My quilt.

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this post for a long time.  The longer I wait, the more complicated it gets.  And it’s your fault.

You’ve overwhelmed me.  In the best way possible.

Cards and gifts in the mail almost every single day.  Flowers, food, jewlery, scarves, hats, gifts for my boys, books, blankets, clothes, magazines, lotions,  . . . I can’t cover it all.

Some of it from friends I haven’t spoken to in over a decade.

Some of it from friends of friends.  Some of it from strangers.

And there is a constant flow of support on my blog, my email, my phone, my Facebook inbox.  You tell me I’m in your prayers. You send me pictures, and inspirational quotes.  You remind me that it is going to be okay.

You pick up my boys, and take them on adventures.  You hug them and are silly with them when I can’t be.  You do my dishes and my laundry.  Some of you have even offered to clean my toilets.

You’ve taken off work to sit with me, left meetings early to help me, and stayed late to make sure I was okay.

You’ve made me giggle, and cry, and think.

The hardest class I took in college was a fabrics class.  I needed one more elective to fill my last semester of senior year and I decided to take an art class.  I thought it would be an easy A.  My final was to make a quilt.  It was the only class in college that forced me to stay up all night to finish the work- and literally was filled with blood, sweat and tears.  The quilt seemed impossible.  How was I going to make a full quilt in two weeks.  Each square was it’s own challenge, it’s own design.

I’ve decided that you have made me a quilt.

All of your hands are working on your separate square –you don’t even know the others who are sewing too– but your hands are all moving together.  You are blindly creating something larger than you can even see.  I get to see it.  The finished work, the masterpiece.   All of these great acts of love sewn together.

This quilt is sometimes a parachute.  It makes me brave.  Challenges me to leap through the hardest parts of this cancer.

This quilt is sometimes a net.  It catches me when I fall.  It softens the blows.  And there are so many blows.

But most of all, this quilt is a reminder of what is bigger than us.  A metaphor for something so beautiful that the only explanation requires faith.  A belief in something beyond any comprehension.

A mountain top moment– when you can see with your eyes closed.

You’ve humbled me.  And softened my road.  My arms are opening.

Thank you.

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3 thoughts on “My quilt.

  1. Your words are so beautiful. I feel like I’m reading a poem with every post. I don’t always write a comment, but I do keep you, Joel, and the boys in my prayers every night. Also, I’ve increased my kitchen dancing to at least twice a day.

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    1. I echo Theresa…your ability to articulate your thoughts and feelings as you go through this experience…it’s amazing. It is a gift that you are sharing with all of us. Knowing you is a gift to all of us.

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  2. And I echo the last two comments (comments, comments, omments, ments, ents, ts, s….). 🙂
    I can’t pull my words together like you and so many others. But just know that I am reading every single post (often multiple times) and hold you and your 3 boys close in thought and prayer. Love you –

    Like

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