The Blanket

Blankets are an essential part of our family life.  We spread them out on the floor for tea parties, arranging sweet snacks into the middle and circling the edges with our hungry bodies.  We use half a dozen of them for rainy day (or 20 below day) forts, each child clamoring for their own space within the quilted walls.  Most belovedly, though, we curl up underneath the cloth for book reading.  Although none of my children has a “blankie” and any one will do for the task at hand, there exists some unwritten rule that requires every child to be, if not actually embraced by the blanket, to be touching it somewhere.  A recent read-aloud morning found us thus : Mom and two toddlers in a chair and under The Blanket, a pumpkin colored fleece newly retrieved from the basement depths with the change of seasons; two older children sitting at our feet, on top of orange fluff that flowed onto the floor (This rendered those of in the chair captive, since any shifting pulled down The Blanket, which, according to some other unwritten rule, is to be avoided at all costs.).  The very cool teenager, not to be confused with the younger children, was nonchalantly leaning against the chair, but his arm was resting on The Blanket.   So we remained, pleasantly entangled with each other as I read The Secret Garden.

It is comforting to reflect upon The Blanket as a type, or picture, of the Church.  We connect with Her in varying ways throughout the years, as seasons of life turn, as our circumstances alter, and as emotions ebb and flow.  Sometimes we long to be completely hidden within the Church for illuminated peace and healing quiet.  Perhaps we are content to be casually wrapped and happily chatting with enfolded others.  Maybe we are purposefully reaching outward, retaining the all-important connection to a corner, as a pivot-point.  And so we live, touching The Blanket, our Holy Mother Church ~ for peace, for quiet, for comfort, for healing, for fellowship, for grounding, for sharing the heavenly Eucharist meal.  It is forever available to each of us and to all of us, as God’s beloved family.


Warm and curled up,
Allison