Deacon Jude Tam Tran

LIFE UNDER A BLANKET

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” — (Romans 12:21)
“Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” — (Galatians 6:9)

Once upon a very frosty season, there was a young monk living in a monastery so small it could barely echo its own prayers. The roof creaked, the bells sounded lonely, and the donation box rattled more from the wind than from coins. Every morning, the young monk trudged down the mountain with his begging bowl, hoping for food and encouragement—but mostly getting sarcasm and slammed doors.

One evening, he burst into the monastery like a kettle ready to whistle.

“Master,” he said, stamping snow off his sandals, “this is hopeless! There are only two of us in this broken-down monastery. When I beg for alms, people call me a vagrant monk! A vagrant! The donations are shrinking, my hands are freezing, and today—today—no one opened their door!
How can Spencer Monastery ever become the great thousand-room monastery you talked about, with bells ringing far and wide? At this rate, we’ll be lucky to afford rice for tomorrow!”

The old monk sat quietly, wrapped in his cassock, eyes closed, listening as if the young monk were a particularly noisy cricket. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t nod. He didn’t sigh dramatically—though I suspect he wanted to.

Finally, when the young monk ran out of breath, the old monk opened his eyes and asked calmly, “The north wind is strong tonight. There is snow and ice everywhere. Are you cold?”

The young monk blinked. “Cold? Master, my legs are numb! I feel like a frozen radish!”

The old monk nodded wisely. “Then let us go to bed early.”

No lecture. No sermon. Just… bedtime.

They blew out the lamp and crawled under their blankets. An hour passed. Silence settled in like peace wearing wool socks.

Then the old monk spoke again, softly. “Do you feel warm now?”

The young monk sighed happily. “Very warm! It’s like sleeping in sunshine.”

The old monk asked, “Earlier, the blanket was cold. Now it is warm. Tell me—does the blanket warm the person, or does the person warm the blanket?”

The young monk chuckled. “Master, surely you’re joking. A blanket can’t warm anyone. It’s the person who warms the blanket!”

The old monk paused, then asked gently, “Then if the blanket does not warm us, what is the use of it?”

Silence.

The young monk thought for a moment. “Well… although the blanket doesn’t create warmth, it retains our heat. It allows us to stay comfortable.”

In the darkness, the old monk smiled.

“Exactly,” he said. “Our chanting, our service, our kindness—these are like our body heat. The people we meet, even those who are cold and unkind, are like the blanket. If we give up because they are cold at first, we will freeze together. But if we persist in goodness, that cold blanket will slowly warm. And once warm, it will also protect us.”

The young monk lay there wide-eyed.

The old monk continued, “As long as we sincerely do good, the cold hearts of others will eventually be warmed. And when that happens, they will shelter us too. A thousand-room monastery? Bells ringing across valleys? Why should that be impossible?”

That night, the young monk didn’t sleep much—but not because he was cold. His heart was burning.

From the next morning on, he rose early and went down the mountain again. People still mocked him. Doors still closed. The food was still meager. But something had changed. He bowed politely. He spoke gently. He smiled—even when his fingers were stiff with cold.

Years passed.

The monastery grew. Slowly at first. One pilgrim. Then two. Then many. Donations increased—not because the monk demanded them, but because people felt something different in his presence.

Spencer Monastery expanded, room by room, bell by bell, prayer by prayer.

And the young monk? He became the abbot.

Here is the wisdom hidden in that blanket, and it applies far beyond monasteries and mountains.

The Bible says, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21)

Coldness is contagious—but so is warmth. Harsh words, indifference, rejection—these are icy things. If we respond with the same coldness, the world only grows colder. But when we bring patience, kindness, and perseverance, we introduce heat.

Another verse reminds us: “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9)

People are often cold because life has been cold to them. If we wait for them to warm us first, nothing changes. Someone must be willing to supply the warmth.

In everyday life, we are all lying under blankets—families, workplaces, friendships, communities. Sometimes those blankets feel icy. We complain, “Why don’t they care? Why don’t they support me? Why don’t they understand?”

But the question is the same one the old monk asked: Who warms whom?

When we consistently bring goodness, the blanket warms. And once it’s warm, it holds that warmth for a long time.

It turns out, life under a blanket makes perfect sense after all.