When we transferred from Arizona to Washington, I was determined never to make such a big move again. What a headache! We knew we couldn’t fit everything we owned into our smaller, new house, so we put a lot of things in storage, to sort through later. Eventually we’d got the job done.
Now, 20 years later, I received a follow-up call from the company that moved us—but from their Chicago warehouse.
“Are you related to William Mills?” the woman on the phone asked.
“He was my father,” I said. “But he died several years ago.”
“I have a box here with his obituary in it. And some old photos.”
“Oh, my! You actually have it!” The box had been lost so long I’d almost given up on it. By the time I realized it was missing, months had gone by. It was too late to call the moving company—or even say a prayer for the box’s return. I certainly never expected the moving company to call me.
“Where has it been all these years?” I asked.
“Someone in our Chicago warehouse accidentally loaded it onto a van for delivery the other day. When the customer didn’t recognize it, I opened it up and found the obituary. Your father’s church helped me get your number.”
Who knew how the box had wound up in Chicago, but sure enough the box arrived from FedEx the next day. I poured over the long-lost photos. It was never too late for angels—both heavenly and human—to help set things right. And never too late for me to say a prayer of thanks!
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