THE POWER OF A PRAYER BLANKET

The call came at 8:30 PM last Saturday night. 

"Mom, there's been an explosion a few buildings away. People are saying it's an IED."

My heart chilled.   For my son, but also for the innocent people injured in the blast and their families. 

It's hard enough letting your children go, but when it's into this world, it can be excruciating.

This time it was New York City.   The last time Duncan and I got a similar call from Peter, it was 2013. He was looking down from his office onto the finish line at the Boston marathon. He thought the road was covered in dirt. Only later did he realize that it was blood. 

We taught our children not to accept candy from strangers, and to wear lifejackets in boats.  Peter always had his rescue inhaler at summer camp, and knew what to do if he was stung by a bee.

But no parenthood manual comes with instructions about this madness. 

Sometimes I think the world is going crazy. 

I suspect you all agree.

So what are we supposed to do?

To begin, we all need to seek and relish the goodness in our lives.  To embrace the ordinary moments that make life extraordinary. But I think these times also demand a bit more.  I think each of us is challenged to identify our special gifts, and share them with those around us.  I'm not talking heroics here.  It's more about kindness and generosity.

Six years ago, I spent two weeks in the hospital.  By the end of my stay, I had identified every illicit liaison among the medical staff, and learned more about blood draws than I ever thought possible.  I was also losing my mind.  

Then something remarkable happened.  A woman from church arrived at my room (just as I was about to hang myself from my IV pole) with a handmade prayer blanket.  A beautiful, snow-white, coverlet knit by someone I didn't even know.   From the moment I held the blanket, it did something that no amount of Percocet had  been able to do before: it comforted my soul.  

And it rocked my world.  

Over the past six years, I've sewn quite a few prayer blankets, and given them to family, friends, colleagues, and even clients.  Sometimes I call them "comfort blankets," but the sentiment is still them same:  someone cares about you. 

Occasionally, however, the blankets get a little out of hand.  I gave one to my dental hygienist who had suffered multiple miscarriages, and she had twins.   Eighteen months later, she had another set of twins.   At that point, I asked her if she wanted me to take the prayer blanket back.  She told me that, with four children under the age of two, she now needed it more than ever. I had to agree.

From time to time, amidst the lunacy that surrounds us, it can be tempting to give up on living purposely, with wild abandon, and deliberate joy.  But we can't let that happen. We need to fight it.

We need to be warriors.  In invisible capes.  

Especially when it's 8:30 PM on a Saturday night, and the phone rings.