"Oh， I forgot！" she exclaimed， jumping out of my arms to grab a large tube of construction paper nearby. "I drew this for you last night when we didn' t know where you were. I thought you might have been scared， and I wanted you to feel better."
As if it were a treasure map， I unrolled it and oohed and aahed over the images. "Well， that' s our car." I said， pointing to the red square. "And that' s me." I laughed， touching my fingertips to a stick person with long hair. "But what am I holding？"
Abigail' s eyes brightened as she pushed her fingertip to the small object on the paper. "That' s God' s spirit." she said excitedly. "I drew it as a dove like I saw in Sunday school." She pressed her soft lips against my cheek and added， "I didn' t want you to be alone， Mama， and so I gave you the best friend I could think of."
"Oh， darling， " I exclaimed， recalling the white dove that had given me comfort in the darkest of nights. "Your dove was with me." Taking her hand， I marveled at the heavenly bond between mothers and daughters.
"And what are you two looking at？" my mother interrupted， placing a steaming cup of tea on the nightstand. She started to move away， but I grabbed her hand and brought it between Abigail' s and mine. It was a remarkable feeling， this incredible connection of three generations.
"We' re looking at the love that flows between us." I whispered， kissing the top of my daughter' s head as I met my mother' s understanding eyes. Returning my gaze to Abigail' s picture， I studied the beautiful bird that had， on such a dismal night， connected my daughter' s heart with mine.
Years later， that extraordinary event in our mother-daughter relationship became known as the "miracle". The miracle of Abigail' s dove.