I was ten, but I saw everything she did. How she took care of my four siblings and me. How she turned back my mother’s bed at night. How she cleaned our tiny home. She didn’t have to do it; after all we were her nieces and nephews. My Mother, her devoted sister. But at the moment she heard of my father’s death, she came.
For days I’d watched her every move, waiting for the perfect time to tell her how I felt. Then one night after she’d tucked us in, I got my chance.
After leaning into our bunk beds and kissing us good night, she touched the foot of our beds and said,
“God, put angels on their bedposts.”
Lying on my stomach I rested my chin in the palms of my hands and watched my Aunt Jeanne Marie shut off our bedroom light. Then she turned in the doorway and said goodnight. Long streams from the hall light fell around her and the raglan sleeves of her robe flowed when she moved. She looked angelic.
Overcome with emotion, my mind searched for something to say. I longed to tell her that I knew how much she loved us.
Finally I blurted out, “I got it Aunt Jeanne Marie. You’re our fairy godmother.”
She laughed softly and said, “Good night darlings.”
Then she turned off the hall light and I listened to her gentle footsteps fade away as she walked down the stairs.
In the dark, I rolled over on my back and tucked my hands underneath my head. I stretched out my legs and crossed my ankles and stared up at the ceiling.
Yeah, that’s it. She’s our fairy godmother. Just for me and my brothers and sisters.
I didn’t really believe there were angels on my bedpost. But, Aunt Jeanne Marie was real. And she was there and she belonged to us. I didn’t have to wonder if she loved me. I just knew she did. I didn’t have to wonder if she’d take care of us. I just knew she would.
Sometimes we must grow up before we realize, that from the beginning, God was orchestrating our lives. That in this crazy mess of a fallen world, brokenness invades, but God delivers.
I don’t think it’s by chance, who shows up or when they arrive. I now think it’s all part of His master plan.
you are a master at transporting readers to a special moment in a story
And you, Donna, are a master encourager. Thank you.