It’s purpose was clear in the beginning. It was the favorite present at the baby’s birth. A hand-made, plush,beautiful baby blanket perfect for bringing comfort and warmth. The softest color of pink bearing a tag with the simple words, “made with love”. From the moment it was introduced, it seemed to calm not only the baby, but her mother as well. With constant handling, there was never a doubt that it was cherished and loved.
There was no nap without it. The baby’s mother would run a corner through her fingers as she used it to cover herself and baby while nursing. It served as yet another source of bonding for mother and child. When going for walks in the stroller, or rides in the car, the blanket protected baby’s eyes from the bright light of the sun, and her skin from the chill of the wind. It felt needed and important.
Sometimes the blanket had to do things that were less than desirable. Nestled up to a sweet sick toddler who would at times rub her runny nose on it. Car trips could end up with tummy aches and the blanket would find itself used to clean up vomit. After play dates, the blanket would be cuddled with sticky, dirty little fingers. And the blanket knew it was essential to real life.
As baby grew, the blanket’s role began to change. The child became more active and mobile. The blanket still accompanied her, but now was often drug along the ground. It’s edges became torn and dirty. At nap time, the little girl would rub the “special corner” along her nose as she sucked her thumb. She nearly purred as she found that place of peaceful contentment. And the blanket, though worn, knew it was the key to helping her drift off into dreamland.
Kindergarten eventually came. There was much to do, new friends to make and little time for the child to spend with her beloved blanket. Besides, big girls didn’t carry around blankies. So all day, it would rest in her room and wait for her to go to bed at night. They would reconnect in the sleepy bedtime hour. And the blanket would sigh with relief that it was still a necessary part of the girl’s day.
The time they spent together was becoming more sporadic. The girl was busier than ever and was so much taller that the blanket could no longer offer the warmth that it once did. By now it was well worn and permanently stained. It was riddled with holes, each with a different story of its history with the girl. The frayed edges showed how much and how long it was loved. Still, the blanket wondered if it still held any use or importance at all.
The girl grew up and went away to college. And the tattered blanket found itself crumpled up in a corner of the girl’s closet. Her mother came in one day to tidy up the teenager’s disheveled room. She opened the closet and reached down to pick up what was left of the blanket. For a moment it seemed she was remembering the sweet history that she and her daughter had shared with the blanket. But the moment faded quickly, and she stuffed the tiny blanket into a box marked “Give Away”. And the blanket suddenly felt very alone, unnecessary and useless.
The truck that came and picked up the box of discarded items, rumbled down the street. The blanket wondered what future it could possibly have. The items it shared space with were all either broken, old or replaced. Where would they go? Who would love and need them? How would they ever again have a purpose?
These thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the jolt of the truck coming to a stop. They had reached their destination – whatever that was. All of the boxes and their contents were carelessly thrown into a warehouse with other boxes and other “give aways”. Though surrounded by others like it, the blanket had never felt so alone.
Weeks passed and one day the doors to the warehouse opened. People began to come in and rummage through the boxes. These people seemed to see the contents of the boxes differently. They didn’t see them as used or discarded, but as new and useful. Each item was seen as a treasure. One by one, these treasures were claimed and taken to be loved and enjoyed.
The blanket waited. No one seemed to notice it. After all, who wanted a once loved, well worn blanket that had seen better days? What could possibly be its purpose?
And then it happened. A small girl approached the blanket’s box with her mother. It was obvious that they had seen hard times. The mother’s eyes were red and swollen with tears. The little girl looked into the box and saw something pink. Pink was her favorite color. She reached in and gently picked up the forgotten blanket. She read it’s label out loud – “made with love”. And she knew it was special. And that it was made especially for her and her mother.
Gripping the “special corner” of the blanket, she reached up towards her mother’s face. She touched the very worn, very torn fabric to her mother’s cheek, wet with fresh tears. The soft surface of the blanket quickly absorbed the salty tears and replaced them with a smile on the woman’s face. Because it wasn’t its newness that made it loved and valuable. It was that it was soft and available. And the blanket knew that though it was tattered, it still had a purpose, though different through the years. Because it was “made with love”. And love always made things softer with use…
Note: Just a reminder that we go through different seasons of life. Sometimes it is so obvious what our purpose is and how God wants to use us. Other times it’s hard to see. We feel like we don’t have much to offer or opportunities are not there. But we were made with love and as long as we are available, God has something for us to do and someone for us to touch. May I be the pink blanket that only get softer with use…
