Annette and I had driven separately. On the way home I had Kenni and Caia in my truck, and Annette was going to make a grocery run. That left me in charge of the bedtime routine.

Now, when you’re driving children home after their bedtime, there are two ways things can go. There’s the first way where the children fall asleep in the car and then stay asleep as you carry them in. Lay them gently on their beds, and they peacefully continue their slumber.

Then there’s the second way.

And on this particular night, things went the second way.

The girls fell out cold somewhere along the road home. But as soon as we pulled into the garage, they woke up. The quiet moment quickly dissolved into exhaustion induced hysteria. After carrying them inside, I sat them both on Kenni’s bed to get them into their pajamas. They were both whining at first. Then something triggered one of them into wailing…which then triggered the other one to follow suit.

Pandemonium. Screaming. Kenni’s crying for milk…”I’m thirsty!” Caia’s just crying for sleep. “Do what you must do, but do it NOW!” Holy Moses. There’s nothing I can do to calm them down but just give them what they need and lay them down in their beds.

As I was standing there in my own agony, I was hit with empathy for God. (Not that he needs my empathy, but stick with me here.) God has hundreds of millions of children living ‘in the world,’ and it’s fair to say that a large percentage of them are crying out to Him in one way or another at every moment of every day. Cries for help, repair, restoration, comfort… All totally legitimate and real needs that He is fully capable of fulfilling.

And then I started thinking about my unborn son, Jackson. He’s due sometime in January. But he’s got some challenges to overcome as he gets closer to his big day. He’s missing an umbilical artery, and his mom has just been diagnosed with intrahepatic cholestasis. I’m not going to lie…it’s a little scary. In his own way, I felt like he was screaming at me in that moment, too. “Dad! Pray for me!”

It was a sobering, surreal experience.

My friend Jason had twittered a thought earlier that day that slapped me in the face as I finally got the girls calmed down and into their beds…

When I pray God has an entire eternity to listen….for He is not within time. He labors over my life as an author over his characters. WOW!

Though our own stories are bound by a window of time, God’s is not. He can step in from anywhere in eternity and create our rescue. He can hear all our millions upon millions of simultaneous cries because He freely arranges his own moments according to His own will. [Wow! That's overwhelming!]

Being loved by a God who is trustworthy and desperately interested in meeting our needs is the greatest opportunity available to any man or woman.

With the sun this morning, Kenni was up and by our bed. She hadn’t forgotten. “It’s today. The sun came up. Mommy, can we go to a different Kohl’s and get a fluffy blue Horton?” It was an irresistible request. We got dressed, hopped into the car.

“Where are we going, Daddy?”

“Well, first we’re going to Chick-fil-A to get some chicken minis. Then, we’re going to Kohl’s.”

“Are we going to a different Kohl’s?”

[Smile] “Yes, we’re going to a ‘different’ Kohl’s.”

“To get a fluffy blue Horton?”

“Yes, to get you a ‘fluffy blue Horton.” [Smile again]

I’d like to mention here that I absolutely love being a dad.

So, a couple of chicken biscuits, a shared sweet tea (Annette got the combo), and 2 out of 3 chicken-minis later (which is darn good for this 26-pound 3 year old), we’re off to “a different Kohl’s.”

“What do you see, Kenni?”

“I see Kohl’s. Is it a different Kohl’s, Daddy?”

“Yep!”

“Mommy, it’s a different Kohl’s. We’re gonna get my own fluffy blue Horton. Lily has a fluffy blue Horton.”

So we’re at the door. I make a big deal of it. I’m carrying her, and I turn away at the last second saying, “Oh, this is silly. Let’s just go home and play!”

She wasn’t buying it. I knew she wouldn’t. Fortunately, she got the joke and laughed. “No, Daddy! That’s not a good idea!”

I lean around the door and her eyes catch the display. “Daddy! It’s Yertle the Turtle! I’m gonna get my very own fluffy blue Horton.”

That’s right… Horton.

Um, where’s Horton?

The rack was a good seven feet tall. There were at least 200 plush dolls on that rack. But I wasn’t seeing any elephant ears or trunks.

“Ask.” That’s all I could muster to Annette. But she was one step ahead of me…with a fire in her eyes.

“Um, excuse me. Um, where are the Horton dolls?” she asked.

“The what, dear? Oh, Horton. No ma’am… We’re out of those.”

You ever have one of those dolly-zoom moments? Where were the violas and trombones playing a dissonant interval? I looked at Annette, but couldn’t see her. In her place was a lioness eyeing a gemsbock. Her head twitched a little too the left.

“Um, no ma’am. I called yesterday, and the lady I spoke with said you had plenty and that she didn’t think we needed to place one on hold.”

“I’m sorry. They’re very popular. We had some yesterday…but they’re very popular.”

I’m still holding my McKenna in my arms. Good thing, too. She’s caught on.

“Daddy, I’m sad.”

The eyes. The eyes get me every time. But when the lips go… I’ll just admit that when the lips go, I lose all semblance of masculinity.

Enter: the work of the Holy Spirit.

It was the Eastern European lady unpacking a box behind the cashier who saw the lips, too. “Ma’am, there is other rack at other doors. I call to check.” She picked up the cashier’s phone and spoke softly into the handset. [Pause] “No more? Oh.”

Meanwhile, Annette reminded me, “When I called yesterday, the lady I spoke with said they had plenty and that she didn’t think we needed to place one on hold.”

