Skip to main content

Lessons From My Hope Chest: Don't Hang on to Security Blankets too Long.


 Showing my boys their tattered blankets from birth was a great opportunity and attempt at embarrassing them! 

Pulling a faded, worn and ripped blanket from a baggie to hand to my second child brought chuckles of memory from his Dad and I and half hearted laughter from him.  "I'm putting in your tote," I explained.  "Why?  I'm not that attached anymore," he retorted.

Fingering each worn blanket flooded this Mom's mind and heart with memories.  The quilt that was our oldest son's blanket had batting hanging in every which direction.  His Dad and I remembering the games of hide and seek and snuggles by the heater on early cold mornings.

The second blanket was torn in half with the silk edging completely missing.   His Dad used to tease him with it, "my binky," he would say.  I can just see the blanket wrapped around his thumb and carried over his stick horse.

The third blanket was chosen by his brother's.  Very colorful zoo with orders to Grandma to put a big silky edge on it.  I could picture those giant blue eyes peeking out from under it or his brothers teasing him with it. 

My boys moved on from these flimsy pieces of security that helped them transition when we moved and cuddled them on cold nights.  They learned that their security was in those relationships around them and the binkeys found themselves left behind more and more often until they lay forgotten in a hope chest. 

The lesson for me is clear.  I need to be careful of what I find security in.  Am I still carting around a tattered and worn blanket of self sufficiency and independence and pride?  

What am I hanging onto out of fear that is torn and of no use spiritually, relationally, mentally, emotionally and physically?  

Maybe as I let go of the security blankets of baby boys and put them into totes for their future families, it is time for me to let go of any false security in my life.





Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Starting a Journey

September 3, 2010 Originally posted How to Begin a Journey 1. Pick a destination or simply start. 2. Plan a detailed itinerary or just take the first step. 3. Pack everything or travel lightly. I am choosing to just begin. To leave behind the baggage, pick up a day pack, and go. Several nights before we moved to Ogallala, I was praying about the transition when I heard that still, small voice of God. In that moment, I knew He heard my Heart's Cry. He hears every whispered plea, every unspoken longing. If I truly sit with that truth, it humbles me. What courage, boldness, passion, and decisiveness I have when I remember: He never leaves or forsakes me. He provides for my every need according to His riches in glory. My hope is to encourage you He hears your Heart's Cry too.

1940 Canned Apple Butter: Family Root Cellar

I loved exploration as a child.  From opening the door and going down the stairs to get something from my Grandma's root cellar or exploring old homesteads while checking cows.  I credit my Mom with teaching us to appreciate those things that represented the people who had gone before us. When I moved with my husband and boys to a house on the family ranch-I began exploring immediately.  This was the house my Aunt and Uncle lived in during my childhood.  My Grandparents had lived there and many other families dating back to 1900 when it was built.   With two little boys in tow, I made my way to the root cellar and found a treasure cove.  Old text books belonging to the original family who had been a teacher, the original medicine cupboard, tools, trash and memorabilia.   I felt like an archeologist sifting through layers of debris representing generations and culture.  And I was.  I hauled truckloads of trash to the dump (some...

Diabetes-Opened to Disease OR Open to Connecting to my Strengths

I've tried living in denial for two years after the big D diagnoses was handed over.  Honestly, I just don't want to talk about it.  Outwardly seemly calm and disconnected from it.  Inwardly terrified. As a plant that is stressed is open to disease, injury and death so to our bodies are.  I opened myself up to this.  Stress, lack of sleep, bad nutrition, overweight and lack of exercise.  For some reason I believed that if I ran fast enough and worked hard enough, I would outrun my family genes.  The tiny room in the back of my brain locked with a key has kept the fear of this disease at bay even though I could hear its screaming when life quieted down. My Aunt died piece by piece to this disease.  First a heart attack and quadruple by-pass.  Then a toe.  Next a foot.  Legs came next along with more heart attacks.  Kidneys shutting down.  She died very young. When I was little, my Aunt Ally gave herself s...