Wednesday, April 9, 2014

The yellow blanket [at Little Did She Know]

Today I am over at Cara Strickland’s blog. Cara is an amazing gal, a kind soul, and a beautiful writer, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know her a little over the past few months. She had the brilliant idea to start a series called De(tales), in which the intricate details of a memory become a springboard for reflection or metaphor or simply the telling of a story.

For the series, I wrote about a little yellow blanket and a lifelong friendship. Here’s how it starts:

I am reluctant to rise so early, but I am so excited for fellowship that I agree. Antonia and I hear a tapping on our dorm-room door around seven, and one of us scrambles over to unlock it for Leanne. The October Minnesota mornings have turned crisp and cool, and I am stumbling out of my bed, not yet dressed, so Antonia grabs the faded yellow blanket from her bed and we sit in a circle on the carpet and cover our legs. Dear God, thank you for this beautiful morning, someone croaks, and we have begun.

The yellow blanket becomes our companion, our touchstone for seven a.m. prayer. In between closing our eyes, we stare down at the swirly white-flowered pattern woven into the fabric, and we hold onto it like a piece of solid ground in this new place far away from home, this vortex of new experiences and new ideas snaking around us. The blanket is cotton, warm enough for winter but light enough for spring, always covering our bare legs. We let it bind us together, hoping it can cover our broken pieces and keep us from hurting each other…

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