One week ago, we were laughing and eating and carrying on with one another.
Our Thanksgiving meal was over and families began packing up ready to make the trip home. My Thanksgiving has always included a short hour's drive down to Ark City to fellowship and eat with my Grandma's 12 brothers and sisters and their families.
As we leave town, we usually stop at the town's park which includes an old train engine and play around for awhile before we head home. And this year, we did the same.
One of the little ladies and myself had stepped off the engine to play on other parts of the playground, and soon my dad joined. My Love, the eldest little lady, and the little Mister along with my Grandma stayed and played on top of the engine. You can't see from this picture, but just to the right is another part of the engine where you can climb up... high, really high. And they did.
And then I heard my husband yell. And then my dad. And then the entire playground full of people let out the most horrific scream in unison. I turned around... knowing it was one of the kids. My husband was flying off the train and I looked down and saw my baby laying face down in gravel. And then he was in my arms. As I write this, I ache, finally FEELING the miracle that we witnessed that day.
His mouth was full of blood, which I soon realized was from him biting his tongue. My husband called the police and an ambulance was there immediately. They were concerned, but not really acting TOO concerned. And then one more person asked again, "Where exactly did he fall from?". Jacob showed them; and then they were moving. One Paramedic kept saying that we had in fact witnessed a miracle that day and he just could not believe it.
My little baby was then strapped to a board, holding my hand tightly like a grown person would. I don't know why that struck me the way it did, but it did. He held my hand the entire way to the hospital, as we sang, "This Little Light Of Mine" and I whispered over and over to him how brave he was being.
My Husband sent the girls home with my dad and Grandma, and then followed us to the hospital. Our oldest daughter was quite concerned with where her little brother was going (I later found out Grandpa consoled her and the sis with some ice cream!).
The doctor and nurses looked the little guy over and over. A few scratches on his forehead and chin. No bruises; no broken bones; there was nothing visibly wrong. They had him walk by himself and he took a few steps, limping, and then stopped and began to cry. X-rays were taken and showed nothing. He was walking by himself hardly limping at all by the time we left the hospital. The fact that he was alive was amazing to me... but nothing wrong? That's Grace... powerful, wonderful, Grace.
Throughout this week, my Husband has said several times that our little boy is something special. And as parents, I think we all have that thought... but then every so often we get an opportunity to witness just how special they really are and how our Creator and Savior has His Hand cradling even the smallest of souls each and every moment.
And in that we are humbled with thanksgiving.
