The sun shining in the window helped illuminate my sewing as the machine labored along finishing the seam on the quilt I was making.
Outside, yesterday’s snowfall had been cleared from the roads but sidewalks were still piled high. Clearing mine was the second thing on my list.
I hurried to get finished with my sewing. It was noon and I was behind schedule. As my machine hummed my mind wandered and then stopped. I could hear a child crying. I shook my head, “impossible” I said and continued, but I heard him again.
Quickly I ran to the front windows. Yes, there was a small boy, standing in the snow bank across the street. One of his mittens was off and his bare hand held a child’s drawing. He was weeping.
I grabbed my coat, yanked on my snow boots and dashed over to him. His cheeks were red and streaked with tears and it was obvious that the hand holding the paper drawing was hurting him dreadfully. I guess he had dropped his drawing and taken off his mitten in an effort to retrieve it.
I recognized him as a lad that lived next door to my sister in law, blocks away, so I led him into the house and took off his boots and jacket. His poor little hand was nearly frozen so I quickly put it in tepid water in the bathroom sink.
“Just stay there, I’ll see if I can get a hold of your Mom.” I assured him.
“I think I have your neighbor’s little boy here,” I told my sister in law. I explained the situation and she said she would phone me right back.
A minute later the phone rang and she advised the neighbor was getting frantic as her son was so late getting home, and would be right over.
By this time the little boy’s tears had started again as his fingers began to thaw. I gently dried his hand and held it in both of my warm ones.
The door bell was ringing, so I wrapped his hand in a warm towel and answered it. The boy’s mother was standing there, distraught and I ushered her in quickly. Within minutes she had her son in her arms and was comforting him. His mitten was long gone so she kept his little hand in the towel assuring me she would get it back shortly…then they were gone.
So many times I have asked myself how I could have possibly heard the cry of that child above the noise of my sewing machine…but I did. There are still small miracles taking place that cannot be explained…and sometimes God uses you as an earthly angel to help others.
