It has been a rough couple of days. None of which I even care to repeat in a lifetime, but as we say around here, "There you have it!" So, this morning before I left for work, I went into my closet to find a warm jacket. As I thumbed through the various colors and thicknesses, I couldn't decide which would be light enough to wear but still provide necessary warmth. As I dragged one hanger after the other across the closet bar, there tucked back out of initial sight was my dad's old green flannel shirt.
This may not seem like a really big deal to you, but you don't know the value of this shirt. About 5 years ago my dad died of luekemia. It was a rare form and given the choice, Daddy would have stayed behind for many more deer seasons. But, so like life, sometimes choices are not included in the mix and one is forced to live out a greater and higher choice. Such was the case in my dad's dying. We were out-voted by a loving and healing Heavenly Father who knew what was best for all of us.
So, after my dad died, it was a little while before my sister and I were able to return back home at the same time to visit with our step-mother. She is a gentle soul and loved our dad. She truly was the love of his life. The purpose of the visit was so that my sister and I could pick up somethings that she had held aside for us...things that were really of no value in this world's standards, but golden to my sister and me.
Once that part of the visit was done, our step-mother asked if there was anything else that my sister or I wanted that had belonged to our dad. Right now, I can't think of what my sister chose but I remember clearly going to my dad's closet. I scooped up his clothes and tried to capture his scent. For a brief milisecond, it was there and just as suddenly as it had appeared it was gone. As I touched each hanger (kinda like I was doing today) I came across an avocada flannel shirt. It just felt good to the touch. In my mind's eye, it was easy to imagine my dad's hands rubbing down each sleeve, grinning from ear-to-ear and his eyes dancing. He was such the mess!
That was the memory that came to me as I pulled the shirt off the hanger and pulled it on over my shoulders. As the shirt fell onto my shoulders and slid to my finger tips, I wrapped it tightly around me. It was like imagining my dad hugging me and telling me that things were going to be okay. Just could not help but smile over that one. Yes, I'm still my daddy's baby girl.
Who knew that an old green flannel shirt would hold such comfort? It reminded me of the woman in the street who reached out and touched the hem of Jesus' tunic. Oh, the power of that touch. It was a close as she could get to the Heavenly Father by touching the hem of His One and Only Son's robe.
As Jesus turned to seek who touched him (the scriptures tell us that Jesus felt the power leave Him upon her touch of the hem of his tunic) she wept with fear. Jesus must have knelt down, reached out and touched her hand with His and spoke tenderly with absolute compassion, "Your faith has made you whole."
Touch...it can be a healing thing. The rain was still pouring down, the temperature hovering in the 40's when I stepped out onto the driveway to leave. But, inside my shirt, my heart was light, my face and spirit just about as giddy as it could be. It was although My Heavenly Father had wrapped His arms around me and sent me out to play. Who knew the healing touch of a old green flannel shirt?
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