I was in a gift shop, staring at a pile of sleek stuffed animals. There was a particularly winsome bear that caught my eye, and I wondered if my goddaughter would like it. But I reminded myself she has a mountain of plush beasts and doesn’t need more. And then I gave myself the biggest reality check of all. My goddaughter is 26 and engaged to be married. 

It’s time to stop thinking of her as a little girl, although this is difficult to do. After all, I held her as a newborn and have known her for her entire life. As a toddler, she came to teddy-bear tea parties at my house. We invented imaginary scenarios with my own collection of stuffed animals, including Mr. Cluckers and Cookie Monster.  

On Thanksgiving, I’m grateful to God for this cherished child, especially when I recall a day long ago, when we baked cookies together. 

To launch the event, Sarah grabbed a wooden spoon and paraded around the kitchen, swinging it like a baton. Next she performed a puppet show with the pot holder shaped like a shark. Finally we got down to the serious business of measuring and sifting.  

Since she couldn’t reach the counters, I placed a cutting board on the floor, so she could help mix the dough. Now and again, I would glance over and see her popping chocolate chips into her mouth, and I would marvel at how much I love her.  

A candle was lit on her baptismal day to symbolize the light of Christ. She has been a shining reminder that we are infinitely precious in the eyes of our heavenly Father. With all the people on the planet today, it may be hard sometimes to realize how deeply God cherishes each of us. As Jeremiah writes, “Lord, before I existed, you beheld me and called me by name.”  

God calls our names every day, although his messengers may be mysterious. It might be a bird trilling a tentative note at daybreak or fragile flowers shyly raising their heads to the sun. In my life, chipmunks have been the furry harbingers of God’s love.  

I had an aunt and uncle who lived outside the city on a nice stretch of land. On one visit, my uncle taught me how to stand patiently at the base of a tree and wait for the appearance of the chipmunk he had befriended. One of the greatest joys of my childhood was watching Chippie scoot down the trunk and carefully extract a treat from my hand.  

Ever since then, a chipmunk rushing across my path has seemed like a gift from God. And the shining events of ordinary life that remind me of his love, I call my chipmunk moments.  

Sarah has given me many special memories. On that particular cookie-baking day, snowdrifts of flour soon appeared on the kitchen floor, but we were having too much fun to care. Instead, we shaped the cookies together and slid the pans into the oven.  

When Sarah’s mom arrived to pick her up, we all indulged heartily in the plateful of treats. Her mother complimented the girl on her baking skills and Sarah didn’t miss a beat. “Aunt Awaine helped.” 

Before long, she and her mom headed for the door—and then it happened. The little girl, her face smudged with chocolate, dashed over, gave me a smooch on the arm and scampered away. Decades later, I still treasure this gesture like a jewel in my memory. And I will forever be grateful for that sweet and surprising gift of a chipmunk moment.