Sunday, February 7, 2016


When I was getting ready to make the transition to living alone, I asked my mom to knit me a blanket, a keepsake to remember my first "own place" by. Deep purple with flecks of color, the blanket is thick and heavy. She made it just long and wide enough to cover my body. I use it now when I pray, laying it on my folded legs in the dark early mornings, steaming coffee and lit candle on the coffee table in front of me, heart expectant. I drape it over my legs and shoulders during weekend naps, allowing it to still me under its comfort and warmth. I think of the first story of love and separation, how God clothed his beloved to show them his merciful and steadfast heart toward them. I think of the instinct to cover and be covered, how in times of need - in sorrow, in sickness, in growth - to be blanketed is to know security and presence and compassion. It is to know love.

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