A recent phone conversation…
“What ‘cha doing?” Mother said.
“Folding clothes. I wish Thomas would pick up his stacks of clean clothes off the steps.”
“I always folded clothes sitting on our steps, remember? I sat there folding clothes in hopes that my four children and husband would pick up the correct pile and carry them upstairs. It seems reasonable, but no one did it–not even when I placed a polite note at the bottom step.”
“Yep, we ignored your note. His clothes keep getting knocked over. Why can’t he just pick them up?”
“When your daddy was dying with a brain tumor, only two things in life made sense. Giving a signal to turn left or right when I drove and folding clothes. I loved getting an armful warm from the drier. The warmth was a comforting spirit.”
I sensed something sweet was happening.
“On good days, I would pray for each of you as I folded your clothes instead of grumble,” she said. “Sitting on the steps, I could see who was coming home out the living room window. Usually, at dusk. In retrospect, it’s good when people come home, even if you have to carry their clothes upstairs.”
She’s so right.
“Don’t look at his clothes when you walk up and down the steps. It’ll be over soon,” she said softly.
I folded a pair of Thomas’s jeans, slowly, lovingly, as though I’d never seen them. I placed the stacked clothes on the steps. “Lord, overshadow him when his wears these jeans. They’re his favorite ones.”
One day there’ll be no more clothes on the steps. I’ll miss them.
“For this boy I prayed….” 1 Sam 1:27 (NAS)