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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