The European lady hung up the phone. “I go check. I see some yesterday. I go check.”

We urged our thanks as she pointed at McKenna and said, “That face! That face! Oh, I go check.” She took off down the aisle. We froze for a moment, then started walking slowly along her trail.

Annette, to me: “But I called yesterday, and the woman…”

“Yes, Annette,” I chuckled. “I think you mentioned that.”

“But she said I didn’t need to put one on hold.”

Kenni is silent.

Our eager helper comes back around the aisle empty-handed. What to do? What to do? She tells us that the Cartersville store isn’t far away, and she could check. “Oh, would you, please?” Annette pleads.

So we’re off to the back of the store. Customer service desk, I figure. It’s a long walk. Kohl’s is very large.

[While we're walking, I'd like to mention that we've been broadening our explanations of Jesus to her. Lately we've focused on Jesus being our helper. So anytime we lose something, we tell her, "We just need to ask Jesus to help us find it." She caught on about a week ago. So now, no matter what it is she's misplaced, she stops, bows her head, clasps her hands, and says, "Jesus, can You help me find my _______?" So far He's batting a thousand. And with Jesus' every hit, she stops, bows her head, clasps her hands, and says, "Jesus, thank You for helping me find my _______." Sure enough, yesterday, there in Kohl's when the first Horton rack was empty, she asked Jesus to help her find her very own fluffy blue Horton.]

Customer service desk. Nice lady is already on the phone. While I was telling you about Jesus helping Kenni find things, Annette has reminded me at least one more time that she had called yesterday, and the lady she spoke with…

We catch her in the middle of her conversation, “No, it’s a stuffed dolls. They are by doors. The elephant Thorton.” I tried to correct her. But she continued to ask for Thorton. She stops speaking. Her eyes glance at McKenna and tell us she’s on hold. McKenna lifts her head and grabs my face…one tiny hand on each cheek.

“Daddy, we’re looking for my very own fluffy blue Horton.”

Nice lady is more eager as we are. She’s shaking her leg nervously. “The face. It’s that face. Oh my.”

I think her eyes are getting wet?

The cashier next to our now emotional European friend completes a transaction. “Have a nice day, ma’am. Thank you for shopping at Kohl’s.”

She turns to us.

“Is Horton the elephant?” she says.

Kenni answers her in solemn chorus with my wife. “Yes.”

The colleague disappears below the counter as she says, “I heard her asking about it.” She reappears and says, “Someone returned this just a few minutes ago.”

A blur of pale blue-gray.

“She said she bought too many.”

She sits the blur on top of the counter and slides it towards McKenna. My center of gravity shifts. Two little arms lunge forward. My wife’s jaw drops. The nice Eurpoean lady hangs up the phone without saying good-bye. Both of her hands raise to cover her mouth which is now open as wide as her eyes.

Now I regret holding McKenna simply because I only saw the back of her head as she laid eyes on her new best friend.

Here is where my memory goes blank for a moment. Maybe it is all the commotion that overextended my mind.

There are thank-you’s, comments of amazement. Kenni is already inspecting Horton’s every synthetic fiber. Did she just address him in second person?

Somewhere in the commotion, I set Kenni down to walk on her own. “Daddy, it’s my very own blue fluffy Horton. I love him, Daddy. He’s so soft. He’s my very own blue fluffy…”

I smile, and laugh, and rub her head.

Then she says its…for all of Customer Service world to hear. (I think there were three women in line.) “Mommy, I got a fluffy blue Horton because I went poop in the potty.”

At least she understands how she got here in the first place.

Glorious day. Glorious day.

Can’t forget to pay. Kenni plopped that plush wad of imagination proudly on the counter. I let her hand the cashier my debit card.

Cross-dissolve to the parking lot. I can’t miss this opportunity to teach her the point. I sit her on the trunk of our car.

“Kenni, I want you to know that Jesus sent this Horton back to this different Kohl’s just for you. Remember when you prayed about Horton?”

“Yeah. I asked Jesus to help us find my very own fluffy blue Horton.”

That’s right, Kenni.

I know in an adult’s eyes, it’s looks childish. And some might question the theology of it. But in the undebatable theology of a preschooler, it’s every bit as real as resurrection or a burning bush.

And then, she remembers. Her head drops as those huge blue eyes shut. Right arm squeezing Horton tight in the fold of her elbow, and hands clasped together.

“Jesus, thank You for helping me find my fluffy blue Horton.”

. . .

So tonight at bedtime, when I slipped into her room to tell her goodnight, Horton was sharing her pillow. We began with our normal routine. It usually ends with her asking me to snuggle, and I never turn her down. But tonight, I never heard the request. So, I asked her myself. “Can we snuggle?”

The words hurt me: “No, Daddy. Horton’s my snuggler.”

What?

“But I thought I was your snuggler!”

“No. Horton’s my snuggler.”

I made a sad face.

I wasn’t faking.

“Daddy, don’t be sad. Don’t be sad.”

She touched my face with her left hand. (Right hand on Horton.)

“Kenni, you know, you can have two snugglers.”

[Pause.]

“Can I be your snuggler, too?” I said.

[Pause.]

“Yes, Daddy. You can be my snuggler, too. I have two snugglers. You…and Horton.”

The best five-dollars I ever spent.

What’s the best five-dollars YOU have ever spent?