Small Gifts

Silvia and her son Ryan shivered. IT was cold in the north, in early fall. Ryan huddled next to his mother,
“I’m cold Mommy!”
“I know, Ry, I know. Me too. Why don’t we turn the stove on!”
There came a rap at the door. Sylvia’s lips turned downward. She had little money to give. Probably another marketeer for World Vision asking for money that she didn’t have.
“Wait here,” she told her son, who nodded.
Her hand closed over the cold door-knob and she gave it a twist. A man stood at the door, a notepad in hand.
“Good evening ma’am, are you Sylvia Tanner?”
“Yes I am. How can I help you?”
“Well, actually, I’m here to deliver your furnace?’
“My what?”
“Furnace? I was told you have no heat!”
“But I never ordered… I mean, I can’t even afford…”
“It’s a gift, Mrs. Tanner, if you sign here I’ll get to work!”
Sylvia, amidst her tears felt a tug at her leg, and she moved over as Ryan held his only cookie up at the strange man.
“Why, hello there, son?” said the man.
“Thank you,” Ryan offered his cookie.

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