The Artist's House at Argenteuil

A woman stopped me in the hallway, "Caley, right? Frank's daughter?"
"Yes," I said, "That's my dad, when I claim him." Interning at the same place my Dad had worked for 30 years forced me to have an answer ready for this inevitable question.
"We haven't met since you were a toddler, but I'm Julie. I remember when you were born." That one I hadn't heard before so I sputtered before answering.
"Oh, thank you. That's--" I searched for the right word, "--sweet." Walking in the same direction we got past the awkwardness and continued our conversation.
After a few hallway chats I started stopping by Julie's office to talk. In the middle of a divorce and as the primary caretaker of her terminally ill father, she had plenty to discuss. A few months later her youngest son moved out, leaving her living alone for the first time ever. I, too, was on my own and we shared stories of getting scared over suspicious noises that turned out to be the pipes knocking or the wind on a metal overhang.
At the end of my internship I wrote notes to the people who I had gotten to know during my year at the company and when it came time to write Julie's I got a little choked up. Telling her how impressed I was by her strength I tried to leave her with words of encouragement. I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't thought of her in the six months that have passed since I started my new job but then I got an email from her with the subject, "The Monet card you gave me when you left."
Julie wrote that she has kept the card that I gave her tacked up in her cube. Since I left, her divorce became final and a few weeks later her father passed away after sharing one last dinner with her. Julie said that after the divorce she finds herself having to redecorate on a serious budget and was at a second hand store when she found resting on the ground a framed print of the same Monet painting on the card I had given her. As she looked at it a store worker stopped by and said, "Isn't that lovely? I just priced it and put it out about two minutes ago. It must be meant to be yours!"
She bought that print right up and dashed home to write to me saying, "I see God’s hand in my life everywhere blessing me, and somehow you are the conduit for this one."
When I wrote those notes half a year ago I just used a hodge podge of cards and didn't give much thought to who got which one. I had no idea that giving the one with "The artist’s house at Argenteuil" to Julie would later bring her a moment of knowing God's love, but I get the feeling Someone did.