Going down to the watering hole, Annie remembered her days as a Sunday School teacher. And she remembered that God certainly does answer her solitary prayers when she is sad and lonely and just wants to be comforted. “Dear God,” she had prayed, “please send your Son into this room to teach the children because I don’t know how.” And at the very end of her prayer, on the last step leading into the basement where Children’s Church was held, Annie added a post script. “And please send an angel to me.”
A trip back to the bedroom to fill her cup with still warm water, she put her hand on her growing abdomen. Yes, it was true, she thought, I did eat all the cookies but I haven’t really eaten that much lately, unless you count the endless carrots I attacked with my beaver teeth.
About this time, her daughter awoke, and with the same affliction as her mother did a dance to the bathroom. “Do you want me to turn the radio off?” Annie asked.
“If you want,” Zara said.
Oh those words, Annie thought, urging her daughter to speak from her heart and ask for exactly what she wants. Baby, we’re gonna get through this.