"Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates." Deuteronomy 6:5-8
As I'm stirring the trail mix at the stove, I catch a glimpse of E. trying to climb atop the table from the chair he'd already conquered.
I placed the spatula on the counter and walked toward him.
"E.," I begin, "you cannot climb on the ta--"
Chin hits the table.
Head cracks against the chair
Little body crashes to the floor.
Moment of stunned silence."Are you OK, baby?" I screech as I scoop his up his stunned body.
He answers with an intense, gut-wrenching scream.
And then the blood.
It drips from his wailing mouth.
I begin tearing, trying to carefully inspect his mouth, searching for teeth that may have been knocked out of his little gums.
But with a hysterical, shaking toddler flailing his limbs, I cannot see anything except for blood.
So I nurse him.
Through wails, he sucks.
A tiny voice sounds from the kitchen doorway.
"What happened to my baby, mommy?"
I brush him off, trying to call my hubby so I can ask if he thinks I should take E. to the immediate care center.
Three-year-old G. wanders over to us, shaken and pats E.'s back as E. nurses while I try to explain, breathlessly, what's happened.
John says to check E. out after he nurses.
E., now just barely whimpering, breaks from nursing long enough to show me the blood is still flowing.
G. a little more forcefully says, "Is he OK, mommy?"
"I think so, honey." I say, exhaling a deep, stressed breath.
"Are you OK, mommy?" he ventures.
"I'm just a little scared," I say.
"We should pray for E., mommy."
"Would you pray for him?" I ask.
G. comes over to his brother, who is still nursing, puts his hand on E.'s back and prays the sweetest, most sincere words my heart has ever heard.
"Dear God, please take care of E. and help him to feel better. Amen," he says.
My heart stirs and tears drip from my eyes, but this time it's not out of fear and frustration, rather it's from the tender wisdom of a 3-year-old heart.
My fear melts. I rebalance.
And I ponder in my heart my oldest son's gentle spirit, his compassion, thankful that all the times we've spent coming to Chrit's feet have impressed his heart.
And I'm not just assured that E. will be all right; I'm also pretty sure my first baby is going to be all right, too.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends. I hope you have the most blessed day, filled with counting your blessings and remembering His provisions.