Only heaven knows who made the homemade gift.
I woke up feeling sorry for myself. I was tired of hobbling around with a cast on my leg. I’d broken my ankle on a family outing in the country, and now autumn had rushed in overnight. The house was downright chilly. “Brrr,” I shivered. “This would be a good soup day.”
I craved the comfort of a homemade soup. You can’t get that from a can. But my refrigerator didn’t have much to offer, and a trip to the store seemed like too much effort. Still, all day I couldn’t get that soup idea out of my head. Sure would be nice if some dropped down from heaven, I thought at lunchtime.
About five o’clock I opened the front door to get the mail. A gift bag hung on the handle of the storm door. What in the world? I peered inside the bag. Would you believe it? There were four containers labeled with different kinds of homemade soup. Who had delivered this gift from heaven?
I called a friend, thinking it might have been her. No, she wasn’t my soup angel, but guess what. “I’m finishing up a soup right now,” she said, “to bring you for dinner tonight!” So now I had five soups. What an abundant blessing, just when I needed it.
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