Her Blanket

When I was young, I liked to write. When I feel brave enough, I plan to post some of my stuff, from time to time. Here's something from somewhere in the 1980's or early 90's.

Her Blanket
by srw

She sat up all night long sewing her blanket. It was worn, for the years had been cruel. It had been red and purple, blue and gold--all of the colors one might find in a meadow on a sunny day in springtime. But now it was nearly all gray. The excitement of life almost all lived out of it.

When long ago she first sat down to piece it together, she was young and extraordinarily fair. Every boy in her small country town hoped that blanket would eventually be his. But she could see nothing in any of them...nothing to inspire the creation of such a magnificent blanket. No, she was crafting it, saving it for Him... the only boy who could draw from it every last drop of love and warmth...the only boy who could wrap himself up in it, head to toe... it was going to be His blanket.
And he would love it.

She wove each tiny stitch with tender care, each one tied with a kiss. The brilliant colors were given freely of herself. The red from her lips the color of rubies set in a promise ring. The deep blue of the oceans came from her eyes, and the spun gold from her flowing hair. There was also a majestic purple... the same you see at the foot of the mountains in Kentucky at the very moment the sun sets in the West... the purple came from the bruises left behind when he walked.

The blanket was her gift to him the day they said “forever” to each other so many nights ago. It was a beautiful thing to see-- and to feel. He wrapped it around himself twice. It covered his body and his soul. It took him in and in and in until, he realized, he couldn’t breathe. But it was too late now.

It was first torn a bit when he tried to escape... of course, he couldn’t. Even if he did, where would he go? At least here it was warm and safe. So he gave in to it. But the small scar was there. No matter-- she could fix it. She could sew anything with her needle and thread.

Through the ages of his life in her blanket, it became more and more difficult for him to see. It was very dark inside, only blurs of sickening color. Eventually he was able to shut them out. Then there was only the darkness. Finally, even the deep black lost itself inside and faded to gray in disappointment.

One day, as he stumbled along in the gray of the blanket, he chanced upon something new... something wide open and free. He leaned a little closer to get a better look, after all, his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be... after all those years in the smothering gray. The closer he examined, the more he could sense there was something he had never had before... something better than an old gray blanket... something he wanted....

It took just few suggestions for him to lay down the suffocating old rag and be freed. So now he was.

As he walked away into the cool wind, he glanced back only once to see her blanket lying in a heap upon the grass in his own back yard. As he passed beyond the foot of the purple mountains, he never missed it... or her. And he wouldn’t acknowledge the chill he felt somewhere inside himself now.

And the girl, once so fair, had no more ruby red upon her lips to give away for the mending of the blanket. Her eyes now pale and dim, and her hair now coarse and white... she only had left the purple with which to mend it. So late into the night, she sat upon her knees sewing a thread of majestic purple into the gray fabric of her blanket... the same color you see at the foot of the mountains in Kentucky at the very moment the sun sets in the West.

Charity's Birthday 2009

Dearest daughter, Charity,

I'm thinking, now, that you are sleeping, about how I missed an important opportunity tonight. I missed your last eleven year old prayer. I was (am still) feeling poorly and didn't even remember to get your last eleven year old hug and kiss :( I did, just now, go into your room and wake you up a little bit to kiss you and hug you. You might not remember, though.

I feel so sorry I let that moment pass tonight-- to hear your prayers and to hug and kiss you while you were awake. You are so important to me and I love you so dearly, I feel sad I let a moment get away that can never be recaptured. It's like what we were talking about tonight-- how you never know how much time you have with someone, so you should cherish each moment. Time passes so quickly, and too soon you will be grown and married with your own children... believe it or not :)

I want you to know how much I love you, and how grateful I am that Heavenly Father sent you to me to be my daughter. You are such a blessing to me. You are so much like me in many ways. You are precious to Dad and me. I am thankful every day I have you in my life. I have never known a girl with such gifts, talents and intelligence as you have. You will accomplish many great works in your life, with the help and guidance of your Heavenly Father. Stay near to Him.

I hope you will always stay near to me, too. I love you with all of my heart.

Happy twelfth birthday.
Love, Mom


My Daughter

Thou came to me on winter's day
Crying, seeking warmth and care.
I loved thee well, and day by day
Thou grew up lovely, strong and fair.

Eyes that search and question 'why';
Lips that speak and sing and smile;
Hands that master all they try;
A heart in which is found no guile;

Daughter, still, I love thee well,
With depth and breadth no tongue can tell.
All that's joy in born in thee;
True to thy name, dear Charity.

A Woman's Day

Disclaimer: No offense is intended. Every circumstance in life requires unique measures to meet it's need. The writer, in no way, presumes to know the best course of action for every family situation. Only through careful prayer and consideration should any and all major family decisions be made.

Having said that:

I was talking with a sweet friend of mine tonight. I was reminded of something I read in a book once that all people need a strong relationship with a woman. For a man, this relationship is fulfilled with his mother, until he marries, then the fulfillment comes through his relationship with his wife... as it should be. A man shall leave his father and his mother and cleave unto his wife, right?

