The Memory Quilt: A Christmas Story for Our Times - Hardcover

Jakes, T.D.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1439170452 ISBN 13: 9781439170458

Publisher: Atria Books, 2009

Synopsis

T.D. Jakes’s first Christmas story features a grandmother seeking inspiration from the Bible as she prepares to create a quilt.

Grandmother feels as if her life and loves have all passed, leaving her alone to reminisce about the joy of yesteryear and the real Christmases she celebrated. But as she opens her heart to the stories of the Virgin Mary, the truth of what really matters to her comes to light. At the end, she folds up the quilts she has made and ventures off to share their joy and warmth with the children in a local shelter, leaving them with something to keep them physically and spiritually cloaked.

With ten life lessons divined from the story of Jesus’ birth, A Christmas Story for Our Times is a charming, thoughtful treat for those who consider the Christmas season to be the most special time of the year.

About this title

About the Author:

T.D. Jakes is the founder and senior pastor of The Potter’s House of Dallas, Inc., who regularly appears on national television. The award-winning and New York Times bestselling author of Making Great Decisions, Reposition Yourself, and Let It Go, he lives in Dallas, Texas.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter 1

"She's filed," Jean said.

"What was that, dear?" Lela Edwards asked, hastily twisting the volume control knob on the clock radio, abruptly quieting "O Come, All Ye Faithful" to an unrecognizable muffle.

"'She's filed,' I said."

Phone conversations with Jean were like this -- begun without much small talk. Barely a hello, and she was off with the subject like a sprinter at the sound of the gun.

"Darcie filed for divorce," she said, skipping a few beats before she added, "Mother, don't start."

"What am I starting? I'm just trying to understand what you're saying," Lela said.

Jean sighed. "Darcie filed for divorce yesterday." She said the words slowly, as if reluctant to repeat herself.

"I thought you said a few months ago that they were thinking of getting a divorce. Here the child's barely been married a year. Didn't they even try to work things out?"

"Mother, I'm just telling you what's going on."

Lela brushed away a speck of lint from her blue jersey knit skirt and glanced at the large clock on the wall next to the refrigerator in the long kitchen/dining area. Nine forty-five. She was supposed to leave in five minutes for the Wednesday women's Bible study and here she was hearing news like this. Barbara would be outside honking her horn soon, and nobody wanted to hear that "La Cucaracha" song that Barbara's son had installed in the car. At least she already had her coat on.

Jean made a noise, as if aware that Lela's attention had strayed. "She's coming here to Missouri City for Christmas, Mother, instead of what you and she talked about."

"She can't pick up a phone and tell her grandmama that?"This was supposed to be the perfect Christmas -- or near perfect. And that meant having all three of her daughters and her -- she had to say -- favorite granddaughter home for the holidays.

"Mother, you lecture."

"Lecture?"

"That's why I'm telling you. Besides...I want Darcie here with me, Mother. She's two months from her due date. This is the last time she can fly here."

"She lives in Indiana, Jean. She'd rather fly a thousand miles to Texas than drive here to spend Christmas with her grandmama like she promised?"

"Mother...she's feeling vulnerable right now -- "

"And that's another reason why the girl don't need to be divorced." She tried to ignore the echo of her own lectures given to the girls over the years, filled with "Don't say don't if you mean doesn't."

"Now she's gonna be a single mother -- " Lela thought out loud.

"Tell that to Doug, Mother. He's the reason this divorce is happening right now."

"I still don't understand -- "

She was interrupted by the sound of a horn blaring the first notes of "Jingle Bells." Lela shook her head, grateful at least that the song had been changed to something less tacky than "La Cucaracha." "That's Barbara. I gotta go. We'll discuss this later."

"Mother..."

In the silence that followed, Lela suddenly sensed an ocean's worth of words left unsaid or words she wished had been unsaid over the years, washed along by a tide of unmet expectations. She was tired of swimming against the current. "I told you Barbara's waiting."

"Have you given any thought to what I suggested last week? About your moving here? The neighborhood's getting bad and -- "

"Barbara's waiting, Jean."

"Okay. Love you." Yet Jean's words sounded a little reluctant.

"Love you too." Lela snapped o the radio, rubbing her shoulder as she stood. "Arthur" was kicking up today. She hoped her arthritis-strength ibuprofen was in her purse.

As she headed to the front door, she absently searched for Smokey -- a stray she'd picked up around her garbage can the previous month. Somebody's throwaway, she surmised. The kitten had a weird grayish coloring that she could almost swear was blue (but cats weren't blue, were they?). She didn't know what kind of cat he was. But she'd named him after Smokey Robinson, the famous R & B singer. She'd felt sorry for him until she got the bill to deworm him.

Barbara's horn sounded "Jingle Bells" again.

"Hold your horses," she said softly. Barbara couldn't hear her from this distance. She squeezed into her black pumps, knowing she would regret the choice later, before grabbing the purse and Bible waiting on an end table.

