Years ago, well before my writing days and when my son was small, I designed and sewed an appliqued quilt for his bed. About half way through the creation, I put it aside. I don’t recall what was going on in my life, perhaps the big organic garden, or perhaps I was simply tired. The following year, I got it out again and finished it. I was so happy to see it on his bed. And I was so happy that it lasted thirty-five years and into the lives of my grandchildren, used until it was threadbare.

Over time since, I’ve remembered that quilt and realized: 1) I’m not a quilter but admire them. 2) Just because I stopped to rest or got distracted doesn’t mean I’ve quit. 3) There’s a strong persistence streak in me that I can rely on, and all I have to do is start again.

And always I have an unseen helping Hand that will boost me up at just the right moment.

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