Her Name is Nina

We live in South Georgia.

Please understand that other than the freakish cold snap that lasted for about a week, the Boy hasn't really needed a coat all winter.

I really am NOT a bad mother.

And when faced with packing for Santa Fe, I did look for a coat for him, it's just that with no real need for coats down here, there were none to be found.

So I figured we'd layer and wear the fleece and just make do for four days.

We spent one day in Santa Fe proper.  Marveling at the 400 year old church, walking up and down the streets, poking into silver boutiques--we were a parade of strollers.  Whimsy was looking for a turquoise ring and I was looking for some very specific silver earrings (I have been looking for them for a DECADE, I'm not sure why I thought that I would magically find them in Santa Fe).  We ended up perusing the wares of several native american artisans.

We strolled slowly down the length of the commons, and then slowly back up.  At this point we had been outside, in the snow, for several hours.  On our way back up the commons a lovely woman said, "Your baby looks really cold.  His hands are all red."  At which point I crouched down and rubbed and blew and attempted to thaw his poor, red, chappy hands.

She then stands up and pulls out a blanket that she had been sitting on.  She holds it out to me and says, "Here.  Take this, wrap him up tight."

I protested.  I offered her payment.  I flushed and thanked her profusely.  I felt humbled and grateful and embarassed that I hadn't taken better care of my Boy.  I offered her money once again.

She held out her hand and said, "Be my friend."

We shook on it and I asked her name. 

"My name is Nina," she replied with a brilliant smile.

I hugged her and thanked her for her kindness, and Samwise took our picture. 

I am continually amazed at the kindness that Heavenly Father brings into my life.  And yes, I lay it squarely at His door.  It is too much, too rich, too pointed for mere fate or mortals.