Not only does a man need a healthy relationship with a woman, but women, too, need each other. Lucky women find enrichment and contentment in their mother-daughter bond shared with their own mothers. Some women have a best friend. Some are content in the relationships they share with their adult daughters, as well. Some women can name a handful of 'best' friends.

Sometimes, a woman may find difficulty relating to other adult women. She may feel as if she doesn't quite fit in... like she's alone, or doesn't have friends.

Too many of our sisters feel alone in a crowd. Too many feel like misfits. We are all here in search of the same things. We are all searching for fulfillment in purpose. We need to know we are doing the right thing and that what we do matters. We need to feel validated and valued... and we all struggle with insecurities on some level.

Many women struggle to feel true joy, contentment, fulfillment and surety of purpose. Even when a woman is engaged in a great work, she will most likely doubt she is doing a good enough job.

Women worry they have offended someone. They worry they are too fat, too weak, too tall, too short... Women think they aren't smart enough, talented enough, motivated enough to get the job done like it should be. Women get offended because of something someone said or didn't say or do... because we think it is a reflection of ourselves.

Often, women feel their friends or neighbors don't value them or their works. This is very common in women who choose to work for love instead of money. This is something in particular I wish to address briefly, here.

There is a growing awakening to the fact that a woman's mission and purpose in this life is most fully realized when she, herself, nurtures, teaches, loves, and spends the bulk of the waking hours with her young children. Many women are striving to return to their children at home, instead of hiring someone to care for their children. It has been unpopular in society for many years for a mother to remain in the home with her children. The socially accepted act has been to pay a child caregiver to 'give care' to young children so their mothers could work outside the home for money.

I unequivocally state to any who read this article that no amount of money can purchase a suitable substitute for a mother's tender love and care to any child, of any age. Working for money is a lesser choice than work for love of a child. A woman must sacrifice popularity, in some cases; she must sacrifice pride or the esteem of her colleagues; she must sacrifice her position in society to stay. Stay home with the baby. Stay home with the toddler. Stay home. It is a sacrifice. Yes. But what is lost to the child when mother leaves him or her with a nanny or in the daycare center is what is sadly most lost in the trade if mother chooses what has been the socially accepted road.

A child cannot return to his youth to recapture his mother's attention. A woman, however, can return to the workforce or college when her child is grown, if she so chooses.

A child cannot climb into his mother's arms when both he and his mother are old. Only when a child is still young, can a mother embrace his small, clinging body, full pressed to her bosom and love him without the world getting in the way. When he is older and runs off to school, he will worry about what his friends might think if he kisses his mother good-bye... but when he is still so small, he gives kisses freely and gladly.

A little girl who loves to brush her mother's hair will soon begin to worry about how her own hair looks to those around her. But, when she is small, she will sit and brush, and tangle, and smooth her mother's hair without tiring. She plays pat-a-cake and sings the lull a-bye along with her mother... as best she knows how.

Just as a car cannot travel as far on 2.5 gallons of fuel as is does on a full tank, so a child cannot have his tank filled in a couple of hours in the evening. It takes hours, on a daily basis, to keep him full of the love he needs to travel the road that lays ahead.

The work performed within the walls of the home is that which changes the world. Although thankless, at times, and certainly unappreciated by many in society, nothing can substitute for a loving mother.

Do not feel alone. Do not feel devalued. Do not feel like you don't fit in. You are the maker of togetherness. You are the teacher of value. You are the root of belonging. You are the nurturer of mankind.

The day will come when your children will rise up and call you blessed. The day will come when the strength that emanated from your home; from the love given to your children, will be that which saves us all.

Truly, as it has been said: The family is the central unit of society. As the family goes, so goes the rest of the world.

In one day, world leaders may change our tax code or destroy our free markets. In the same day, a mother may wipe a bleeding knee, kiss a fevered forehead, read a spelling list or story book... the same day she prepares a meal for her family to share... the same day she kneels beside her child's bed to hear his prayer...In the life of a mother, it's just another day.

I submit that one well spent day in the life of a mother is a day better spent than in any other sort of life we may know.

So, for you, my sisters; I express my encouragement to you as you continue in your noble work, and I pray you may feel the blessings of our God upon you to guide your hands as you love and care for His children in your homes.

One final thought: regardless of your circumstances, as a woman, you are gifted with qualities of nurture and compassion. Never let discouragement or feelings of inadequacy keep you from using your gifts to bless the lives of others. When you forget yourself in the service of others, you will find what you may not have known you were looking for...

And now-

And now my son Philip is a senior in high school. He is an Eagle Scout. He is preparing to serve a two-year mission. Now he stands on the edge, ready to spread his wings and and fly. Not yet. Soon... but not quite yet... not today...

And now my sweet little five year old girl, Emily is at the beginning... kindergarten... while Philip is a senior. Strange to think how many years have blown by since I began motherhood. If I stand back and look at my children as a group... it seems there are quite a few. I understand how some may perceive my family that way. I have to make myself step back to see it, though. I don't normally stand back. I am usually up close. That's the way I like it. That's how mothering works best: Up close...Up close, they don't look like many children. Up close, they look like individuals.

