The following story took place about three years ago, but is
a constant companion when the going gets rough...
It was Sunday evening. The children had finished their supper
and were ready to prepare for bed. I glanced around the house
feeling utterly overwhelmed by the disorder everywhere,
knowing that I really wanted each room neat and tidy for my
husband's return at the end of a long, tiring day.
Usually I ask the children to get into gear. However, this
Sunday I felt that they themselves were very tired and I
decided to let them off. I would just have to force myself to
plunge into the mess and restore order on my own.
My mind was set. This place is going to be tidy for Abba,
come what may. But my limbs refused to mobilize.
I couldn't leave the house in this state, that was certain.
Before proceeding, I breathed a huge sigh. PHEW! [Moshe
Rabbenu's shortest prayer -- for Miriam's recovery --
consisted of five words. Mine consists of four, condensed
into one.] This stands for Please Help Every Jew Worldwide.
Since it includes all of my brothers and sisters, I hoped
that my little voice will be answered as well. Just to be
safe, I added whimsically, "Hashem, I just wish you could
send a little angel who could whiz around the house with a
little magic wand and make things fly into place." I must
have read too many fairy tales as a child. I smiled, and took
another deep breath before the assault.
Then, suddenly... There was a knock, knock, knock at the
front door. I opened it to find three little neighbor boys,
two brothers and their friend.
"Mrs. C., PLEASE could we tidy up your house or do some jobs
for you for just a few pennies? We're bored and have nothing
to do."
Disbelief was written all over my face, but before this dream
vanished into thin air, I quickly ushered the visitors into
the house, mumuring half to myself, "Fairies. Good angels!
Hashem sent me three good angels! Do come inside!"
I took a good look around, with different eyes this time, and
began delegating jobs. Within twenty minutes, the house was
spic and span, everything in place and the floor neatly
swept. My little angels each received their promised pennies,
more than they expected, and disappeared with broad
smiles.
These children had never come before. They have never come
since. Despite my exuberant welcome, I don't think they
realized that they were a response to a prayer, messengers to
what I call my Sweetest Siyata Dishmaya!
