thoughts from last night.

I spent last night at the local urgent care. I've been frequenting different urgent cares more than I anticipated this summer. (With V breaking her arm in Maryland and all.) Let's hope I get a year off starting today. 

Poor Timmy. Birdie slammed his finger (unknowingly...obviously) between the heavy sliding doors separating the family room from the sun room. At first I didn't really know anything had happened because Timmy didn't scream out right away. I assume he was in shock. But as he pulled his finger from the door, blood was spraying all over the place, and I knew it was serious. The laceration required 3 stitches, and by the pictures you can see that the only way to perform the little operation was to bind him in a baby papoose. The whole thing was as awful as you can imagine. It was just me, Timmy and Birdie, and I struggled to soothe either child. 

He's all bandaged up now and on his way to healing, but my heart still feels a little shredded. As I sat by his side, rubbing his cheeks with the corners of his blanket and softly singing "You are my sunshine" repeatedly, my heart ached to see him in so much pain. He didn't understand what was happening, and he definitely didn't like being restricted, and all that he wanted was for me to hold him. The moment I did, he quieted down and nestled his little head into my shoulder cavity--the way only kids can, and time stood still for a minute. 

This morning as I contemplated the experience, I thought of my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Just like Timmy, I hate being restricted. My natural inclination is to rebel against anyone/anything trying to restrict me. But sometimes God has to restrict me, and he does it for my benefit, even if I'm thrashing at the seams, trying to break free. But in those moments, if I can calm my spirit just a little as Timmy did a few times last night during the operation, I can feel a gentle voice inside my head humming or whispering words. Sometimes I think those words are just my own, but what if they're not. What if God does for me exactly what I did for Timmy? What if he sings to me? Or whispers encouraging words to my soul? Why couldn't he do that? That's what I've always done for my children when they're hurt or sad and don't understand why they're going through something hard. Why wouldn't he do the same for me? 

I believe he does. I believe he's there, even in our restrictions and pain. He knows us perfectly just as I know my own children. They are under my stewardship just as I am under his. I hope I can remember this when I am asked to pass through something that makes me want to cry big alligator tears and scream for someone to hold me because perhaps then I will be still and realize he's already there.


  1. Though this is so heart-wrenching, I love your analogy. Thanks, as usual, for your wisdom. I hope little Timmy has a smooth recovery, and that you get a break from all urgent medical matters!

  2. I love this Janine. But it also breaks my heart!


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