Lesson 237: Patches

Army of Tennessee Chaplain David Chaltas

Patches

I simply called her Patches. She had been a classmate of mine since the 5th grade. She was born with a withered hand and a lisp that was quite noticeable. She had the loveliest smile and her eyes danced when she talked. She didn’t talk much to others but once you gained her confidence, she was quite the orator. A lot of people made fun of her because she was so poor. In fact, that is how she got her nickname. Her clothes always had patches on them. I remember calling her Patches not out of a spiteful heart, but that was what she wanted me to call her.

Dear Patches. We were good friends throughout those yesteryears of school before the innocence was taken. I recall the first time I heard a bigger boy making fun of her. I lost my temper and almost my teeth but I defended her. Though I got ‘whopped’ the older boy knew he had been in a fight! And he never bothered either of us again. From that day on, I had a little buddy who would do anything for me. She became my little sister.

I don’t recall much about those days but I do remember how she finally became accepted by others based on her personality and tender heart. I remember seeing her work her withered hand and compensate better than most with no complaints. She always was there for people, though not one of the popular cheerleading type girls. Yet, her humbleness of spirit endeared her to all.

I recall the paradox of how slowly YET how quickly the years went by and then as if by a potion, our senior year was upon us. We all acted like seniors and forged the bond of wanting the year to end, YET yearning to have it last forever. Patches told me that she loved all her classmates and never wanted to forget them. I thought to myself, “How could you love some of them who had been so cruel? Donnie always made fun and snickered. Rich was making comments about her ‘wisp’ and then there were the snobby girls who looked down their noses at her because of her dress.” She was the brunt of jokes and cruel comments, YET she loved. I just couldn’t understand.

Graduation came and we began getting ready. Patches had told me that she was making a surprise and it would be a gift to me honoring all of her friends. I thought she might have gotten me a tie or made something in Home Economics but really never thought much about it. I had gotten her a little cider chest with mother written on it. I knew she would love it.

Graduation night came and everyone was there except for Patches mother and dad. They didn’t attend 8th grade graduation either. I recall visiting her home once to trade for a rooster and her dad was so drunk that he couldn’t talk. He just mumbled and little Patches was so embarrassed. My heart went out to her and I always acted like it didn’t bother me, but it did. How could she be so giving and caring while living in such a four room shack without running water and electricity? How could she possibly love her father who was so abusive? I saw the bruises but like most folk, I just looked away. It was the code of the mountains.

I wanted to walk with her down the aisle but was told I had to march with the person assigned. Well, at graduation, I decided that at the last minute, I would risk the wrath of the principal and endure his paddle but I would jump in line and step out with little Patches. Besides the sting of the paddle was a small price to pay to be with my little rag doll friend. I paid Dale $2.00 to switch places at the last moment. She seemed so relieved to have me by her side and when we sit down; I remember seeing a tear of gratitude trickle down her cheek. I was her big brother and hero. They called off our names and we all walked across the stage receiving that ‘credential of freedom’ with joy, YET sadness, as it dawned upon us that we would never be the senior class again. Afterwards we all stood around talking. Patches had gone to her locker. When she came back she had a big brown paper bag under her arms. We all began exchanging gifts to our special friends. The only gift Patches got was from me but she seemed not to mind and smiled with the smile of innocence upon receipt.

Then she asked me to open up her gift to the class. I must admit I was embarrassed at first but tried not to show it. Slowly I opened the bag and I pulled out a large patch quilt that was divided into 6 inch squares. Each square had the name of a classmate with his or birthday underneath. Some of the patches had special events in our lives. Words such as joy, peace, Bible, heaven, love and hope were stitched into other squares. The center patch was in red and stated John 3:16. She said the red stood for the blood that was shed on the cross. I vividly recollect the four corners had the word God, Christ, Holy Spirit and in the left hand corner stitched in an outline was her left hand. Her wilted hand that had spent countless hours sewing from discarded rags and patches ordained the quilt.

There was an eerie silence. Benton, one of our best loved teachers, stepped up and hugged her. I remember tears in his eyes as he said that this young lady showed us all the true meaning of giving and gave of each of us gift of love that we might not understand today but in the future would grasp the significance of the event. His short speech caught on, as parents, teachers and students stepped forward and hugged Patches. This was her moment in the sun. This was her defining moment, yet she asked me to come stand beside her. She was so frail, humble and meek. I will take that moment with me to the grave.

After everyone offered their respects, she turned to me and said that the quilt was to be entrusted to me as a reminder of those wondrous years of yesterday. I shrugged it off and told her we would have several more wondrous years ahead of us, for we were friends forever. She looked directly into my eyes and said something that I didn’t understand. “I’ll be going home soon.” I looked at her and laughed with the boyhood invincibility and told her we would all have to go home but there is always a tomorrow.

I recall cousin Tony riding his bike up to the house. He looked at me and simply said, “Have you heard about Patches?” I looked at him with a puzzled face and shook my head. He hesitated for a few seconds and then said, “She was found beside the road last night. Her father has been arrested for beating her to death.” All I could do was breath heavily as my spirit groaned. I had not seen her since graduation a few months ago but always planned on visiting. I just got busy and all with the summer job and planning on college. My God, I had forgotten about my little sister.

For the longest time that night, I wept while holding the patched quilt she had tacked together out of love. I took it to her funeral and they placed it over her casket. Everybody wept for everybody knew and deep inside each one the conscience conviction of our silence weighed heavily on our hearts. I vowed to carry her spirit within me from that day forward. It has been over forty years since that date. On occasion I take out that old quilt from my mother’s cider chest and lay it on my bed. I place my Bible on the quilt and get on my knees in prayer. Whenever old friends and classmates get together sooner or later they inquire about the quilt created out of love. When we have a reunion, the quilt is hung in a place of honor for all to see and admire, room, as we reflect upon the days of our youth and for one who has gone before us. Each of us carry a patch from the quilt and each of us recall the days when a little girl that we named Patches touched heaven and opened up a window for all of us to gaze upon the goodness of God.

Little Patches practiced the principles that are endeared to us. She practiced so many Biblical principles that each reader must decipher in his or her own manner the lessons of life taught by this little rag doll. She followed the path of humbleness, sacrifice and genuine works versus words of love. She evokes within us the many times the Bible mentions friendship. She practiced the scriptures, as stated in 1 John 4:11; "Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another." She came into my life as my little sister but more importantly as my friend. Proverbs 27:10 states; "Do not forsake your friend and the friend of your father, and do not go to your brother's house when disaster strikes you— better a neighbor nearby than a brother far away." Does it not say in the Book of Books that a friend sticks closer than a brother?

Friends do you recall this song: "What a friend we have in Jesus." Who do you call a friend? Beloved Friends, have you grasped your friend with both hands this week and looked him/her in the eye with the bonds of brotherhood/sisterhood pulsating in your veins? Have you told him/her how much you love and appreciate them? Have you picked up the phone and called someone just to say I love you? Have you treasured them in the recognition that you will not always have them?

There are a couple of sayings that we need to consider about friendship. First, "Never consider any one unworthy. Because you might wake up one day to realize that you have lost a diamond while you were too busy collecting stones." The other is colorful and full of truth: "A single rose can be a garden...like a single friend, being a world." Who is really important to you and do you take them for granted? Take time while you still have it and express your love through works not words. Grateful to Jesus for being my best friend, I remain your humbled servant, The Old General, Army of Tennessee Chaplain & Hardee’s Corp Chaplain-in-Chief.