It was a clear, crisp fall day and my six-month-old daughter, Anne, did not want to come back inside. She loved watching the cars and trucks go by the side street near our apartment. We had been for a walk and she was enjoying the outdoors. I was too, but I had baby bottles to sterilize, dirty dishes to wash, and dinner to start.
I decided to ask my my next door neighbor if Anne could sit in front of her side gate in the little seat we had for babies at that time. My neighbor's house was on the corner and from the side gate, Anne could continue to watch the traffic. From my first floor apartment, I could work at my sink and see Anne; with the window up, I could hear her if she got fussy. My neighbor said that would be fine. I was feeling good that I had worked out the problem to our mutual satisfaction.
I worked at the sink for just a few minutes when I had an overwhelming urge to go and look at Anne. Her back was to me as she looked out the gate, but she wasn't crying and it had just been a few minutes since I had come back into the house.
Again, an even stronger urge came over me to go look at her. I left my kitchen and went over to the gate to find my child with her mouth wide open, gasping for air. Panicked, I put my finger into her mouth and found a rose leaf covering the back of her throat. She had been able to grab the leaf from a rose bush that I had estimated to be out of her reach. I pulled out the leaf and Anne began to cry.
We were both shaken, yet I knew that some power outside of myself had compelled me to go to Anne: one of God's invisible messengers we call “Angels” who was sent to save my child from her mother's poor judgment of distance.
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