Sometimes angels are five years-old. (And named Albert.)

I spent a bit of time this morning during Morning Meeting explaining to the children why Mrs. KeepsMeOutOfTrouble wasn’t in school.  Some of the children knew, and I struggled to find the words.

I began by explaining that she had suffered a loss in her family, and immediately several children piped up.   Apparently there were some important discussions at the homes of these children last night, and for that I was thankful.

We talked about broken hearts, sadness, love and angels.  

And after a long morning filled with incredible emotion and exhausting conversations, I sat in my chair feeling a bit overwhelmed.  It was then that Lord Albert came up to me quietly, thrusting a package into my hand.

“Mrs. Smythe, I forgot to give this to you before Christmas.  Here,” he said with small smile. 

I opened the tiny package, still a bit numb from the morning, and was stunned.  It was the one thing that lifts us all when we are in the deepest of despair.  The one thing that has kept me swimming towards the surface.

Thank you, Albert; thank you.