A REASON FOR BISCUITS
“And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.” (Matthew 10:42)
The rumble of a moving truck caught Anna’s attention, and she shifted the curtain to watch it drive away. A young woman walked out of the other side of the duplex, pushing her dark, wavy hair off her forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt.
Poor thing looked exhausted.
The woman swiveled toward the open door. “Stay there, Tristan. I’m just moving the car.”
Anna’s hand went to her heart. A little boy! She opened the curtain a bit wider. A small child stood in the doorway, dark hair like his mother’s and shoulders slumped.
Moving was hard. In their 53 years of marriage, Anna and Sam had moved seven times, finally landing in this duplex. Anna loved the park right behind them and schools nearby. Children used to fill the area. She enjoyed the noise, the activity, the liveliness of the little ones. Now those kids were grown, and old people like her settled in.
The little boy next door, however, didn’t look lively at all. Moving was extra hard on kids. Anna wished she could help, but her recent hip replacement kept her mostly housebound lately. What could she possibly do to welcome her new neighbours?
“What? Why biscuits?” Anna tightened her grip on the curtain. She hadn’t baked anything since Sam had dropped his snow shovel and fell into the arms of Jesus eight months and fourteen days ago.
Plain old biscuits didn’t seem like a proper welcome gift. Cookies would be better. Or maybe a casserole. “Are you sure?”
“Make biscuits.” The familiar, silent voice repeated.
“Okay, Lord, biscuits it is.”
A few minutes later, Anna shifted a towel-covered basket on her arm and knocked on the door of the adjoining home. It opened, revealing stacks of boxes behind the bedraggled young woman.
Anna extended her free hand. “Hello, I’m your neighbour, Anna Simons.”
“Hi, Anna. I’m Shanna Boyer.”
Anna offered the basket. “I made some biscuits to welcome you.”
Shanna’s eyes widened and filled. “Biscuits? Really? Tristan! We got biscuits!”
The little boy ran to his mom, his eyes sparkling. “Oh boy!”
Back home later, Anna marveled. Her simple gift had answered Shanna’s prayer for a sign that God still cared. Biscuits had been Shanna's mother’s specialty, one they missed almost as much as they missed her. God knew. And cared.
Anna bowed her head and smiled. “Thank You, Lord, for biscuits.”