I especially like looking at antique handkerchiefs like this one. I owned a set of seven when I was little, each a different color and embroidered with a day of the week. I would put one in my little purse when we'd go somewhere. I never used it, but it was one of those indulgences that only you know about and enjoy. My dad always carried a plain white one. I have an affinity for those too.
I have started to enclose a pretty handkerchief with a sympathy card, a symbol of compassion for the tears shed. I recently sent one to my dear friend and pen pal, Kathy, after she lost her father. She turned right around and sent me one for my mom. Now I know how it feels on both sides.
Thank You, Lord, for this fabric that can hold such meaning.
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