Stitched Together
My sisters and I were instructed to open our large packages simultaneously. Our Christmas gifts had been carefully placed in large sanitized boxes from Lowes. We laughed hysterically as dad recounted the tale of their trip into town to obtain what now held our new possessions.
Every other family member’s box contained Pjs, clothing, a game or puzzle, and some extra goodies specific to them.
But based on the directive for my sisters and me, we surmised that our boxes carried something unique inside.
We eyed one another as we carefully unwrapped the outside paper to make sure no one was moving too quickly. I don’t think any of us were quite prepared for the treasure we were about to behold as we lifted the cardboard lid.
Placed on top of a large plastic bag was an envelope with a letter. The script detailed the significance of the handmade quilt below that mom had designed and patched together for each one of us.
I could barely make out the words on the page as tears soaked my cheeks. All the while trying to take in this cherished creation.
The mix of emotions that welled up within overwhelmed me so much that I had to excuse myself for a moment in an attempt to regain control.
Once the dizziness subsided and earth had righted itself, I returned to the living room to examine each square. I suddenly understood the intensity of my reaction which stemmed from the years that had led to this special moment.
Not long after I was born, I was gifted a small blanket. Although it wasn’t just any blanket, it was one that I kept with me each night until I was nearly twenty-five.
Now, I know what you're thinking... This chick has some serious separation issues!! You’re right, but we didn’t put a label on it back then. I just knew it provided comfort and reminded me of home.
So, when Ryan and I returned to Parkersburg in 2005, I no longer required the level of security my blanket, now a tattered rag, once offered.
Or, so I thought.
I was once again surrounded by family so my feelings of security were easily met.
I quickly learned however, that the dynamic as an adult was vastly different.
After all, my new husband and I had just spent the first two years of marriage alone. I believed that interference from others in what we were trying to build was the exact opposite of what our relationship needed.
I was doing what the scripture stated, “leave and cleave” to my spouse, right?
Somewhere along the line, my boundaries turned into a pharisaical type of living. I built imaginary structures around my little family and when trials hit, few dared to access.
Have you ever stopped to think about the characters depicted in the parable of the prodigal son? The full story can be found in the gospel of Luke 15:11-32.
First, we see the younger son who willingly chose to give up his place in his father’s home. He squandered away his inheritance, only to return out of desperation to seek a place of employment and is met instead with redemption and reconciliation.
Then we see the older of the two siblings, a brother, who faithfully worked by his father’s side. A man who has presumably done everything “right.” However, he is consumed by bitterness and resentment upon the return of his brother because he doesn’t receive the attention and recognition from his father that he believes he has coming.
Finally, we see a father, who lavishly loves both children and would do anything to protect and provide for them. He welcomes with open arms by providing a safe place for his children to belong.
When recounting the narrative people often fixate on the relationship between the wayward child and his father. Why? Because the imagery depicts how our Heavenly Father has so graciously pulled us out of our miry existence.
Nevertheless, there are some, like me, who find themselves connecting a little more with the older sibling. You know, the resentful, bitter brother. The one who needs to be reminded that he too, belongs.
Well, as time marched on in my story, I had let my imaginary walls and “righteous” living cloud my view. I believed that I knew who was deserving of God’s grace and goodness.
After decades of “faithful” service were Ryan and I not owed something for the time and energy we had devoted?
Those walls began obstructing my view from the very thing God had been attempting to reveal all along.
In fact, as everything around us shattered; very few people within our carefully constructed circle were anywhere to be found.
Rather, it was the ones I had left out of our sheltered existence who first offered aide.
The first to pray with us, share their homes, and resources; the ones to provide respite from the never ending chaos.
They were the first to demonstrate the lavish love of Christ.
So, that brings us back to Christmas 2020 and my reaction to my mother’s lovely creation. It was so much more than stitches and fabric or the resemblance of my treasured childhood “blankie.”
For on that day, as I looked upon this gift, it served as a powerful revelation, that for the remainder of my time on earth, I was right where I belong.
I had finally found my way back HOME!
