Summer Faith

By Tina Wagner Mattern

It was one of those dreary, cold rainy days in February that Portland, Oregon is famous for, and my mood was as miserable as the weather. Some people like rain. I am not one of those people. I had already gotten drenched once that day; taking my three-year-old daughter Summer to her Christian preschool, so the last thing I wanted to do was to go out in it again. But it was two o'clock and she needed to be picked up by two-thirty.

The traffic was terrible. When I finally pulled into the school parking lot, it was quarter to three. I knew Summer's teacher was not going to be happy.

I parked the car, pulled my coat collar tight and buttoned it, then reached for my umbrella, which wasn't under the front seat where it should have been. Someone (it couldn't have been me, of course) had left it in the garage that morning. I muttered a couple of words that likely made my Guardian Angel cringe, and hurried through the lake forming on the concrete.

Inside, Teacher Jennifer lifted an eyebrow at me, obviously annoyed with my tardiness, and pointed down the hallway. Summer was bent over a table, working to finish a painting.

"Hi Mommy," she chirped.

"Come on, honey," I called. "We're late. Teacher Jennifer wants to go home."

She held up her artwork. "Look! I drawed it for you!"

I took the paper and squinted impatiently at it. "Uh-huh. Good." I nodded and handed her coat to her. She put the picture down and folded her arms.

She wasn't going anywhere until I apologized. And it better be believable.

"It's wonderful!" I gushed. "Best one you ever did!"

She finally nodded and obediently held out her arms for her jacket. Outside, the rain was now a freezing, nearly sideways sheet. Both of us were soaked by the time we got to the car.

"It's wainin," Summer observed from her car seat behind me.

"No kidding," I said, drying my dripping hair with a handful of Kleenex before starting the car. I was just pulling out when Summer yelled, "Wait! We gotta go back!"

I slammed on the brakes and turned around. "What are you talking about? Go back outside? Why?"

"My Care Bears mitten," she cried, waving a lonely right-hand Care Bear at me. "My mitten's gone. I musta leaved it in school."

"Oh for heavens... Wait a minute," I muttered, backing the car to the curb. Parking, I turned around to lean over the seat and undo her seatbelt. "Okay, look in your pockets."

"I did!" she wailed. "It's not there!" She turned both pockets inside out to demonstrate their mittenless-ness to me.

"Get up," I sighed. "Maybe you're sitting on it." She climbed out. No mitten. We checked around and under the seat and on the floorboards. No mitten.

"See!" Summer cried. "We haffa go back!"

"No! Maybe it's outside, next to the curb." I opened the door and stuck my head out. Niagara Falls poured over what was left of my hairstyle. No mitten.

"That's it!" I pronounced with finality. "You have three pairs of mittens at home, for crying out loud. Now, get back in your seat so I can buckle you in."

"I want my bestest Care Bear mitten!"

"Well, I want a week in Jamaica."

Thinking on that kept her quiet for a moment or two, allowing me to get the car headed for home.

But five minutes later, "I want my mitten!"

Looking at her distressed face in the rearview mirror, I said, "You've made that perfectly clear. Now give it a rest. Please."

Eyes narrowed, frown lines deep, she muttered something threatening under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"I say," she pouted, "I ask Jesus. Jesus will get me my mitten."

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Jesus is NOT going to get you your mitten. He's busy with more important things."

"He will too," she stated firmly.

Once we finally got home and parked in the garage, we went into the house. I told Summer, "I've got a lot to do before I get dinner ready. Go play in your room, honey."

I hung up our coats in the laundry room and headed to the kitchen to deal with the dishes in the sink when I remembered the mail had to be brought in -- from outside -- in the rain. Groaning, I put my coat back on and stomped down the hallway to the front door. Summer followed on my heels.

Opening the door, I looked hopefully up through the rain for any sign of blue sky. A clap of thunder echoed in the distance. "Oh hush up!" I muttered, and prepared to sprint to the mailbox.

Before I could take a step though, Summer squealed.

"What now?" I groaned, spinning around.

"I tode you!"

"Tode me what?"

She pointed out the door, grinning.

I turned, and following her finger with my eyes, looked down at the doorstep.

There, on the welcome mat, was a Care Bear mitten. A left-handed Care Bear mitten.

I blinked in disbelief, my mind scrambling to make sense of what I was seeing.

What? How? My common sense tried to reason that she must have dropped it on her way out this morning. But no, we hadn't been anywhere near the front porch. We'd gone out through the garage. In fact, she and I had not been out the front door in more than a week.

Stunned, I turned to look into Summer's shining face.

"I tode you Jesus would get it for me!" she beamed.

Gathering her into my arms, I whispered, "Yes, you did, little girl. You really did."

Holding her tightly, I was overwhelmed with awe at our God who would perform such a miracle for a little child, simply because she stood steadfast in her faith.

After a minute, Summer pulled away to say, "Thank you, Jesus!" Then she picked up her mitten and skipped off to her room.

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I looked up to heaven and whispered, "Amen to that, Lord."