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“Train up a child in the way he should go, And when he is old he will not depart from it.”
~ Proverbs 22:6, NKJV

This Mother of Song & Praise, daily sang of the the Great King of All the Kingdoms, and daily she stitched, lining mantles for her daughters, preparing for when they would leave the Little Craftsman’s Cottage of Song neatly situated on the Mountain’s Rise with a swath resting on the edge of a plateau table.

A letter had come by post inviting the oldest of the Three Graces to come sit under the Writer’s of Songs in the Kingdome of Mentors & Teachers. Those of this Kingdome taught the Law of the Creator and the History of All that He Has Done for The People of All Kingdoms. Here they learned to write the law, on paper and in their hearts. All trades were learned here—pottery making, word-working, well-digging, the alphabet and how to read the words the letters made. Everything that needed learning was found in the Kingdom of Mentors & Teachers.

The Mother of Song & Praise stayed up all hours of the nights before Charity left, lining her mantle with a song here, a song there. What mother reading this has not done the same thing? The morning Charity set off on her Journey into the Next Step of her God-Designed Life, her mother wrapped the mantle tightly around her shoulders, pulled her into a warm, firm hug – remember how she’d started that mantle before this child of hers had drawn it’s first breath – one last squeeze – and she set her free.

They watched her walk away –full of first-born confidence, excitement in each step about the growing up and into her future. She felt secure, loved, confident. . . She joined a group of fellow students along the way. Some came from The Kingdom of Encouragement, The Kingdom of Administration, Prophecy & Vision. . . the Kingdom of Giving. . . one who even claimed to be from the family of craftsmen who had built The Cottage of Song.

During the weeks’ travel, some told stories, some organized, some whittled woodland animals, some cheekily crafting dragons, to the dismay of some. Some prophesied goodness, while other’s prophesied doom a gloom. Some sang songs she hadn’t heard. Some songs were about the Great King of All the Kingdoms; some were just songs that made their hearts beat faster, distracting from the soreness of their feet in the long journey. Some were songs about the Dragon, inspiring fear. As they walked through forests or out in the open, they would look over their shoulders, peer deep into the woodiness, wondering. A blue sky didn’t look as beautiful after one of those songs.

When discomfort wafted through the group, Charity added one of the songs that lined her mantle:

“When Christ got up, I got up too
Hell lost its grip, hell had to lose
I said yes to Jesus, and everything changed
Jesus did it
It is finished Goodbye, shame and brokenness
Hello, joy and happiness
Goodbye, lies and questioning
Jesus did it

Goodbye, fear and anxiety
Hello, joy and perfect peace
Goodbye, lies and questioning
Jesus did it
It is finished”
~ “Jesus Did It,” Catherine Mullins

The group followed in silence at the song, peace infusing the group. As Charity’s voice sang the last word, silence reigned.

Some scoffed. They had not yet heard about The Power of Praise to The King of All Kingdoms. Some quietly squeezed her arm in thanks. A few cheered; some rolled their eyes.

The scoffers quickly filled peace & calm that had arisen from her song with silly songs and dragon songs. songs that stole the peace Charity had brought with her songs.

Charity pulled her cloak more tightly around her, surprised, confused, dismayed about all the different reactions in the group. After two or three more attempts to sing songs about The King of All Kingdoms with the same kinds of responses, Charity’s fingers started clenching within the sleeves of her mantle.

Each student after a week’s travel reached the Kingdom of Mentors & Teachers and were sorted into dormitories. As Charity unpacked, she set her mantle neatly to one side, rubbing its softness beneath her hands, as though by just touching it, she could feel home – and the warm, assurance, and belonging of all the songs that lined her mantle. That night as she lay in her bed, she pulled the mantle over her, closing her eyes and seeing her family by the hearth, and fell asleep humming, “Jesus did it.”

Weeks wore on. New friends were made. New lessons were learned. Oh, how she wanted to succeed and bring honor to her family. Teachers taught a new way of singing, told her to put the old ways behind. They seemed irritated about the Mantle of Song she wore to her classes. She wrote songs as her mother and father had taught her, turning them in with confidence, only to receive poor marks. . . Instructors seemed more interested in Silly Songs, Dragon Songs, and Songs designed to distract from the right now. Where were the teachers of Songs to the King of All Kingdoms.

