The other day when I was writing another short story for all, I was asked whether I could tell one for children’s story.

“Of course I can.” immediately I said, and this is what I told.

I was just going to the playground with the crowd when I heard my neighbor yell my name from the apartment breezeway.

“Stacy, you got a blender I could borrow?” in her most coaxing voice.

I pulled a face as though about too shocked to understand. Cold fear seized me as I waited for an adult to show up. She was asking me a great deal. I didn’t want to be wanted for anything. much less my heavy duty, stainless steel Vitamix. The root word being vita, meaning “life.” These blenders make so much more than juice and crushed ice and I use it almost every day. I simply couldn’t do without it.

But God would be so pleased with me if I lent my vintage Vitamix blender to my neighbor.

“Yes. Come in and I’ll box the blender for you. But what do you want to do with it?” I was curious.

“Oh,” said my neighbor, “I’m taking it to my cousin’s house for his birthday party.”

Ten minutes later she had gone with the party mixer, and I felt that it was the hardest thing to do. I picked up “The Blender Girl” recipe book and tried to read in my slightly less academic life, but I could see nothing on the page except towed away.

Winslow Homer (1836-1910)
Snap the Whip
Oil on canvas
30.5 x 50.8 cm
(12.01″ x 20″)
Private collection

But I was not left to dream of sugar-free raspberry lemon cheesecake smoothies for long. Two weeks I tossed and turned about as though I guessed I’d never see those shiny blades again.

My first thought was to march downstairs and ask for my blender back, but it was too late to do that now. Fourteen days without hearing from my neighbor and I seemed to be in the depths of misery. Would God bring me this far to drop me?

Suppose I should pray to be free of this anger. And with that I began to feel that I wasn’t having such a bad time after all. Maybe, I thought, if the truth were known, I would like to have a new Vitamix. Instantly I drifted off to sleep.

Knock~knock~knock rattled the door the next morning. Just in time and none too soon, my Vitamix had arrived in “good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over,” (Luke 6:38 KJV). God loves me more than to let me die in my own selfishness. Thank you. Not in an off hand kind of way, but thank you.
Sincerely, §tacy §weeney

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