Wonder if I need a hat. She fingered the gray locks curling just above her shoulders. She stuck a hand out the door to get a sense of the temperature. Good. The weather was mild. She hated covering up her new haircut. The wind picked up under a sky that was a weak pastel blue but didn't look to deposit snow anytime soon. The 45 degree temperature was too high for that. If the weather continued like this, it looked to be a brown Christmas in two weeks. That was fine with her. She hated driving in the snow.

Her best friend, Barbara Wiggins, at seventy-three -- two years older -- still liked to drive in any kind of weather, and so be it. Lela grunted as she folded herself into Barbara's silver PT Cruiser. The scent of bayberry -- one of Barbara's favorite scents -- immediately enfolded her.

"'Bout time," said Barbara, running a hand along her short, salt-and-pepper, mostly salt afro.

"Sorry. That was Jean on the phone. Told the girl I had to go."

"Jean? Everything okay?" Barbara put the car in gear. "O Holy Night" blared from WMBI on the radio.

Lela sighed, wondering how much to reveal. She didn't feel like getting into it with Barbara. "Everything's fine."

Barbara's glance was wry. "If you say so. As if I didn't know better judging by how you look right now."

"Just drive, girl."

"Yes'm." Barbara saluted, as she headed north -- the only way they could go, with Laflin being a one-way street -- toward Morgan Park.

Lela sighed as they passed the last of the bungalows on the long block of 117th and Laflin. This was the kind of residential neighborhood that some didn't believe still existed on the far southeast side of Chicago. People didn't expect more than projects, burned-out buildings, and crime stats here now. But there were still some houses around, even if they weren't looking as well kept up as they had been twenty years ago. Lela blamed the decline of the neighborhood on the new blood on the block, some of whom -- like the woman in the last house on the northeast corner -- were merely renting. Key people, owners who acted as neighborhood watch people and were house-proud, had moved away over the years. There were more and more signs of a gang's influence now, with graffiti scrawled across an abandoned building here and there on 119th Street or even across a garage door.

Still, she was pleased to see that many of the houses at least were decorated for Christmas. More than a few houses boasted the large snow globe that the block club picked out. Surprisingly, the "newbies" knew how to follow instructions and kept things uniform.

Lela was one of the few residents left who had purchased the houses when they were built between 1963 and 1965. Her particular house was bought in 1964, a year after Barbara and her husband bought theirs. Walt and Lela were able to purchase the house only because the financing fell through for another couple bidding on it, an event she attributed to God's mercy.

The neighborhood hadn't changed much, ethnically speaking. It was still African American for the most part, suggesting that racial segregation was still an issue in some parts of Chi-Town.

In less than fifteen minutes Barbara pulled up at the corner of 112th and Vincennes adjacent to the old Catholic school housing Briarwood Baptist. What a relief. Unlike on Sunday mornings, they didn't have to park two blocks away.

Lela's feet were already hurting from the tight shoes by the time they reached the red-brick fellowship hall, the first building north of the sanctuary. And they still had to descend a flight of stairs to the basement level and Fellowship Room 1, where the senior women's Bible study met. She grunted down each one, wondering not for the first time why the senior women had to struggle down the stairs while the junior women met on the first floor. Why couldn't they drag themselves down here and switch with the senior women? Maybe she would talk to Pastor about that.

She sighed as she entered the table-lined double room with its cream-colored walls, enlivened by framed posters depicting various types of flowers.

There were about fifty in the group and forty who showed up regularly. Since the church had made a considerable effort to combat the segregation evident on the South Side, different races were represented. About thirty women were there now, carrying on the traditional "Christmas clash," with half the group in a myriad of red and green Christmas sweaters and the other half favoring jewel-toned sweaters (in purple, yellow, and blue) -- all looking like living Christmas ornaments.

Estelle, the new widow, had shown up. But, Lela wondered, why? She was only forty-five, hardly senior. Most of the other women were fifty-five at least. And she usually dressed like a hussy, just like today. Here it was ten AM and she had on a skin-tight purple two-piece out t like she was going to a club or something. She was slim and petite but now reminded Lela of a grape. Who is she trying to impress? Lela thought to herself.

Lela nodded a greeting. Her smile was much warmer as she turned to Nita Juarez, who promptly handed her a small, foil-covered bowl.

"Mole as promised," Nita said, a mischievous grin highlighting her impish face. "Put that over your chicken, okay?"

Lela smiled. "Girl, I might have gas as a result, but I'm sure gonna eat this. Thank you. Uh, gracias."

Nita smiled and patted her arm as if Lela had performed a cute trick. "De nada."

"Everybody get settled so we can get started, ladies." As usual, Lorraine Collins, the Bible study leader, didn't need a microphone. Her deep voice carried across the long fellowship room...

About this edition

• Publisher: Atria Books
• Publication date: 2009
• ISBN 10: 1439170452
• ISBN 13: 9781439170458
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 240