Patchwork Quilt

My relationship with my Mother was never smooth.  I remember as a child the conscious decision to call her Mother instead of Mom or Momma.  It was a way to distance myself from the hurtful words that she regularly hurled in my direction.  I was an adult before I realized I never had the ability to please her unless I failed at something.

One Christmas before the onset of her dementia she gave each of her four children a patchwork quilt.  My quilt was yellow with the centerpiece a huge lone star.  I knew I should be appreciative and I was. The hours of needlework and patience required for assembling such an heirloom was mind boggling to me. I'm embarrassed to say that it seemed at that time to be one more example of getting what "they" wanted me to have instead of what I wanted.  My brothers' quilts were colors I preferred not the garish yellow one I had been given.

There had been two Christmases where I got what I wanted; one was when I got my royal blue bike and the other was when I got my tether ball.  I loved them both.  The blue bike gave me a freedom and way to escape the chaotic home I was born into.  The tether ball allowed me to pound away the hurt and anger I often felt in my home.

I've come to understand that the Lord does not make junk and I may not be all that I can be.  The Lord whom I serve loves me as I am and His plans exceed my wildest dreams.

I'm thankful for the Mother, the Lord gave me.  I've learned to love the difficult, take the emotional temperature of a  room full of people and to have have compassion for the odd child out Black Sheep of the family.