Warm Underwear

Last night as we turned off the light and settled down under the covers, we were aware of the wind howling and roaring and rattling the windows.  It had begun to snow, and we remarked on how nice it was to feel secure in a safe home with sturdy walls and a protective roof, a reliable furnace, a comfortable bed and warm blankets.

I didn’t go to sleep immediately, and my mind took me back to childhood mornings when I awakened to howling wind and swirling snow outside.  Our house wasn’t always cozy warm, and I wanted to stay buried under the covers between the flannel sheets, which I called “softies.” 

On such mornings, my mother would come into my room, select a clean set of underwear for me, and hang it on the hot air vent in my room.  The furnace would be cranking out heat, and the blower would be sending it through the vent and into my underwear.  After a few minutes, my mother would hand the toasty warm underwear to me.  I would slide it under the covers, remove my pajamas and get into the warm underwear without leaving my bed.  Once enfolded in the warm fabric, I could force myself to fling back the covers and hastily put on my outer clothing.

Of course, no one had done this for my mother on those mornings.  She got up in the chilly house and put on chilly clothes.  She turned up the thermostat, so that the furnace would come on.  She fixed my Dad’s breakfast, packed his lunch, and off he went to work.  When it was time for me to get up for school, she did not come into my room, slobber me with kisses and say she loved me.  She handed me warm underwear.

It is easier to face the cold cruel world when you are wearing warm underwear.

It is easier to face the cold cruel world when your mother has shown her love, not just with words, but with sacrificial actions.