All in a Days Work: Part 1

Months ago, my two sons and I were shopping at a local clothing store. Well, I was returning my husband's Christmas present, to be precise. The young cashier floundered and fussed with how the system lacked in performing it's standard job of ringing up purchases and refunds. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...err--the register on the other side, I began to notice a woman shaking her hands, touching her hair nervously, chattering in high pitched tones with eyes shifting like a druggy on meth.

Being the considerate, and kind individual I inspire to be, I eavesdropped.
"I don't know," said the frantic woman.
"What does she look like?" asked the cashier. By then another three or four store personnel had joined the circle I had titled, Chagrin Gang. A few more words were exchanged in hushed voices and the mission-minded group dispersed.

My transaction had long sinced finished, the awesomeness of being a multi-tasking mother, I approached the woman, with a boy in each hand, and asked if I could help with anything.

"I can't find my daughter." Her voice shook. "I had left her with my mom. Told her not to go anywhere but stay with grandma. I just stepped out to smoke and when I came back inside I can't find her."

"We'll help," my words were a feeble attempt to console. My mind wasted no time to pray. Father, you know where that girl is hiding. May she be safe. May we find her healthy and well in this store. May this woman see that Your hand is in control. All glory to You, Lord. Amen.

Details. I needed a description. "What does your daughter look like? What's her name?"

The woman shook as if standing knee deep in snow. Her eyes moved wildly about the store to my back. She spoke at me, not to me. "My daughter's name is Elizabeth. She is three years old and has long blond hair with curls. She may be with my mom or another older girl."

"Ok. What's your name?"

"Sherry."

"Sherry," I replied, "my boys and I are going to help you find your daughter. We'll come get you if we do." Turning, I kneeled and spoke softly to my little ones. I understood the horrible gut-wrenching knot in a mother's stomach when she thinks she may have lost her child. Tears pooled. "Boys, I need you to be detectives with me. Do you know what a detective does?"

My oldest knew the answer, "They find clues."

"Right! They find clues. We are going to find clues in this store. Clues that may lead us to a little girl, Elizabeth. She is about your age and has long curly hair. If you see her, please tell me--Ok?"

Blond little boy heads bobbed in agreement.

The search was on.

To be continued...