‘”You shouldn’t take your songs so seriously,” said one Professor Gassack.
“Just try a Silly Song,” said her advisor. “See. . . it will make your teachers happy. You might even make more friends.”

That night in her room, she folded her mantle and tucked it in her cedar chest. She couldn’t bear to see it while she wrote a silly song. What would her mother say? Her father? He little sisters?

In her mantle, Charity turned her Silly Song into Professor Gassack. The teacher raved and raved, called her up to sing it to the class, but much applause and whistling.

Relief washed through her. . . no ridicule, no comments to make her feel like “not good enough.” Yet, as she settled back into her seat, her arms inside the sleaves of her mantle itched a little, distracting her from the fullness of her success after so much seeming failure.

After the success of her silly song, her classmates invited her to join them at the coffee houses in town, to sing her Silly Song.

Wearing her mantle, she joined them. When they invited her up to sing, she sang one of the songs found in the lining of her mantle. To be honest, she was embarrassed her Silly Song had garnered to much praise.

You could have heard a pin-drop, the room was so quiet. A peace beyond understanding filled the room. For half a second, her heart swelled, thinking a song from her mantle had stirred the crowd. Cheers were rising, but as they rose, they turned to jeers and derision.

“Sing your Silly Song,” they cried. “Over and over and over.

Horrified at the reaction, she put on a brave face and sang the Silly Song. The crowd cheered, patted her on the back, told her she had a great future. She just needed to cut that old Kingdom song out of her Song List.

One fellow student, in sudden generosity of companionship even confided that Old Gassock was rumored to have been ready to send her back home if she didn’t get with “the program.” Her “Silly Song” had been a Saving Grace.

Later that night, when she returned home, the lining of her mantle irritated her, especially the song that had brought ridicule. In confusion, in tears, she pulled out the silver needle her mother had packed into her chest, she tried to pluck the song out of her mantle, but the silver needle seemed so very dull that she went in search for a wooden needle. She remembered a story about how the purity of the Silver Needle would hold true at all times. Maybe a man-hewn needle would do what the Silver Needle would not. Her neighbor three doors down had one. The sharp edge of the wooden needle plucked through the threads easily. The song was removed in a trice –and thrown into the waste basket. She stuffed the rest of the mantle into her chest.

Her sleep was restless that night. When she woke that morning, the song lay neatly folder on top of the chest, the threads rolled into a tiny ball, the silver needle on top.

Ashamed, she opened the chest, tucked the remnant inside, pulled out her mantle, but didn’t wear it so close as yesterday.

Over the next few months, as she tried to please this new world she found herself in, the mantle she wore irritated her more and more. One by one, she plucked out the songs her mother had sewn in. With each song she plucked out, she tried re-lining with the popular songs of her peers. She even picked up pieces of beautiful materials, even ermine. Her mantle grew more beautiful to those around her. Even the professors marveled at the transformation of her mantle. They no longer scoffed at what she wore.

Not all were taken out by the time she finished school and was ready to move into an internship in a community where she would teach them the songs for their community. She was sacked within a week of her first job. “We don’t want Silly Songs,” they said. “These Silly Songs will not keep the Dragons away.”

Booted out without money, without a recommendation, or time to find a new position, Charity set out to travel to a different community, to sing the songs her professors had said the world wanted.

The reaction from her peers and teachers filled her with fear to sing the songs from the mantle her mother had made. One day, in Hunger & Despair, she sold her silver needle her mother had given with her. She couldn’t earn money singing Silly Songs on a street. In to each Kingdom she went, taking her gift of Song, but the Songbook no longer contained the praises that once lined the mantle her mother had made.

Her mantle, though lovely to behold, no longer kept her warm, comforted, safe. Fear crept within the mantle. Peace, Joy, & Hope no longer lived within the mantle’s confines.

She sold her trunk eventually, for food, a night’s shelter, and a backpack.

“What do you want me to do with these, Miss,” the trader asked, holding out the strips of songs and threads she had tucked down in a pocket of the chest.

Her pride broken, despair showing around the edges of her eyes, she grabbed them from the man, stuffing the material and threads into the meager confines of her backpack.

