And then as we listened in disbelief she lowered her hands and, with tears still coursing down her face, whispered, “Dear Jesus, I thank You that we must come with empty hands. I thank You that You have done all—all—on the cross, and that all we need in life or death is to be sure of this.” Mama threw her arms around her and they clung together. But I stood rooted to the spot, knowing that I had seen a mystery. It was Father’s train ticket, given at the moment itself.
