As I was dusting in the den one day, Pa Pa called me to the kitchen window. "Look out there," he said, grinning and putting his arm around my shoulder. "Do you see any leaves on the driveway? Or in the yard?"
It was late fall, and the oak and dogwood trees all around the yard meant it needed constant attention. As usual the leaves were neatly piled along the fence row. Even at his age, Pa Pa always kept his lawn "swept" as he called it.
"No, not a leaf out of place," I said, thinking he wanted me to appreciate his handiwork. "You did a great job, Pa Pa."
"It wasn't me," he said. "I was out there this morning walking through a carpet of leaves. I said, `Lord, you know this yard needs sweeping, but I'm going to have to ask you for the strength to do it.' Then I felt a little breeze against the back of my legs, and those leaves started to blow across the yard. Right up there along the fence where I always put them! Isn't that just like God?"
Pa Pa died the following spring. I like to think that God sent another breeze to lift him up to his heavenly home. The day Pa Pa was laid to rest his yard was still "swept." He had never had to rake it again. Isn't that just like God?