Upon rising, the children noticed something else unusual: A pickup truck, parked overnight next to the snow pile, was now wedged tightly in between two snow piles, and a nice plow ridge blocking him in from behind! As we looked out the window, someone (we assume the owner) walked to the truck, looking at the predicament, considering. He looked at how closely the snow was piled beside the doors, climbed the hill, and tried to open the door while perched atop the snow. Unsuccessfully. After some more looking and a couple of more attempts, he left, whether to find a shovel or some other way to work, we didn't know.
As the children stood at the window, brightness began to spread over one of the faces.
"We could go out there and help him. We could use our shovels to get him out!"
And so they went, two of The Ones I Love, pulling on snow pants and gloves, hats and scarves. All without even having their own breakfast.
Anyone who has shovelled the end of a driveway after a snowplow has been by knows what density of matter these children were dealing with. It was heavy, packed, and thick. But these two small ones worked for over an hour on empty stomachs, trying to free this trapped vehicle from its snowbound state.
They hoped to make an opening beside the driver's door so that it could open enough to admit the owner when he returned, but weariness and hunger overcame and the pair came inside.
The excitement with which they tackled this act of service was remarkable to me. They knew it would be hard work. They didn't know the owner. They didn't think he'd even find out that they were the ones who had done it. But they wanted to do it.
I have so much to learn.
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