• A Mother's Answer

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  • A little lamp on her night stand cast a shadow on the wall, a copy of them in sweet repose, as they knelt by the bed.
    Slowly, she lifted her head and turned to her mother and asked, “How does he know, Mommy?”
    “How does who know what, dear?”
    “God, how does he know who to bless?”
    “Well, I don’t know for sure, Emma, but I like to think he sits and listens and watches. Each night when we pray he hears and he reaches out beyond the beauty and wonder of the universe.”
    “He reaches out past the distant stars, past the planets we know, still further past the silver shine of the moon, under the clouds past the deep blue of the oceans, over the cold red rocks of the mountains and under the cool green of the trees.”
    “Then he touches every heart everywhere all at the same time and if he finds a heart that’s in need or a heart that’s hurting or a heart that believes, no matter whose or no matter where, he blesses them.”
    “At least that’s how I like to believe he does it.”
    She turned to see her daughter bowing her head and heard her say softly, “Thanks, God, for the blessing.”
    “Mommy,” she said as she climbed into bed.
    “Yes, Emma?”
    “I think that’s how he does it, too.”

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