The Baggy Yellow Shirt

年是遥远又

漫长的，而年长者则觉得过去的

30

年却是这样的贴近而短暂！

The baggy

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

university

on

school

recess,

rummaging

through

bags

of

clothes

Mom

intended to give away.

shirt.

my suitcase before she could object.

The yellow shirt became a part of my university 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 day, 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 living far away from them. 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,

washed and pressed the shirt, wrapped it on holiday paper and sent it to Mom.

When Mom wrote to thank me for her

never mentioned it again.

The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom an Dad's mattress. I don't know

how long it took 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 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 the

area where I grew up. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could succeed

on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In

Ephesians, I read,

and when it is all over, you will be standing up.

I

tried

to

picture

my

self

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

T.

Not

to

be

outdone,

I

got

out

my

own

embroidery

materials

and

added

an

apostrophe

and