When a trio of tragedies erupted in my small town this spring I leaped to the only remedy I know. I started making quilts. There are a total of eight for three families who lost either a parent, or both parents or their home in a fire. Over the past few months I have had squares appear on my counter, or in the mail, or people have come by to sew them in a chatting clutch.  Some women were generous enough to make several and others were offered by children.

This week I could wait no longer. I put one together. It is a log cabin for a little boy whose life altered irreparably in an April afternoon, and is being raised by an aunt. He has special needs and was the sweetheart of my church congregation. If ever the minister needed a volunteer his hand shot up. When the microphone went around for comments this little boy had one to soften any heart. 

A woman with a long arm quilting machine offered to quilt it, and I dropped it off last night. My prayer is that the collective love from the people who contributed will make a dent in this little boy's loss. A big hope, I know. But God has done more with less.

Today I will assemble the one for the son who found his parents in a lifeless heap. It is called flying geese, which are colorful and pointed in many directions. I pray that he will be carried by the flock of people who are showing up for him, this year and in the future. The memory of death will haunt him for a very long time, and it seems unlikely that a coverlet will be able to keep him warm against the grief. But God has done more with less.