A January evening on our farm in rural Saskatchewan. Snow banks piled high against the house, faintly glowing in the moonlight.<\/p>\n
Time to tuck in my nine-year-old son, Ryan. He was just finishing his prayers as I stepped into his room. \u201cGod, please help me have my own ice rink,\u201d he whispered. That same prayer again\u2014the same prayer every night for almost two months.<\/p>\n
Like most boys in Canada, Ryan loved to play hockey, but the closest rink was 24 miles away. There was no way he could play. I didn\u2019t blame him for wanting a rink of his own, but I worried his young faith would be shaken as his prayers continued to go unanswered. Ice rinks don\u2019t just appear out of thin air.<\/p>\n
What could we do? \u201cOur well doesn\u2019t have enough water to make a rink,\u201d my husband, Ken, told me, shaking his head sadly. \u201cBesides, we don\u2019t have the equipment to build one.\u201d Like Ryan, I could only close my eyes and pray. Please don\u2019t let his faith be hurt by this.<\/p>\n
The weeks went by and Ryan\u2019s prayer continued. So did mine. Meanwhile, the weather warmed up, unusual for that time of year. We enjoyed spending time outside, making snowmen. But gradually the snow banks melted and flooded our yard. I looked outside one day to find our garden had turned into a muddy pool.<\/p>\n
That night a cold front moved in. The wind howled. We tucked ourselves beneath our quilts. The next morning I was still groggy when Ryan came running to me. \u201cMom, come look!\u201d he shouted. He grabbed my arm and pulled me outside.<\/p>\n
There, in the garden, the pool of water had frozen solid overnight\u2014the perfect size of an ice rink. The only time in the 28 years that we\u2019ve lived here it ever happened. The answer to Ryan\u2019s prayers\u2014and mine.<\/p>\n