Last week my twins were in an arts night. Aurelle danced with thirty other lithe teenagers, and both girls sang in a choir of sixty souls. My joy watching them filled every pocket of my being. The ten weeks leading up to this production involved rushed mornings with them trying to remember and pack a pile of leotards, tap shoes, sheet music, jazz shoes, tights, and yoga pants before bolting out the door. Very occasionally one would forget an item in the dryer and would sweetly text a request to bring it. I was pleased to help. 

As I sat in the audience watching number after number performed with grace and style, I offered up a prayer of gratitude. 

"Thank you, Lord, for these daughters. If ever they forget something and need me to drive it to them, I am eager to do so."

A few days later the dance team had a party to celebrate a successful season. I was on track to drive girls from point A to point B. Half an hour before the agreed time Hope texted that she needed a ride somewhere else. 

Oh. Ok. 

The commute between our home and school is so short I can barely recite the word "commute" fifty times in succession. My son who lives in LA would scoff at me even using such a label to describe it. At least, that is, in light traffic. But on this particular afternoon the street was backed up to a standstill. As I sat parked another text came in. 

"Nvrmnd."

Oh. Ok. 

I gradually made it back around the block and pulled into our driveway as a text from her sister came through. 

"I forgot I needed something in the car. Can you come now please?"

I turned the key and headed back to merge into the parade of cars, and arrived as requested. My daughter retrieved the bag from the back seat, thanking me profusely, and ran back into the building. I distracted myself for awhile while she finished up, when Hope appeared and asked for a ride home. 

Oh. Ok. 

We chatted on the way about pending exams, and I left her at our back door. 

I drove back to wait for the dancers and eventually they piled into all three seats, chatting excitedly. We drove the four blocks to the celebration, and they thanked me cordially as the doors slid shut. There. Both girls were where they wanted to be.

When I finally parked the car and walked in the kitchen I glanced at the clock. It had been an hour. 

To take two girls a half a mile each? 

The mental prayer I had offered up a scant seventy two hours before came to mind. 

I had welcomed a chance to serve them, and it showed up. It felt as if God was taking me at my word.