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Besides an inexplicable belief in me, and an endless source of inspiration my wife brought a dingy yellow baby blanket into our lives together.

I could tell that it was an old blanket because of the indelible stains of infant admiration (chocolate, drool and other mysterious blotches). The blanket was handed down to our children who added to the tapestry of stains and further frayed the lace edges. Passing years changed interests from baby blankets to video games and the blanket got shuffled to the neglected recesses of our home. A move a few years ago sentenced the blanket to a giveaway pile for refugees.

During the next couple of years I didn’t give any thought to the missing family heirloom. I didn’t think about the times that I held a crying or sleeping child in the familiar yellow blanket. I forgot about the times that I prayed for my kids as they lay drooling on the blanket.

A move back to Istanbul reunited me with the blanket. It was December and the blanket was in the clutches of a little Iranian baby. The memories came back as I held the squirming little girl.

The little girl’s family was recently baptized. Like the blanket, the family was worn and stained by the years but still intact. The father had been imprisoned and tortured. His oldest daughter remains stranded in Iran and is harassed by her ex-husband’s family.

Also like the blanket they were discarded and placed in a giveaway pile. Providentially, they were claimed by God, who mended the family’s rips and tears. The family was also washed clean by the sacrificial blood of Jesus Christ.

The family, while realizing that the baby was too young to make a decision about salvation included her in the baptism. The cold water frightened the girl and she screamed and cried.

Later, I saw the girl and her mother. No screaming, no tears, just contentment in the arms of her loving mother… and a yellow blanket that seemed to reflect the radiance of a family completely redeemed by God.