Paul and "Bob"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love and Grace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I was going through a really difficult time. I was recovering from a divorce, my daughter was living away from home at school and the bank I was working for was going under due to big mistakes in real estate lending.

 

Then the unthinkable happened. My male friend committed suicide. I found his body slumped over in his garage still in his car. He was a colleague at the bank and I cared for him deeply. I never felt more alone.

 

The following evening a dear friend from the bank, Noreen, came to my apartment with her husband David.  They gathered up a few of my things, literally carried me to their car and drove me to their home.

 

Noreen made a wonderful bed for me out of the couches in her living room, make a fire in the fireplace and brought me all her frilly hankies. She also made a pot of my favorite tea.

 

While Noreen and I talked about our deceased friend and some of the times we spent together, her son Paul, who was probably five or six at the time, kept coming in and out of the room. Each trip he brought a handful of toys or stuffed animals, which he lined up next to me on the couch. The more I thanked him the more things he brought me. Eventually the couch filled. In his little boy way he was bringing everything he had to comfort his mother’s friend. Lastly he brought in his most precious possession-his baby blanket.

 

I’m a major baby blanket person. When I was a child I had

a crib-sized blanket that was very much a part of my life until I was fourteen. I would hold it to my nose; suck my thumb, especially in turbulent times. That blanket brought me comfort. It had been loved to death and by the time I was 14 it had been reduced to the size of a silver dollar.

 

I understand all things baby blanket. Those of us who were baby blanket people have a way of finding each other. We have a language that only we understand. So little Paul and I immediately had this bond and he showed me his baby blanket that looked like a large blob of shredded rags tied together in large knots.

 

He called his baby blanket, “Bob.” We agreed that the  worse thing that can happen is when well meaning moms wash our baby blankets. It takes weeks to get them back in shape and to properly smell again. After a while, Paul and “Bob” went off to bed.

 

When the house was quiet I began reflecting and I began to cry and even sob. My shaking with grief was interrupted by the sound of shuffling little feet. It was Paul walking towards me carrying “Bob.” Without saying a word, he gently laid “Bob” in my arms, turned and left the room, closing the French doors behind him.

 

 At that moment, I knew that God was using this child to comfort me in my time of pain and sorrow.

To this day, I am blown away by that precious little one obeying the prodding of the Lord and lending me his most cherished possession that evening. God manifested his love that night to me.

 

 Joy Holloway

      West Hartford, CT