The Fuzzy Blue Robe
It was a cold morning, late enough that my oldest brother David was at school. The kitchen was bright and mother was busy. She already closed the dishwasher because I had tried to pull out the spoons and forks. I loved the feeling of their hot metal in my hands. My brother Jonny was sitting under the table and mom was trying to answer the phone.
The floor was cold and I wanted to be with her. She is so busy and worried. The house must be cleaned. Looking up, I tried to reach the curly cord of the telephone, but she was moving. I touched her soft blue robe. Finally, she was still.
“Mom I’m here! When will you be done talking? Jonny is here too.” Crawling under her robe we both hung onto her legs. I looked at him and he looked at me. We had won! She would have to stop now and see us.
We were on the inside of the big fuzzy robe, and every time she tried to move, our little bodies would slow her down. “Uh huh, Uh huh, I see.” On she talked and on we held, secure under her robe. Away from the mess, away from the cold bedrooms, in our secret place.
Sometimes as a grown woman I miss feeling the warm covering of the big blue robe. I long to have someone much bigger and much wiser, that I could at any time reach out with all my heart and hang on to. Why must faith be the evidence of things unseen and yet hoped for? I know God loves me and yet sometimes I need new eyes to see it.
As a grown-up, I am walking out the dreams I had as a child. I am trying to be a mother to my own children. I am striving in my work and ministering to people. Sometimes I wish I could find a secret place to cuddle close to my Father God, and get a glimpse of who I am in His eyes.
What if “being” is more important than I think? Looking back at this memory, I have a tinge of guilt. Knowing I was an even busier and distracted young mother than my own. I wonder what my little ones thought as I finally stopped what I was doing to look down at their little bodies wrapped around my legs, and in frustration say to them, “No more, this just won’t do.”
I haven’t been very good at just dwelling and just being. I have been much more comfortable with going and doing. But something deep down inside seems to be calling out for a secret place. The longing to get away or maybe to just stop, and look up whispers from deep within.
Even as I write I know that to latch on to a moment set apart with God is not impossible at all. He is as close as the breath the Lord has so gracefully given me. So with this breath I invite Him to speak.