Hey friends, it’s been a super busy week around here. How’s it been for you? I’m so glad the weekend is finally here. Exhale.

Today I’m re-sharing the first post I ever published on this blog because A – most of you haven’t seen it before. And B – because you’ll laugh. I hope.

I actually planned to write a new piece for today, but there’s still a ton of baking to do for homecoming this weekend.

Bake or write. Bake or write. Baking won out. Cupcakes. And if they come out great, trust me, you’ll see them here!

So read on and enjoy this little blast from the past!

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Everytime A Bell Rings

He had an odd, curious look on his face that hot, muggy day. The fan oscillated on high, the windows were open wide. We should’ve shut them hours earlier and turned on the air. Trying to stay cool during the “dog days” of August.

Everyone had shorts on at the dinner table, and I wore a sleeveless linen blouse, trying to beat the heat.

Salad, grilled steak tips and watermelon. That was the menu. And a mountain of icy cold watermelon triangles. We loaded our plates, and I shook the salad dressing.

His eyes weren’t necessarily on me, but intently focused on something nearby. And I recognized that same curious look, the smirk in his eye. And I returned to a day months earlier.

I’d picked him up after school as usual.

“How was second grade?”

“Fine.”

“So what’d you do at school today?”

“Nothing.”

“Surely you did something.”

“What we do at school every day. Learn,” he said, disinterestedly.

“So what did you play at recess?”

“Tag.”

“Was it fun?”

“Not really.”

(Sigh.) “The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.”

Well, I was under no grand illusion here. I’d run out of questions, and he was obviously out of answers. I settled in for the quiet car ride home.

Halfway home, I checked the rearview mirror and noticed an unusual exercise in progress. His right sleeve was rolled up high, his little arm flexed like a muscle man. His fist pumped furiously back and forth. Simultaneously, his left hand batted at his tricep. He watched intently, quiet glee apparent. It was odd.

“What are you doing honey?”

“Just playing a game.”

“What kind of game,” I persisted. “Does it have a name?”

He stayed focused, flexing and batting. “It’s called Bingo Wings, Mommy.”

Bingo Wings. I’d never heard of a game called Bingo Wings, but I’m not exactly the person to ask. I’m not really a game person. Plus I always lose. I doubted I’d be good at this one either. But I tried connecting anyway.

“So what are the rules? How do you play?”

“Well it’s easier to play if you’re really old. Like forty or a hundred.

First, you put your arm up like this…… and SQUEEEEZE. Make a big fist and turn your wrist back and forth…… just like this.” He demonstrated.

“And THEN…. you watch the hanging skin and fat wiggle and jiggle like jello. See?” He vainly attempted jiggling his taut skin.

“Where’d you learn that?” I asked flatly.

“From Tommy at recess.” (When I was in school we played hopscotch and jumped rope.)

“I don’t think that’s a very nice game,” I said. “And I won’t play.”

Fast forward to the dinner table. He bit a watermelon triangle and stared hard. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. It was written all over his face. Because as I shook the dressing at the table that night, I detected the same curious, gleeful Bingo Wings look. And I just knew.

Well I’m not a hundred years old. (Not yet.) And I’m usually rotten at games. But apparently I’m first rate at Bingo Wings. It’s an effortless game you can play with your eyes closed. There are no game pieces to lose. The rules are “loose”. Play on your own or with a crowd.

It’s gratifying to finally be a winner at the ripe old age of forty-one.

“Look Daddy! Teacher says, Everytime A Bell Rings, an angel gets its wings.”.

It’s a Wonderful Life (Wings aside, it truly is.)

You may also enjoy: Nuts About Her

The post Everytime a bell rings… appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.

The following is a true story, happened to a close friend of mine. But first, do you believe in angels? Because I do. I don’t know as I’ve ever met one, and that’s just the thing. How would you know?

Snow Angels in Disguise by allie taylor

Several years ago she told me this story. I had chills hearing it the first time, and again writing it today. She’d recently relocated here from Seattle, previously from Switzerland. In a sense, she was indeed a stranger in a foreign land. It was a snowy winter day, around noon of New Year’s Eve, 2006. One of her two small children was sick, and they’d just been to the doctor. Her husband was at work. On the return trip from the doctor appointment, going up the very long steep hill into their large subdivision, the tires got stuck in the snow. She was maybe a mile from her house. The snow was coming down heavily, a whiteout. She fumbled for the hazards, started praying “Dear Jesus, help us, we’re stuck.”

She turns around, prays a little prayer with her kids in the back. Then she calls her husband at work, he says he’ll make the long drive back in the snow to come and dig them out.

Meanwhile, a man comes out of a nearby house, asks if they’re ok.

“We’re ok,” she says, “my husband’s on his way from work. It’ll be a little while, but he’s coming.”

So the man goes back in the house.

A few minutes later, the garage door of another house opens and a big red pickup truck pulls out, backs down the street in the snow, stops behind her van.

Two men get out. They look European, wear knee-high laced suede boots, goggles. They’re both tan, nice ski outfits. She remembers, they don’t look like they belong here. She rolls down her window. One has a friendly smile, striking blue eyes, a beard, introduces himself as Simon, and his friend, Peter. She explains to them she’s stuck, but lives nearby. Her husband is on the way.

Simon smiles, says confidently, ” My friend and I, we are going to help you. So why don’t you and the kids just get in my truck, and I’ll drive you all home. Peter will dig your van out, follow us and drive it home for you.”

Strangely, she feels very peaceful, comfortable with this. Normally, she’d think like you and me…don’t get in a car with a strange man you don’t know with your kids. But for some very odd reason, she feels peaceful and trusting, almost carried along.

She transfers the kids to the backseat of the truck, finds there’s a booster seat already there for her littlest. She gets in the front, sees a sticker on the dashboard, says “Jesus loves you.” There’s not much conversation on the short drive to her house. Peter has no trouble unearthing the van, follows them back. Simon pulls in to the curb by her house, asks her to open the garage so Peter can drive the van straight in.

Overwhelmed, she says, “I don’t know how to thank you. Thank you so much. This means such a great deal to me.”

Simon, he says, “It’s the last day of the year, and Peter and I, we wanted to do a good deed to close out the year.” And off they go.

She calls her husband. “Honey, I’m home now. Two men, Simon and Peter brought us home.”

“What? You got in a truck with the kids with a man you don’t even know?” She tells him the story, explains the peace she felt, how God sent them to rescue her.

She’s just so grateful and overwhelmed, keeps thinking of the kind strangers who helped her. The following week, she bakes goodies for Simon and Peter, drives back to the house on the steep hill at the beginning of the subdivision, where the red truck backed out of the garage. She knocks on the door and a lady answers. She explains to the lady the cookies are for Simon and Peter, a small thank you for all their help last week in the storm. The lady, she looks confused. She doesn’t know anyone named Simon or Peter, no one nearby with those names.

“But you have the big red pick-up in the garage?”

“No, we have no pick-up truck,” says the lady. And she shuts the door.

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares” (Hebrews 13:2)

If you have an angel story, I hope you’ll share it with us today.

Related post: Shut Up and Listen

The post Snow angels in disguise appeared first on Through Her Looking Glass.