The mother apologized to her guests, asking them to excuse the silverware. Calling the plastic utensils “silver” was a bit of a stretch, but her friends understood. They began to talk of other things while the eavesdropping little boy snuck back into his room. He pulled out a box of crayons, chose the gray color, and began to scribble. By the time he finished, forks and spoons filled the page. He reached into the paper and scooped them all up.

“Mama, look!” he cried, running into the kitchen.

“Jamie, what are you doing out of bed?” she scolded. Then she frowned as he dumped the pile of silverware in her lap. “Have you been stealing again? Go put those back where you found them!”

Crestfallen, the little boy returned to his room and pressed the forks and spoons back into the page until they were drawings again. Nothing he ever took from his pictures seemed to please his mother. The boy glanced regretfully at the American flag he had brought to life last week. His mother had told him to put that one back too.

Later that night, after checking in on her sleeping son, the mother said her evening prayers. She ended with a short “-until we join You in Paradise, amen” and went to bed.

The little boy couldn’t help overhearing. He leapt out of bed and ran to his papers, struck with an idea for his best drawing yet.

Years later, the small apartment was found empty. The floor and walls were entirely bare, save for one sole crayon drawing in the small bedroom. It showed a chorus of singing angels, surrounded by clouds and light. One could almost miss seeing the two tiny figures in the background: a young mother hugging her talented little boy.