmen”—family, church, and friends—came together to weave their colorful threads into the growing tapestry of our lives.
Yet beneath the color and celebration, there were darker threads—woven long ago—now pulling loose, frayed and whispering of shadows I had tried to forget.
What I didn’t yet see were the silent strands of old battles and quiet dragons that still slept within me.
But soon, they would wake.
💙 When sandcastles fall, may the tapestry of love hold fast, and may every colorful thread remind you that your story is still being woven. 🏰
Our first castle — the place where love, laughter, and golden threads began to take shape.
👑 NEXT: Stay Tuned for Post 5- Coming October 10, 2025