By Mike Soika

I was running late to get to my Sunday Quaker Meeting for Worship.  It was a chilly spring morning in March and I decided to put on a sweater before going out.  I went to my closet and dragged out a green sweater; one that would match my lime green T-shirt and pulled it on.  A quick glance at the mirror attached to the front of my closet door showed that my sweater was badly wrinkled with creases across the front.  I considered changing but then thought “no one at Meeting will really care if my sweater is wrinkled.  They only care that I am there.”  And with that I went off to Meeting, comfortably wrinkled.

For some reason, the image of me in my wrinkled green sweater kept circling back.  Perhaps it’s because a wrinkled sweater is an apt metaphor for where I am in my near 73 years of life: old, with threads unraveling at the sleeves and elbows worn thin from my unruly habit of elbows on the table.  Yet, they are comfortable, wrinkled but with enough room to show a hidden vibrancy on the inside that just peeks out under the collar.  

I love wearing sweaters. Most of the ones I own are old friends – sweaters that I’ve had now for decades.  They keep me warm, they provide a splash of color to my life, they help hide my roly-poly and sagging body.

That’s also how I feel about my Quaker community.  Many old friends who add color to my days, who accept me with my wrinkles and fraying thoughts.  Who allow me to put my elbows on the table and at times wear thin my welcome. I feel blessed to count myself as part of this Quaker community; these Friends who keep me grounded, who keep me warm, and who – like a well-worn sweater – embrace me with a welcomed and tender hug; wrinkles and all.