Don't Blink!

Job 7:6 -- "My days are swifter than a waver's shuttle."

Time off from the "daily grind" in my childhood home of the Philippines provided, by far, some of the most precious memories in my collection of unique experiences. The Babb household would pack up and head out somewhere far beyond the hustle and bustle of the crowded Davao or Manila streets. Whether climbing volcanoes, playing in frigid water falls, or milking goats, the joys of being immersed in the Filipino culture were infinite and especially cherished.

One trip during a most memorable treasured mini-break lead us to the jungle-lush South Cotabato - where I was introduced to the native T'boli tribe for the first time. I fell instantly in-love with their dress, their social interactions, and particularly the amazing art produced in their hand-woven fabrics.

It's been said that the T'boli weavers do not weave or paint a pattern unless they see it clearly in their dreams. Often called "Dream Weavers", the intricate patterns, textures, and colors produced from simple wooden looms by these master crafters match none I've ever seen. I have a small collection of T'nalak - the fabric woven by these amazing traditional artists, and each time I slip the cloth between my fingers I remember fondly the speed at which the master loom worker gently guided the weathered "shuttle" back and forth through the many threads. His thumbnails had notches worn into them from an entire lifetime working his loom and he used them swiftly to comb the strands of colorful fibers each time he made a pass with the shuttle. So fast at this he had become over the years that it was difficult for my eyes to follow the amazingly rhythmic back and forth as a delicate pattern began to form in front of him. I was in awe and marveled that there were no tangles or knots forming. How he managed this accuracy with such speed I will never comprehend, but in no time a wonderful length of colorful cloth had been formed from horse hair, plant fibers, and gold thread.

Job said that the days of his life were more swift than a weaver's shuttle. I was reminded of this recently when I stepped into an elevator where a young mother and her tiny infant stood waiting to push the buttons. Next to me, stood my youngest baby - towering over me with unruly dark hair and scruff on his chin. I told the woman not to blink, because if she did, her tiny bundle would turn into a towering teen-age boy as mine had.

It is true that life can move at lightning speeds, rivaling that of even the T'boli weaver's shuttle. All of the sudden a few weeks turns into sixteen years and our children reflect the pattern of our time in their lives. I am reminded to make our brief moments sweet - to cherish the few years my boys are in my care - and count them a precious and priceless gift.