the God of small things

It was the kids' first day back at school yesterday. Five minutes before we had to leave, and I was desperately searching the house for the Pokemon stickers I had promised to help Ben (7) put on his red lunchbox.
I looked in places likely and unlikely, noticing in passing the layers of dust on top of the fridge and the mess in Ben's desk drawers.

In the background I could hear the anguished cries: "I'm not going to school without stickers on my lunchbox! I'm not putting any other stickers besides Pokemon ones on there!" (the irresistable force meets the immovable object).

And I prayed "God, please help me to find them! I know Ben needs to learn to cope with disappointment, I know it's not important, but it's important to Ben, and I want his first day back at school to be a happy one."

In desperation, I eventually opened a small packet of what I thought were Pokemon tattoos in his drawer, only to discover that they were stickers. Problem solved, lunchbox decorated, one happy child off to school.

And this morning I unzipped the pocket on Ben's Pokemon backpack (an obvious place I failed to look yesterday) to discover the stickers I had been praying to find - but they were actually tattoos.

God knew what I was looking for, even if I didn't know myself.