a matter of mittens

She felt it before she saw it, but with one quick glance she saw it too. Her fingers had gone a whitish numb again. Tis the season, she thought, and sighed as she tried to grip the steering wheel more gently. Funny how something numb can hurt so much. I hope no one shakes my hand as I walk into church…

It’s not that gloves aren’t plastered in every display window this time of year. It’s just that shopping for them takes time, and effort, and money. Three things she didn’t want to think about for the time being. Three things being loudly demanded by other parts of her life right now. Her fingers had survived before. 

They would be fine.

....................

He found them mingled with his. Just as they were the last winter his wife of so many years had worn them: tiny, soft, and thick-knit. A beautiful, glowing cream color in the dim light. Carefully, his wrinkled hands packed them in a brown paper bag to bring to church that morning. She’s so small too. I wonder if…

………………………..

She had exactly 1.5 minutes to set her things down on a sanctuary pew, fly to the ladies' restroom, extricate herself from the bustling fellowship of the ladies' restroom, check the order of service, sandwich herself amongst the altos, and enter the auditorium by way of the front row of the choir loft. 

Miracles can still happen, folks.

………………………...

He found her casting her purse and Bible on the front left sanctuary pew. Was already extending the bag toward her as she straightened up looking a bit like a horse ready to bolt from the gate. Don’t know if you’d have any use for these...a gentle smile spread slow across his face.

…………………………

They fit perfectly. Gloves NEVER fit. And the cable so thick, and the color so beautiful…she took a pair of mittens and a pair of gloves and a hat with a big tassel on top to boot. Then perhaps he startled a bit (and perhaps she did too) to find her arms thrown fast and tight about him as more than the 1.5 ticked on by. He listened contentedly as she gushed something about need, and so busy, and lost my old ones and numb and thank you.

Thank you so much…

…………………………

She will never forget it. How that one cold, rainy Sunday morning God once again took care of her when she was not wise enough to care for herself. How He tipped His hand, dropping another good gift into the hollow of her need. Nor will she forget the spirit of generosity and thoughtfulness behind the one who handed her that simple brown bag. For in that spirit, she sees a crystal clear reflection of her Heavenly Father. One who knows full well that she has need of things like mittens. One who will clothe her, as He clothes all of His creation. 

With so much beauty and grace.

(a well-mittened) Beth