The yellow shirt

I was packing for college when I found something special. The yellow shirt
had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps
up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape.
I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break,
rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. 'You're not
taking that old thing, are you?' Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow
shirt. 'I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!'

'It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!' I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The
yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After
graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on
Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt
during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we
were in Colorado and they were in Illinois But that shirt helped. I
smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years
earlier.

That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I
patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom
wrote to thank me for her 'real' gifts, she said the yellow shirt was
lovely. She never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick
up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I
noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!

And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's
mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two
years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor
lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing
furniture. The walnut stains added character.

In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to
move back to Illinois . As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I
wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job.
I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, 'So
use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and
when it is all over, you will be standing up.'

I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained
yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of
God's armor? My courage was renewed.

Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother.
The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.

Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered
the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. Something new
had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were
the words 'I BELONG TO PAT.'

Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an
apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, 'I
BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER.' But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the
frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from
Arlington , VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from 'The Institute
for the Destitute,' announcing th at she was the recipient of an award for
good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened
the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.

Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I
put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the
wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a
pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and
found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a
note: 'Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother.'

That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses:
'I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give
isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or
afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to
you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I
can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things
before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me.'

The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she
had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age
57.

I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad
I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I
played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring
in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

There's some mighty fine advice in these words.

A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart .