Forrest Gresham is the man's name.  He isn't like anything what his outward appearances show.  I learned that last week.

When I first saw him hulking in the corner, I grew rather uneasy.  When you see him, you will know exactly what I mean.  Just the very sight of him was enough to make me nervous.  Very nervous.

You know the type.  A mountain of a man, easily over 6 1/2' tall.  Weighs probably around 350-450 pounds.  Long, unkempt, greasy blonde hair that falls to his shoulders in a mass of dirty, oily curls.  A straggly reddish beard that falls to below his chin.  Piercing, intense blue eyes that could cut steel with just one glance.  Earrings adorning his earlobes:  five in the left ear, and eight in the other, not counting the ear plates to stretch his earlobes, just as the people in East Africa do.  Stained, chipped teeth.  Numerous snake, eagle, and dragon tattoos crisscrossing big, beefy arms.  Very intimidating in appearance, the kind that would make you want to protect your children if he appeared on the scene.

I was at the gas station, paying for my gas, along with some groceries, when I first noticed the guy.  I didn't say anything, but he seemed to know that I was in a hurry and was having a bad day.  Well, I was:  my mom was in the hospital with pneumonia; doctors didn't hold out much in the way of hope for her.  I was also late for work and had just dropped off my crying six-year-old daughter at her school; she had been driving me crazy all morning.

My daughter is mentally disabled; she had the mindset of a two-year-old child; being separated from me did not sit very well with her.  When the teachers took her from me, she raised holy heck; I knew I had to get out of there before I lost my nerve and took her back home for yet another day.

I knew I was babying my daughter, but what could I do?  I hated to see her so upset; if there was anything I could do to keep Elisha home from her school, I would have done it in a heartbeat; however, I couldn't take her moods or her nasty pinching habit.  I had bruises all over my arms; I'm sure people thought my (ex) husband was abusing me.

It made me very uncomfortable.

As I paid for my things, I suddenly started crying in spite of myself.  I couldn't help it; the tears just started flowing. 

"What's wrong, dearie?"  the man with the tattoos asked me.  He could see that I was upset.

"Oh, it's my daughter.  She raised a fuss when I dropped her off at her school, and besides, my mom is in the hospital, fighting pneumonia; the doctors say she is extremely sick, so much, in fact, that she could die!"  I wailed.  "I'm also late for work, and ...  and ...  and..."  I broke down into a heavy torrent of sobbing.

"How old is your daughter?"  the tattooed stranger asked me.

"Six", I sputtered.  "She has special n-needs!"

The man looked at me sympathetically.  He didn't say anything for a minute, but then he asked, "May I ask you why she has special needs?"

"She has mental disabilities.  She was born that way!", I sobbed.  "I love her to death, but sometimes Elisha doens't understand why I have to go to work or why she has to go to school; she hates being away from me, but I need a break from her!"

"Are you married?"  Mr. Tattoo asked me.

"No.  Single parent", I replied, wiping my tears.  "I have Elisha, and I also have Brandt, who is eight."

"Does Brandt help you with Elisha?"  the man asked.

"Usually; he's a good boy, but he will soon be busy with baseball, and there's nobody to watch Elisha when that starts!"  I said.

"Maybe I can help.  I am very good with kids, especially little ones like your Elisha.  That way, you can be with Brandt and go to his games and practice sessions", the man said.  "Name's Forrest.  Forrest Gresham.  I live about a mile from here; if you are close by, I can offer to watch Elisha for you."  He shook my hand firmly with his big, strong one.

"Are you sure?  My Elisha is handicapped; many people don't like watching her because she can go off on a temper storm when one least expects it", I said.  "I can't tell you how many sitters she's driven off when she's had one of her hissy fits!"

"No problem", Forrest said jovially.  "I'm very good with special kids.  In fact, befre I got laid off, I was working at a school with kids like her.  LOVED it, but then the hours started going, and I was let go in the process.  Now I'm without a job but would love to pick up anything that comes my way!"

"You sure about this?"  I asked. 

"Sure!  I love kids anyway; I know I must look a fright with all my tats, my earrings, and my seemingly unkempt appearance, but I am a good man.  I love the Lord, and this is what He wants me to do:  work with special needs children."

"I have perfect manners, I respect kids and their ways, and I would never, ever intentionally harm or take advantage of a kid, particularly if they are disabled!"  the man continued.  "If I could have a career as a teacher for special needs children, it would be a dream come true !"

The more Forrest talked, I could see that he was open about himself, honest, and sincere.  I liked him once I got used to his appearance.  He seemed to be a very good guy.  Maybe he could watch Elisha and Brandt, I surmised; it would give me time to do my errands or go to work.  Maybe this was meant to be.

So that is how Forrest Gresham came into my life, and into the lives of my children.  They love him as much as I do, and he's taken away some of the pain left behind from when Rodney left me for that blonde bimbo at the bar he used to go to.  They call him "Daddy", and he absolutely adores my kids.  He is very good with them, and he's helped Elisha grow in ways that was never thought possible.  It's been nothing short of miraculous!

Whoever thought that God would use a tattooed stranger to bring stability to my life and into the lives of my children?  It's been incredible, and I owe God an awful lot of thanks for answering my prayers in a very unexpected way!