The lady didn’t know it, but she was an answer to my prayer.

Neither did I, not at first.

I had called the store earlier that day, asking for assistance with matting and shrink-wrapping a piece of artwork for a state-level student art contest. 

No, not today, was the answer, for it was truck day, and they wouldn’t have the time. I could leave it, and they could have it done by tomorrow.

But tomorrow would be a day too late. I needed to get it in the mail today to beat tomorrow’s deadline. 

It was an entry for a state-level art contest—a small, watercolor painting of a girl, possibly a self-portrait, with springlike yellows, aquas, greens, and earth tones that were far brighter than the day’s cloudy winter sky. 

My school district does not have a dedicated art studio with equipment needed to mat and shrink-wrap artwork. There is also no teacher trained in those skills. Any time we’ve had entries for this contest, it has taken heaven and earth moving together in tandem to get them prepared and on the UPS truck, or else hand-delivered to the state office—nearly three hours away.

Why did I expect this time to be any different?

The art contest is one of those extra things that we don’t have to do, but that we should want to do. Most of the districts represented at the state level of this contest are the Hoovers, Mountain Brooks, and Vestavia Hills—large districts with ample resources and art teachers for preschool rugrats all the way through their senior year. Plus, these kiddos tend to have families who can fund art lessons and art enrichment opportunities outside of school time.

But my students like art, too. My students are good at art. And my students’ art represents the people of my school district, people who love the woods and the water, who see beauty in yard chickens, mud puddles, waterfalls, and rocks—and in themselves.

And I’m not doing my job—not as an educator and not as a resident of my home county—if I don’t encourage and help the ones who want to be represented. 

So there I was, kneeling down trying to figure out how to make a 4” x 8” watercolor painting fit within the confines of the 5” x 7” and 4” x 6” pre-cut mats. I’d already looked at the supplies that might qualify as shrink-wrapping, and from past contests, I knew that Saran wrap would never work. A cellophane sleeve? Maybe so, if I could find the right size.

If I could get it done and to the UPS store by closing time.

If I could get one of these mats to work.

If I could get one of these people in the store to help me, even though I’d already been told no, that there was no time today.

Too many “ifs.” It wasn’t looking good.

“God,” I began, “I need your help on this one.” A quick prayer, whispered under my breath, more to give myself the confidence and the know-how to do it myself, rather than to ask the Great Artist of the Universe to orchestrate anything on my behalf.

And then, I heard the employee’s unmistakable voice growing closer as she conversed with a man about a product he needed. 

“Ohh ye-ah,” she said, in a thick Jersey brogue, “we’ve got that right back here,” and she passed by my aisle.

I had not put it all together, not just yet, but I went to the matting and framing station, prepared to beg for mercy and explain the dire situation one last time. I peered around the corner to the work area, where, to my surprise, I saw a woman measuring frames and trimming mats—not unloading or stocking product—and I rang the bell.

I explained what I needed, and she said sure, she could do the matting, but someone else would have to do the shrink-wrapping. But no worries. That employee was also there that day, and the work could be completed quickly.

But what about truck day? That was someone else I had talked to, explained the woman, and she gave no indication that I was creating an additional burden to their daily tasks. But if so-and-so wasn’t here, I’d for sure be out of luck, for she is the only one who knows how to do the shrink-wrapping.

The woman at the service desk then turned, and said, “Why, here she is now.”

And it was her. The woman I had heard coming down the store’s main aisle. 

A woman whose family had moved from out of state to my school district.

A woman from New Jersey, but who loved the South and the small schools and the friendly attitude of all those in the community.

A woman whose children had graduated from the school where I had served as the principal.

A woman who sat at my office desk and told of the hopes of her children’s futures.

A woman who knew how to mat—and shrink-wrap—artwork.

I was nearly in tears, from gratitude, from amazement, and from relief.

The still, small voice had the last laugh:

“Silly Marla. Don’t you know by now that I’ve got it all covered?”

Yes, Lord. Thanks for the reminder.

Thanks for letting me catch a glimpse of the big picture—matted and shrink-wrapped and delivered.

And as always, right on time.

Amen.