.<.Re-purpose.>.

An old Scottish tweed blazer becomes a stylish shoulder bag. Scraps of wool become a topiary of cute little roses. A pillowcase becomes a 10-minute apron or a sundress for a little girl. You can even take ugly sheets and make yourself a tank-top! Aren't we clever? In the name of green, we've figured out ways to turn everything old into something new.  It's called "Re-purpose."

While sifting aimlessly through clever and crafty blogs, it struck me: What if we thought about ideas and consequences the same way? What if we spent the idle hours pondering how to re-purpose old hurts and scars (not simply cutting them up, making a few stitches, and then disguising them)?

What do you intend to do with those old things you're keeping? What goal do they help you to achieve? Where do they take you? Could they be re-made, re-purposed, redeemed? What prevents you from submitting them to a radical make-over?

When the past comes knock-knock-knocking at my door, I'm always surprised. But what part of it is really unexpected? Or is it just that I desperately want an escape? I'm on the run... confident that I've turned enough corners that the little black bandit called history can't find me. Ha. Outsmarted him again, I think to myself. And then he pops up underneath the bed; sitting next to me on a window seat in a sunny hallway; peering at me from the corners of the Capitol. It is I who play the fool when I can't see him behind me, following. "Wait your turn!" I want to say in a scolding tone. But it's only the running that keeps me busy. It's the present that I've chosen to pause, under the clever disguise (a black cloak) of "moving on."

It's time to re-purpose. I scan the black cloak that he's wearing and note that it would make a lovely shoulder bag. Even better, a shroud for all the dreams of the past year that have died. They must have a proper burial so that new ones can be born. It's my turn to chase HIM.

Tearing the cape off of his back, suddenly, he melts away. Looking all about me, suspecting that he's still watching, I look here and there. Nothing. He's gone again. Clutching the cape, I start cutting, trimming, stitching, shaping... his disguise has become a lovely little black pocket for keeping things where they ought to be kept - in a little grave at the foot of an old wooden cross.

Like John Bunyan's Pilgrim, I must approach the cross, kneel, and let the weight fall off my back. The sin and pains must be let go of - so they can become something new: forgiveness, peace and redemption. It's time to re-purpose.

What are you waiting for?