Day after day, she walked from town to town, trying to find the work for which she’d been trained. She left behind trails of threads and strips of Songs. For a long time, the strips of Songs of Praise followed after her, wrapping around her ankles, sticking to her back. Some nights, she relented, pulling one within her mantle because of a thread of remembrance. In the morning, she’d let it drop to the ground – maybe because of Pride, maybe because of a misplaced feeling of betrayal, maybe because she’d forgotten what they had once given her.

, , , one day, she sold the mantle, too. . . because who wanted to hear songs of hopelessness, fear, and despair. . . because that’s all the Silly Songs really were.

Sometimes in the bold light of a newly wakened sunrise, or by the weakening light of twilight, sometimes even in the dark of a black night, the wind carried a lyric, a hum, and it soothed her to a remembrance and to refreshing sleep. She didn’t know it, realize it, but it was the songs her mother, song at home in the Little Craftsman’s Cottage of Song neatly situated on the Mountain’s Rise with a swath resting on the edge of a plateau table, songs of Praise and Prayer, sung to the King of All the Kingdoms, asking Him to search for her lost daughter, if not bring her Home, to allow her to complete the God-Designed Story of Her Life.

One day, walking on feet not bare, she came to a cottage where a mother lived with three young children. She looked nothing more than a beggar – clothes filthy and torn, hollowed out eyes from hunger and hopelessness.

“Can you spare some bread, Mother,” Charity asked. Pride long gone. Confidence long gone. She’d even forgotten her family and the love that had wrapped around her like. . . like what? She could no longer remember.

The young mother sat on a bench outside the door. Shade covered her from the apple tree nearby. Keeping one eye on her children and another on the mantle she was sewing, she looked up, surprised

“I can work for it,” she offered, seeing the mother hesitate, looking from her children to her.

. Setting her sewing down, she stepped into the house and returned with bread and cheese. As Charity ate hungrily, her eyes kept looking at the mantle the young mother had been stitching. A memory was trying to come to life.

“What kind of work can you do,” the mother asked Charity.

Still trying to capture the memory, Charity asked, “With what do you line your mantles?”

“With Prophecy, Sister,” answered the young mother. “For this is the Kingdom of Prophecy in which you find yourself.”

A memory stirred within Charity, “I was taught from a child to line a mantle with a silver needled and thread.”

“Where is your mantle?” the young mother asked.

Shame filled Charity, remembering. It is always easy to remember the shameful things. “First, I sold my silver needle for bread. Then I sold my trunk for food and this backpack. Then I sold my mantle. . .

“And with what did your mother line your mantle,” the young mother asked.

Charity closed her eyes, trying to remember. . . Silly Songs? No! No! That’s not it. Dragons?. . . No! No! No! What was it?

Opening her eyes, Charity looked at her dismayed, overwhelmed, telling the young mother in all truth, “I. . . can’t. . . remember. . . Can you help me. . . remember?”

With that, Charity collapsed. The young mother called her husband to put her on a cot in the attic. It took weeks for Charity to regain strength in the House of Prophecy. When she woke, she saw her backpack on a chair beside her.

The young mother handed her an unlined mantle she had quickly stitched together.

“This is to help you start remembering,” she said, handing her a silver needle and thread. “Before you can help me work on the children’s mantles, you have to work on yours.”

Charity took the mantle into her hands, tears of gratitude and fear spilling as the mother closed the door behind her. The young mother had bathed her, put fresh clothes on her, wrapped her in warm blankets, . . . as though she were. . . valued, loved. . . she hadn’t felt that way in such a long time.

Charity sat there a good portion of the day, not knowing what to do. . . every 10 minutes she’d pick up the silver needle and thread, thinking of a Silly Song for lining, but the silver needle would jump out of her fingers. The day wore on and twilight came. . . with twilight came a memory. . .a hum carried on a breeze tumbled through the window by the bed, and the flutter of material caught her eye. From the side of her worn, grimy backpack, a slip of material twitched in the windy twilight.

Charity pulled the bag over, opened it. The discarded, plucked out songs sewn into the mantle her mother had made, spilled out onto her bedcovers. She picked them up, piece by piece, holding them, turning them over, rubbing them softly against her cheek, and, as if holding something Holy, touched them gently to her lips, remembering. . . After she had touched each song strip, she held torn threads in her hands. They had rolled themselves up into skeins, the threads miraculously made anew.

