“It’s about Rosalie, Lord. The house is too much for her all by herself. Without me there to look after her, I’m afraid she’ll burn the place down because she’ll forget to turn off a burner or start a flood because she forgot the bathwater was running. I know you love her even more than I do and that’s a comfort. Show me how to convince her to move into that fancy new complex. Let me warn you, though, Lord, my Rosalie can be stubborn. But then, I guess you’ve noticed that.
“Lord, when I’m gone, you’ll have to take care of her for me.” He paused and decided he was taking up too much of God’s time, so he added, “Amen.”
When he glanced up, the cloud cover had broken and sunshine burst upon the snow, making it shimmer with light. Harry watched it for a long moment, feeling good. The problem now rested in God’s hands.
2
Harry’s prayer rose upward, higher and higher through the snow-laden branches of the evergreens. His petition to God whisked its way past the thick white clouds, carried by the warm winds of his love to the very desk of the Archangel Gabriel. There it landed.
“Harry Alderwood,” Gabriel muttered, turning the pages of the massive book that detailed the prayers and lives of the faithful. “Ah, yes, Harry.” Gabriel remembered the older man. Harry didn’t pray often and seemed to believe he shouldn’t bother God with his petty concerns. Little did the old man know how much God liked to talk to His children, how He longed to listen to them.
Having the ear of God and sharing His love for humans, Gabriel felt tenderness for this man who was so close to making the journey from life into death. In many cases when death was imminent, the veil between heaven and earth was especially thin. Harry accepted that he was dying but he clung to life, fearful of leaving behind those he loved—especially his wife, Rosalie.
Harry’s days were few, even fewer than the old man realized, and that brought a certain urgency to his prayer. Unfortunately, Christmas was only eight days away, and Gabriel was swamped with requests.
Two prayers had now reached him, almost simultaneously, from the small Washington town of Leavenworth. The second was from Carter Jackson, a small boy who felt he could trust God more than Santa.
Carter’s prayer wouldn’t be any easier to answer than Harry Alderwood’s. Requests like this got even more complicated at Christmastime. Heaven was busy, busy, busy. There was work to be done, prayers to be answered, angels to be assigned.
Gabriel studied the list of available Prayer Ambassadors and saw that his three favorite angels were indeed free. Shirley, Goodness and Mercy were close to his heart, but there’d been problems with them in the past.
Lots of problems.
Mercy, for example, tended to become too engrossed with the things of earth. Gabriel shook his head in a mixture of amusement and irritation. No matter how short-handed he was, he dared not let those three visit earth again. Giving Mercy the opportunity to be around forklifts and escalators was asking for trouble.
Not once could Gabriel remember assigning her a prayer request without regretting it afterward. Okay, perhaps regret was too strong a word. Mercy always managed to straighten everything out at the last second and he had to admit, she did make him laugh. But Mercy with Harry Alderwood…
“Poor Harry,” Gabriel whispered.
“Harry,” Mercy repeated from behind him.
She had a bad habit of sneaking up on him and Gabriel did his best not to leap back in surprise. Controlling his reaction, he turned to face the Prayer Ambassador. She was the picture of innocence, wide-eyed and hopeful.
“Did I hear you mention Harry Alderwood?” she asked, as her wings made small rustling sounds. This happened whenever she was excited. The mere prospect of returning to earth had Mercy nearly breathless with anticipation.
“You did,” he said.
“If there’s any way I could be of service,” Mercy volunteered, “I’d be more than happy to help.”
“I’m sure you would, but there’s the small matter of—”
Mercy interrupted him, raising her hand. “If you’re going to bring up that unfortunate incident with the aircraft carrier, I want to point out that I’ve repented.”
“Actually,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat. “I was thinking about the time you rerouted that 747.”
“Oh.”
Mercy’s cheeks colored, as well they should. That had been the final straw as far as Gabriel was concerned. “I don’t know if I can trust you back on earth,” he said pensively. But the number of available Prayer Ambassadors was limited….
“Please, please, please, give me another chance,” Mercy begged, hands folded.
For all the trouble she caused, Mercy did have a certain knack for getting prayers answered. What humans didn’t always grasp was that prayer requests usually required participation on their end. God liked it when His children trusted Him with their needs, but the Almighty Father welcomed human cooperation, too.
“Harry’s prayer just arrived,” Gabriel said with some hesitation. “He knows his remaining time on earth is brief.”
“Doesn’t he realize he’ll receive a new body once he gets to heaven?” Mercy asked, seeming surprised by the older man’s reluctance to leave earth. “It’s so much better here.”
“He knows,” Gabriel said. Perhaps it would be best if he allowed her a view of Harry and Rosalie. “Come and meet Harry,” the archangel invited and with one wide sweep of his arm, he whisked away the veil between heaven and earth. A moment later the two of them were able to look down upon the town of Leavenworth.
“Harry, is that you?” Rosalie called when he stepped into the house and closed the door against the bitter December wind.
“It’s me,” Harry replied in a strained voice. He felt short of breath, and his mind was full of what Dr. Snellgrove had told him. He knew Rosalie couldn’t cope without him; he also knew he’d have to trust that God would answer his prayer.
“I have lunch ready,” his wife said as he entered the kitchen.
He had little appetite, but Harry couldn’t disappoint Rosalie, since she’d made the effort of preparing their meal. At this stage, she only remembered a few of her favorite recipes. Almost always, they had canned soup for dinner. No doubt that was what she’d made for lunch, too.
Food didn’t interest Harry much anymore. He ate because it was necessary but without any real enjoyment.
Coming into the kitchen, he saw that he’d guessed correctly. Rosalie had heated up soup. Two steaming bowls filled with bright-red tomato soup sat on the kitchen table. What was left in the small saucepan was boiling madly on the stove. When Rosalie turned her back to bring the silverware to the table, Harry reached over and switched off the burner.
Soon he joined his wife at the round oak table in the small alcove. They bowed their heads, and Harry murmured grace. When he finished, Rosalie smiled softly, her eyes brimming with love. “How did everything go at the doctor’s, sweetheart?”
Rather than worry her, Harry simply nodded. “I’m as fit as can be expected for a man of my age.”
Rosalie looked back at him with concern. She seemed about to ask him more but changed her mind. He’d told her what she wanted to hear.
“Is soup all right?” she asked.
“It’s perfect.” Not sure how to broach the subject of moving, Harry swallowed three spoonfuls of his lunch, then paused. This wouldn’t be the first time