“Another year, another Home and Garden Show,” I said. My husband, Charlie, sold and installed patio enclosures, so each year we sat in one of his models while people checked out his merchandise.
Sometimes it meant a lot of sitting and waiting for customers to show real interest, and that gave us time to talk. Our conversation lately had centered on one sad topic—our young granddaughter, Rachel, who had died less than a year ago.
Her bright smile, her laughter and best of all the hugs she used to give—Charlie and I would never tire of recalling every tiny detail about the child we loved so much and lost so early. We had our memories if we couldn’t have that little precious life itself.
Oh, but what I wouldn’t give for one last hug from Rachel, I thought.
A family with three little boys stopped by our booth. The youngest looked like he might have been about three, just like Rachel.
Charlie and I watched him pal around with his brothers. Then, in the blink of an eye, the little rascal pulled the sliding-glass door of the patio model shut with all his might—and locked us in!
The boy’s father quickly took the boy’s hand and reopened the door to rescue us. “Sorry, folks!” he said.
Just as the family was walking away, the boy turned and ran toward me. He opened his arms wide as I bent down. He gave me a long, tender hug, just like the kind I used to get from Rachel. Then he ran back to his parents, and they were gone.
God hears every prayer, no matter how big or small. Getting a hug from a child seems like a small thing under the circumstances, but God knew it was a big deal to me.
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