I know each one personally. I know the kind of cake Daniel Jr. likes for his birthday. I know Philip's favorite ice cream flavor (flavors! haha). I know the teachers Levi likes and those he doesn't like. I know the boys Charity thinks are cute. I know what Megan is writing about for her latest assignment (and that she is a gifted writer like Levi). I know Emily is afraid to try at school because she is so used to being successful at everything she tries, that she thinks she should be able to read after having had the ABC's introduced to her once! I know Katherine, at three, thinks she is just about as smart as every one of her three older sisters... and me sometimes. And Joshua... I know he is gifted in relating to people. He loves. Even at 18 month old; he loves us...

And now- after all these years, I am here; in the good old days. I know the day will too soon come when I look back and say that these were the best days of my life: When I had adult, near adult, teenage, pre-teen, young children, and pre-school aged children all in my home at once.

Now I have it all. Don't I? What future could life hold for me that can possibly bring me more joy than that which I have right now?

I'm not in a hurry to find out. I'm happy to linger in this moment, and to thank my God for all that is now.

Pictures from Vacation and Philip's 18th Birthday

Turn the Page

I love Bob Segar... But wait, I haven't mentioned my sister Melinda. She was like a mother to me when I was a child. She had a rough life. Having been abused as a child, she was spiritually scarred and confused, but she loved me and I loved her.

Melinda took me to see Bob Segar in concert one summer he came to San Antonio. I remember driving the hour down I 10 in her old black Chevy pick up, with no air conditioning. I didn't care. Very few cars I rode in in those days had AC. It was the time of my life. I knew Melinda loved me. I felt it. No matter how rough she was or unacceptable to proper society, she was acceptable to me. She had done everything bad a person might think of. She was the person who introduced me to pot and wine coolers. She didn't know she was hurting me. She was trying to draw me closer to her. I don't fault her for any of it. Standing with her and singing and crying listening to Bob Segar live was an amazing, unforgettable experience. "Janie was lovely. She was the queen of my night, there in the darkness with the radio playing low. Against the wind. We were running against the wind. We were young and strong and we were running... against the wind." I love those lyrics.

"Turn the Page" was Melinda's favorite. She also turned me on to the Eagles, Led Zeppelin, Simon and Garfunkel, Boston, and Journey, to name some. That music always makes me think of her. I think of her every day. I miss her.

Melinda was killed by a drunk driver in 1989 on St. Patrick's Day. The young man who killed her was on leave from the Army he had just joined. He wasn't even old enough to drink alcohol in the State of Texas at that time. He took a mother away from a 14 year old daughter. He took a daughter away from a grieving mother. He took my sister away from me.

I know, because of the testimony I have of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that families can be together forever. I look forward to the time I will be reunited with my sister. I like to imagine she may, over these years, have been able to spend some time in the spirit world with my own daughter Heather, who died in infancy in 1990. Melinda, too, had a daughter who died of phneumochoccal meningitis (I should find the correct spelling of this disease).

Carrie was only 14 months old when she died. Melinda was with her as she cried 'Mama' repeatedly until she lapsed into a coma. It was devastating for my sister. The IV antibiotic leaked out of the baby's catheter and into her diaper. The nurse thought the baby was wetting her diaper. Carrie wasn't getting the medication needed to save her life. By the time they found out what was going on, it was too late.

Carrie's death was one dark moment in Melinda's life. Her life was like a landscape of darkness with droplets of color. So much of her time on earth was sadness...so much so, that it was hard for her to feel the joy when it did come. Some of her pain was induced by molesting adults in her childhood. Some was self imposed as she grew. Such is the sad pattern of young girls who are abused. They often self-abuse, thus insuring they continue to hurt, often for the duration of their mortal lives. They drink alcohol in excess, they sell their virtue, they find men who will hurt them, they hurt people... It is heartbreaking.

I have been grateful over the years that Melinda is free from the pains of this world, although I miss her still. I don't believe she has ceased to exist. I believe the story of her life continues as a story written in the pages of a never ending story book. The page has turned for her. And though, I'm not on the same page, I will be, one of these days.

One of these days we will all be on the same page. The time will come when all nations, kindreds, tongues and people will confess the same truths. The time will come when every knee shall bow and every tongue confess the same truth. When all eyes shall see, every ear shall hear and every heart shall feel...

Until that time comes, we are all somewhere on our own page in our own book... turning pages. No matter one's station or season in life, it too soon is time to turn the page.

When darkness and despair loom like clouds upon the horizon, remember the wind will soon blow in from the north. Clouds are slaves to the wind.

If the darkness is too heavy and no joy can be found in the cool breeze and temporary shade of the clouds, at least remain hopeful, for on the next page, there is reason to rejoice. All earthly stories end in a measure of happily ever after.

"In my Father's house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you."

And they lived happily ever after... turn the page...