My Story Continues; Part III

Our Story Continues, Part III

Being a single parent is difficult. It's made more difficult when there is no financial support from the other parent. Our new friend, Sarah, was one of those. A single mom with a 2-nearly-3 year old, working two, sometimes three, jobs to put a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs, and clothes on their backs. Gas in the car that oftentimes wouldn't start.

She was nothing if not doggedly determined. She often worked herself silly, which is never good. Not for anyone. My husband and I, from the start, looked for ways we could help. After all, this young woman and her child had been brought into our lives for a reason ... and with four little words, "Can you help me?"

Those were the first words Sarah ever spoke to me. They became our mantra. Our theme song. The foundation by which our relationship was formed and remained.

We--my husband and I--offered child care. When "the baby," Jordynn, was not in daycare or in preschool (as she got older), we took responsibility for her while Sarah worked that second or third job. We picked her up from daycare or preschool. Fed her a snack. She played with the neighborhood kids.We had dinner and then she took her bath. Bubbles and tub toys...

Afterward, she stepped into a thick towel, I drew her into my arms just as I'd done my girls years before, snuggled for a minute to warm her little body in a shower of giggles, then got her dressed for bed.

Jordynn had a prayer bear. After bath time and a few minutes of reading to her, I snuggled down with this adorable tot and, with the prayer bear between us, we'd close our eyes, squeeze the hand of the bear and pray together, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Your love be with me through the night, and wake me with the morning light."

"Amen," I'd say.

"Amen," she'd echo.

Nothing in life was sweeter than planting seeds of faith into this baby.

Nothing.

Twelve years later, that bear remains on her bed ... the one that now has not been slept on in over a year. He's a little worn. He stoops forward like an old bear. His prayer button no longer works. Still, sometimes at night I slip into the dark shadows of her bedroom, draw him into my arms, and whisper, "Somewhere out there, she lays down to sleep ... I pray, Lord, her soul you'll keep ... your love be with her through the night ... and wake her with the morning light."

Amen.