I already mentioned in a previous post that quilting feels a bit like insanity, but the end result is extremely satisfying. Throughout the entire process, I was thinking about my boy, chose fabrics that would interest him and thought about him wrapped in his quilt on cold winter nights. When someone talks about a labor of love, quilting is a good example.
This reminds me of a visit I once took to the Mennonite Central Committee's relief warehouse in Abbotsford. The committee collects different supplies from organizations and individuals which are then assembled by volunteers to make relief kits for people affected by natural disasters. I was really impressed by the warehouse and the mountains of heavy-duty buckets filled with school, hygiene, AIDS, and infant care kits. But what impressed me most of all was the "quilting room". In this large, church basement-like room were elderly ladies sitting around together, chatting, and quilting the most beautiful blankets from scraps donated by the community. Once completed the quilts got shipped to hospitals, orphanages, and refugee camps in countries all over the world. I asked the organizer why they bothered to quilt blankets when they could simply ask people to buy and donate already made blankets from a store. He replied with a big smile, although I'm sure he was asked this question a thousand times, that when a family in a refugee camp or a child in an orphanage receives a handmade blanket, they can feel the quilter's love inside the blanket.
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