The Yellow Shirt: Glory in His name.

        These stories fly around the net.  Every now and then I catch one; this story, "The Yellow Shirt", favors this reader with a wonderful lesson.  I hope that you find beauty and meaning in this piece. I hope you enjoy it, too.

     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 that 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.

     As I said, I've shamelessly taken this parable from a chain email.  While I don't believe that God favors those who don't break the chain, I must admit that I believe that he does favor those who testify to His glory, and doen't a chain letter e-mail do that?  God bless us all, Colin

Comments

[Patricia Lorenz]

You have posted my story, written in 1981, without my permission. All you have to do is google, "The Baggy Yellow Shirt" and you can easily find my name. This story appeared in Reader's Digest in 1993 and in The 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul (1995)as well as many other legitimate magazines. In the future you must get permission from the author before you post stories on the Internet.
Patricia Lorenz