Blankets

I was digging through a moving box recently. Yes, I realize it's been three years since I moved. Don't judge me. In it was a lovely, luxurious blanket. I don't remember packing it. But I did. I know I didn't buy it, because it is luscious, and I know I couldn't have afforded it. I assumed it was bedding for the air mattress, so never gave it much thought. Until this year.

I unfolded it and pondered. How long have I/we owned it, where did it come from and why am I connecting with it now. Life is like that, you know. We are oblivious to things until a light comes on and the timing is right. We're left wondering. Was it a need that was simply waiting to be met? Was I blind to it? Why didn't I connect the dots?

There are lots of blankets in my house. Ironically, or serendipitously, this one just happens to be king sized. Way too big for the air mattress. Most of my blankets have been nibbled on by a dog (or two) over the years. Of course, it would be nice if they hadn't. Surely, I would have corrected them if I'd had the opportunity. But, dogs, and blankets are stealthy like that. Blankets that have a hole in them are much like our hearts. A little tattered, slightly worn, but still soft and nurturing. They still have the capacity to offer love, warmth and comfort. 

I'm not fussy about the holes. I know some people would never tolerate something tattered. In a perfect world, which is some place I will never live, things get damaged and replaced. That's probably why it was purchased. Me? I make do. That's not necessary a bad thing. In fact, there is a lot of grace in that.

For some reason, this season, I have an ultra-soft, warm blanket to cover up with. I think it's a sign of some sort. I'm not sure exactly what though. Maybe I don't have to know. It's new, and yet it's old. It's soft and warm. It's a gift from another life. If it gets chewed on, so be it. We're all a little damaged, and we're all still beautiful.