My mom lives right next door, and every night I go to her house for a cup of tea and to catch up on the day’s events. Sometimes we do a puzzle that stays on her kitchen table. The more challenging the puzzle, the longer it takes.
Right now, we are piecing together the Mona Lisa; with many dark and similar pieces, it’s taking us much longer than we hoped. We are averaging two pieces each, each hour.
“Sabra,” Mom leaned in, “we have these two young bucks that come. Their antlers are just about the size of my hand. They were sparring today.”
“If you ever find a shed antler, I would love it.”
“I’ve never found one,” Mom said. “But I’ll keep an eye out.”
We worked more on the puzzle, barely making progress, and I walked home to make dinner. The next night when I went to Mom’s house, a young buck’s shed antler was on the table in front of the puzzle, in front of my chair.
“You’ll never believe it,” Mom said. “Strangest thing, I walked outside this morning and there it was. Living here all these years and never seen one before today. Right on the ground, right in front of me. For you.”
I held the antler in my hands—it was smooth like sanded wood—only it held the beauty of the deer and the amazing glory of God, who gives gracious blessings that show He is listening. He hears.
Heavenly Father, thank You for the precious gifts You give that masterfully come together like pieces in a puzzle.
—Sabra Ciancanelli
