Spiderman whizzed past me in a blur. It was common to have several superheroes in my house. Spidey proudly stuck out his chest and slid into a pose just under the catwalk.
At this very moment, my toddler, standing some 15 feet above us, pushed a 5lb. metal weight under the rail. I watched in terror as gravity pulled it through the air and it landed on my Spiderman’s head. He crouched to the ground in a ball. I could see the blood begin to push through the mask.
To say I hate medical emergencies is an understatement. Something happens to me when I see someone else hurt. I physically weaken and my insides freeze up.
Marrying into a medical family is one of the biggest ironies of my life. 4 of the 5 people in my husband’s family of origin are in medicine. This is why I find it absurd that whenever medical emergencies arise, no one is around but ME.
I’ve had a sit down with God about this….because it keeps happening….and I’m at my limit.
There have been two more head injuries in our family – both concussions – both severe. The most recent happened to my daughter – in CHOIR! Who knew choir was so dangerous? She fainted off of the top riser during a rehearsal and landed on her head. She hit so hard she went unconscious and had a seizure. I arrived at school to find my daughter surrounded by paramedics. As you can imagine, this is my worst nightmare.
OUT OF CONTROL.
This is what we are, Moms. We think we somehow get to map the route of our kids’ lives and watch them follow the well-thought path. But what happens when they take a detour, either by choice or by accident? What do we do then? What do we do when the course gets hijacked?
This question lingers as I watch my 14 yr. old daughter continue to suffer side effects of her fall. She can not play her beloved soccer for the immediate future. She is not supposed to engage in any activities that may overstimulate her brain, or cause her to brain to work too hard. The “hold” button has been pushed on her world.
Fear whispers in my ear. Will she ever get better? Will she be able to do what she loves? What if she goes back out and gets hurt even worse? How can we ever send her out to do anything again? My hands cover my face as doubt and confusion over very real and complex parenting decisions loom. They threaten to rob my joy. My gratitude. My strength.
He strides in and pushes past fear. Past hopelessness. Past doubt.
He speaks straight to my heart:
“Approach the throne of grace with confidence. Receive mercy. Find grace. I will help you in your time of need.” (Hebrews 4:16)
And He really does.
As I spend time sitting at His feet, He shows me that her story with Him is unfolding. The house of her testimony is being constructed brick by brick. He reveals to my precious daughter that identity found anywhere but Christ is shifting sand, unstable. And don’t I want her to learn? Oh yes, with all of my heart. Trial is a part of that process. But it hurts. Badly. For her and for me.
Because a child does not suffer alone. A mother shares every bit of the pain.
My children’s stories are woven into the tapestry of my life in a thousand ways, and their pain is a bright red thread that runs a visible trail over the loom. And isn’t that the point? We take the detours together – trusting God to take care of course adjustments. Having faith that wherever we find ourselves, all things are working together for good.
And as we strengthen in courage and heart, we may find within each of us, something that looks a bit like a superhero.
Romans 8:28 (the message)
Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along.
If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter.
He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans.
He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God.
That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.