Heaven's Mail Delivery Service

There are many challenges that come with parenthood. Temper tantrums, picky eaters, marbles in noses, body parts stuck in things that leave you wondering how they got in there in the first place, just to name a few. But none of these things has been so challenging as attempting to figure out Heaven's delivery service.

Short Person loves writing letters. So much so that envelopes, colored pictures, and notes are piled upon nearly every available surface awaiting delivery. She's written to all her classmates, nearly all of her relatives, Santa Claus, and the neighbors, so it would only make sense that this letter writing would transcend its way to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

"Mom. How is this letter going to get up to Heaven?" Shortie looked at me with all the expectation of a 4-year-old that thinks her mom, mostly, knows everything. "This letter is for Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus."

"It is, huh?" I needed to buy time. Exactly how did a letter get to them? Find the nearest dead person and enclose it in the coffin? That answer was definitely NOT going to work.

"Yeah. Can you put a stamp on it?" She asked.

"Well... It doesn't really work that way." I immediately cursed myself for not forward-thinking. I so could have taken the easy way out and instead I chose to be honest.

"So, how do I get the letter to them?" Her little nose was scrunched up and she was looking at me with varying shades of doubt as to whether I was the right person to ask. Since Daddy wasn't there, however, she was stuck with me.

"I don't know, Honey. I need to think about it, okay?" I went about doing chores, thinking that maybe I could take her to a Catholic Church where they light the candles. They have a delivery box there for prayer requests-- or, they did on television. Since I haven't been to a Catholic Church in quite some time, i was a little iffy on the particulars. I had her set the letter on the table next to the door with the promise that I would get back to her with an answer, and she went about writing more letters.

About a day passed before it was brought up again.

I was in my office, working on the computer when I heard the front door and then the screen door open. Since Short Person and I were the only ones in the house, I bolted out of the chair and ran into the living room prepared to ream her up one side and down the other for going out the front door. I caught her just as she was coming back in.

"Mom, DON'T WORRY! I was only on the porch." She had one hand up in an attempt to stave off her mother's bout of lecturing. "I just needed to do something REALLY QUICK."

I'm gathering my patience. After all, it wasn't like she had run down the driveway and was playing in the street. The whole episode had only taken, maybe 2.5 seconds. "Honey, you know you are not supposed to open the front door without asking mommy or daddy." I gave her the stern I-mean-business look. "Sweetheart. You are only in pj's and snow boots and it's SO cold outside!" I looked out the screen door. Cold and snowy. Snow piled higher than she was.

"But Mo-om. I tolded you, I only needed to do something REALLY FAST, so don't worry!"

I sighed. Okay, no harm no foul, but what in blazes did she need to do in her nightgown with three feet of snow outside?! I asked her as much.

"Well, I was trying to see if it was windy or not."

"Windy?"

"Yeah. I was trying to mail this letter to Jesus." She said matter-of-factly. Any hot air I had left vacated at the answer as I tried to figure that one out.

"Why-wind-huh?" I sputtered out, totally confused.

"If it was windy enough, the wind could take the letter up up up to Heaven." She let out a long, drawn sigh of disappointment. "But it's not." Setting the letter back on the table, she took of her snow boots and went to sit on the couch, a picture of dejectedness.

God bless her, she'd figured out a way to get it there all by herself. I assured her that it would some day be windy enough and we'd be able to float the letter up to Heaven on our own created Heavenly delivery service, thankful that those words were enough to squelch the disappointment she felt.