She threaded the silver needle left by the young mother, and chose a song her hand was drawn to. It wasn’t a song she’d sew in; it was one her mother had sewn in because her mother knew. . . there would be challenges, messiness, hardships, maybe even lostness. . .

“I could let You down over and over
But Your love never changes
Lord, You’re so patient
And if I run back home
God, You come running
Your love never changes
Lord, You’re so gracious
With a kiss
With a ring and a robe
You have found me
You have found me
With a kiss
With a ring and a robe
You have found me
You have found me
With a kiss, God
With a kiss
With a ring and a robe
You have found me
You have found me, yeah
With a kiss
With a ring and a robe
You have found me
You have found me
And it feels like coming home for the first time in a long time
It feels like coming home. . .
Let the prodigals come home. . .
I can hear You calling
“Come back home””
~ “Coming Home,” written by Housefires

As Charity gained strength, day out, by the bold light of a newly wakened sunrise, by the weakening light of twilight, by faith in the dark of a black night, she stitched anew a mantle filled with Songs & Praises to the King of All the Kingdoms, to the one who sent her to this young mother’s doorstep where she found herself as if reborn to the purpose for which she was designed. She didn’t just re-line her mantle, though. She taught the young mother the songs her mother had taught her and together they taught the children.

Charity added new songs to her mantle, ones she wrote about how The King of All the Kingdoms saved her. One morning, as her mother sat by the window, a hum carried a breeze, kissed her cheek. She bowed her head, a tear falling down her cheek, now a grandmotherly cheek, and a new song of Praise & Thanksgiving rose from within her mother’s heart.

Come back next week to read about Faith’s journey into her God-Designed Story wearing a Bespoke Mantle made by her mother.

Part 1: Lined with Praise
Part 2: Lined with Praise

Remember Me Monday: #126 Link-up

“I’ll make a list of God’s gracious dealings,
    all the things God has done that need praising,
All the generous bounties of God,
    his great goodness to the family of Israel—
Compassion lavished,
.    love extravagant.”
~ Isaiah 63:7, The Message

In the Old Testament, God repeatedly, quietly and loudly, tells his children, “You have forgotten me!”  (Jeremiah 3:32, Ezekiel 22:12, to name a few). It’s a heart cry from a father to a child who has forgotten all the love, all the saving, helping, little and big blessings – and it leaves me stunned when I realize our Father, the creator of the universe, who knows things I cannot begin to fathom, who authors storylines that leave me amazed, delights in all of us so much, He cries out, “Remember Me.”

While every day is a Remember God Day, I am inviting you to join me on Monday mornings to come by and remember what God has done for you, for your family. Maybe God sent a cardinal darting out in front of you, as if to tell you, “I’m here,” or broke a child’s fever after you laid it all down at His feet in a 2 a.m. bedside vigil. Maybe He stood with you in the wait of a prayer sent out, or brought someone you loved to Christ. Maybe He healed your broken heart, gave your courage, or you gave Him your dreams as a love offering only to have Him give them back in an unimaginable way. Maybe God helped you survive to bedtime after a crazy Monday, or forgive yourself for missing it with your kiddos –– Whatever it is, let’s Remember Him. . . in a “Remember Me Monday” love letter.

“My mouth will tell of your righteousness,
Of your salvation all the day long,
Though I know not its measure.
I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign Lord”
~ Psalm 71:15-16.

Let us delight in Him by telling the  stories of what He’s done!  If you wrote a blog post remembering what He’s done for you, join the linky. If you didn’t but still want to praise Him for what He’s done – write it in the comment section. Then visit a comment before or after yours! One of the beautiful things about the blogging community is the relationships it builds!

Rules?  Write long or short, a list or a story, include photos or not. Just Remember Him and what He has done, and let the gratitude of your heart guide you. Let’s make Monday so Rejoice, that the goodness of God spills into the rest of the week! (Link opens Mondays at 6 a.m.)

Places I’m Linking at This Week:
  Instaencouragements, Legacy Link-Up, 
Let’s Have Coffee Wednesday 
Recharge Wednesday, Scripture & a Snapshot
 Grace&Truth, Sweet Tea & Friends