Oh, that those who bore us would be born again.

Because it is a good night to write things down.

Because it was a day filled with so many random blessings that if I do not write them down, I will forget, and God will not get enough glory for sending them my way.

The day began with two cardinals, husband and wife, (ok I know that is a stretch, but allow me the pleasure of thinking of them that way, would you?) eating at the feeder while we cleaned up from breakfast.

And God said once again to my heart, "I will take care of you. Are you not more precious than they to me?"

And He met our needs today, needs for fellowship with a sweet couple.

With the husbands working outside, we women folk sat by the roaring fire and I finally realized that it was indeed "Crochet" that she wanted to be taught, and NOT to knit. My husband thought he heard that right on the phone, but I assured him that it was to "knit" that she wanted and she probably gave the wrong English word.

She is Japanese. And I was wrong.

And she takes me to her room and slips out a storage container with oodles of crafting supplies and a slender red case. She tells me that her Mother gave it to her for her birthday when she was in the fourth grade.

I finger it gently and open it.

A knitter's dream. Every needle of every size, double points, counters, so delicately arranged and for sure made out of bamboo. So sweet. And in the middle pocket, my savior for the day, a hook. A crochet hook for catching dropped stitches, and for catching my error of not planning better.

She chains like a pro and I am wishing that April was here to really show her how and not me and my single and double crochets.

I convince her to start again for practice and as I unravel, she begins to unravel about her Mom. How she found out she had cancer, how her father refused to believe that she had anything wrong. How she was a champion through the pain, the chemo, and how she was able to make it to their wedding.

She talks in a little bit of broken English and my heart is breaking, knowing where this is heading.

She remembers the moment she knew that she needed to accept the Lord. She had only been in the U.S. a short while, her husband crazy busy with work and a new culture to make her feel completely alone.

She had left everything and now was confronted with leaving all she had known to trust this Son of God. And to trust Him for her future would acknowledge that her Mother's was settled forever.

And she would never see her again.

Twelve years later she still dreams that she sees her Mother and that they are heading one to heaven and one to hell and she tries futilely to convert her and wakes again knowing that there is no hope.

No hope.

By this time I am holding her newest in my arms still sleeping peacefully and my tears are spilling onto her blanket. THIS Mother/Daughter duo will see the face of Christ. Together.

I look her straight in the eye and tell her that I have such a burden for Asia. That I want to go back and tell her Mother. I want to tell all of Asia. I tell her I am sorry. I am sorry that twelve years ago I was not there to speak truth. I was too busy playing church here to be bothered with a dying Mother of someone I was not connected with.

She is now going back, progressing well on her scarf, thanking me for my time.

And I wish I had time to go back. She tells me that she knows that her Mother's passing gave her a hunger for God, and that we may understand the 99 percent of God's plan, but we will always have the 1 percent we do not know. Here on earth, she says, we will only be Christ-like, not all knowing like Him.

And I wonder if I am teaching her or if she is teaching me.

The men come in to warm cider and they are pleased that I attempted to make them an authentic rice cake, and our van is filled to the brim with wood that we so desperately needed for warmth this Winter. But I didn't need the wood so much as the reminder that we are only here for a little while. I am glad that my Mother will join me in heaven, but shame on me if that makes me the least bit more comfortable here.

Because someone else is dreaming of the chance to see theirs in glory.