Somewhere along the line, mail started getting less fun. I historically love getting mail, but that enthusiasm has been dampened by all those pesky bills and bank statements and, most recently, politicians lying through their teeth at me in print (I actually had the Democrat-endorsed candidate for King County prosecutor volunteer text me, asking if I needed more information on this fabulous person who was planning to end crime. I said, sure, who doesn’t need more information? She sent me the links… I made sure to text back and thank her making my decision so abundantly clear — her candidate is a disastrous piece of work and I am glad I will not accidentally vote for her. Knowledge is power). Now, it is Quail Joy, because I have raised up old school pen pals who write as prolifically as their mater, but on actual paper.
So imagine my surprise when Quail the Second brought in a box for me recently, bursting at the seams, which were heavily taped. It was addressed to my maiden name, which gave me an odd, warm fuzzy feeling, sent from my high school bestie’s mom. Inside was one of the most stunning quilts I have ever seen — full size, backed in a rose-colored minky fabric (which, in case you don’t have reason to know this, is about the softest fabric known to man), embroidered with flowers, covered in hymn lyrics. It is so beautiful. Words are going to fail me here.
This Gift Quilt now lives on my orange armchair, where I do all my reading and a good deal of my writing, and the theme of my lacking sufficient descriptors is going to continue today, because I seem unable to describe what this entirely unexpected gift has meant for me, right in this moment of my life. I could have spread it on my bed, it is big enough, but at the risk of sounding selfish, I couldn’t bring myself to share it. Getting this tangible, physical piece of comfort from someone I have not had the privilege of seeing in years was like being handed proof that I was not alone. It would be like sitting alone on the Moon and suddenly having a UPS man show up with a Chick-Fil-A milkshake that had been ordered just for you… only better.
I wrap up in this quilt every day now. I hold onto it, snuggle my cold limbs and squeeze bunches of it against my heart, and I remember: God is never late. He didn’t let His people be destroyed at the Red Sea by their enemies… but He waited til the last minute to part those waters. He didn’t spring Rahab and her family before the siege, but during. Hagar thought her son was a goner before the Lord brought water, words, life and a future. He can be trusted. He can be trusted even as we flounder, even when all we see is walls surrounding us and no apparent way of relief — God is not slow, He is sudden.
I have the quilt to prove it.