Single-digit temperatures here in Nashville took me to the closet recently to retrieve from the upper shelf an extra blanket to make for warm nighttime sleeping. As I pulled down a quilt, I was flooded with memories of its gifting to me.
Twenty-five years ago, while worshipping in Salt Creek Parish, located in East Central Illinois, four women, during the announcement time, marched down the center aisle dragging behind them a big, black plastic bag full of that which I knew not. They arrived at the chancel rail, summoned me to join them, and presented me with the contents of the bag. Slowly I opened it and pulled out a king-size quilt, lovingly made by The Weedman Bag Ladies, comprised of the women standing before me.
Almost that many years ago, my mom gifted me with a down-filled lap blanket. I admit that even now I snuggle under it during the evening hours, winter and summer, as I sit in MY chair. Since my mom’s death ten years ago, the blanket has wrapped me daily in her love.
As I snuggle under the warmth of these two blankets, I reflect on the notion of blanketing. Blankets warm in moments of cold. They protect. They comfort.
They swaddle. They hold us in being. They contribute to our wellbeing and the wellbeing of others.
In less helpful ways, blankets can confine, constrain, smother, suffocate, even cloak and cover up.
Gathering the fragments this week, I have come across the phrase ”blanket pardons.” And our neighborhood was recently blanketed with snow. Additional uses of the word.
So…blanketing…
We all are blanketers.
We choose in each moment how we blanket others. We can refuse to blanket others which results in inattention and neglect. We can blanket with vitriol and hate which injures and destroys. We can blanket with kindness, mercy, love, and acts of justice which affirm and build up others, contributing to the common good.
The ability to blanket for the enhancement of life is developed and nurtured over a lifetime. In my tradition we call it going on to perfection in love which requires womb-to-tomb learning. I’m working on it for myself.
To protect the innocent and assure anonymity I do not include the names of people who are not public figures in my blog posts. Therefore, I have removed the names of the four women who comprise The Weedman Bag Ladies in the photograph above. However, as an act of deep appreciation to them for their gift that keeps on giving to C and me, I share here their initials— VS, MO, LJ, JAB.
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