My home is filled with the scents of roast and chocolate cake. The quilt upon which I lie and write – a double-wedding ring from Mom the Christmas before my wedding – is finally growing soft with age. Her quilts are so stiff when we first get them, filled with tiny stitches that won’t lie down. I can almost stand the quilt up on its folded end. As it gets used, though, the threads of the fabric and those stitching it together into a beautiful pattern learn where to bend. Sometimes one may even break here and there. As it’s tossed in and out of the washing machine and dryer, as kiddos and pets wallow all over it, as it gets crumpled each night and then smoothed again each morning, the threads within keep bending and stretching.
Eventually, they settle into a rest of being.
The quilt becomes a source of warmth, comfort, and pleasure where before it was only a thing of beauty, a representation of effort and talent. It is still all those things years later – the beauty of this quilt struck me when I cast it across the bed two nights ago – but it is all those other descriptors now, too.
I’m like this quilt. I was stiff, put together, and an outwardly beautiful example of my parents’ love…but now I’m more. Now I’ve bent. I’ve been broken. Tossed around in the tumbler of life. Now I’ve softened enough to be a source of comfort, warmth, and enjoyment in ways I could not before the bending and the breaking.
Now I settle into a rest of being.