Water for the Thirsty – What I Learned in the ER

The last 5 days have been rough. I mean REALLY rough. Any family who has lost a week to the stomach plague can relate.

Tuesday night it began. Up all night. Nine hours overnight with a very sick six-year-old. I was tired, but also had psyched myself up that I was going to do what needed to be done, take the best care I could of my son, and we’d get through it.

Wednesday found me still caring for my tired and sick son, but busy cleaning floors, bathrooms, beds and doing laundry between naps. Wednesday night brought much needed rest.

Thursday, we beat it! Back to normal. Thursday night at bedtime. We didn’t beat it. My three-year-old started at 10pm for what would be another all-nighter. This one rougher, because he is younger and more scared and because by the early hours of Friday morning, I had it too.

Friday, everyone in our household is sick, except my 6-year-old is getting better. I no longer care about the cleaning and laundry, just getting naps and sipping Gatorade. Friday night, I’m thinking we should all start getting better, but we get worse instead. My three-year-old develops a fever and continues to be sick on his stomach. As I fall asleep Friday night on the couch with him, I am feeling bad…really bad. With the days prior to getting sick myself spent taking care of my boys, I had neglected to drink or eat much, and by the time I got sick, it was a bit too late.

Saturday morning I woke up around 12:30 a.m., weak and in pain. In the kitchen, I realized I was in trouble…everything was getting foggy and dark….i tried to step and call for help and then everything went dark. I heard a lot of loud noise but couldn’t see anything, and then I was out. I woke up closer to 1:30, on the other side of the kitchen, on my back, head and neck throbbing. On my left, a kitchen chair was overturned, and on my right, one side of the refrigerator was hanging open. I realized that I must have been trying to grab onto things to keep from falling, but I had no memory of it. Crawling back to the couch in the living room all I could think of was getting some kind of drink. I reached for the drink by the couch and knocked it over and it spilled out everywhere. I crawled up onto the couch and was out in a minute. I came to around 3:30 a.m. and crawled back to the bathroom. On my way back, it all started again…everything going black. I made it to the couch and tried to call for help, but I was too weak to talk. I prayed, “Lord please just let me find my phone…its somewhere here in the dark…please.” After about 10 minutes I found it and called my Mom and ask her to please call for help.

By the time the ambulance arrived I had started to go into shock. I was shaking uncontrollably, confused, my heart was beating irregularly and my whole body was starting to itch and turn red with a sudden rash, and my blood pressure was lower than normal. Even under the blankets the EMTs laid over me, the night air felt terribly cold with the t-shirt and shorts i had on. I was scared, confused, and overwhelmingly thirsty. “Please…can i please have a drink?”, I asked the EMT in the back of the ambulance. “No, but we will be starting an IV.”  The IV gave a little relief on the way to the ER before they took it out. But my whole body was still so parched, my mouth dry, my whole body crying out for a drink. I couldn’t figure out exactly what was wrong at the time, but i did know it had something to do with thirst. It’s all I could think about. Nothing else mattered but getting a drink.

The ER was busy and there were no rooms available, and because my vitals were stable enough i was wheeled over to the waiting room until the nurse called me back. What was probably only 45 minutes to an hour felt incredibly long to me. Sitting there in a wheelchair, in my pjs, shaking uncontrollably, itching all over at the mysterious rash, people staring but then trying not to notice, ALL I could think about was my thirst. I sent about four confusing texts with shaky hands to a family member who was going to be coming in a bit to please bring a drink. Nothing else mattered to me. Just a drink. It was literally consuming. When i was wheeled back to check in, I asked the same nurse three times…”Please, can you get me a drink. I know you have something nearby. Please.” “Not until after you see the doctor.” I don’t blame the nurse…she was as kind as she could be and was just doing her job. After more waiting, i was taken back to a bed and another nurse hooked me up to an IV (just as I was asking the new nurse for a drink).

Slowly, but surely, it began to happen. I could feel it from the inside out. It felt like life entering my body. I began to rehydrate. From the inside out I was feeling less and less parched and eventually I realized that even though no water or gatorade had touched my mouth in hours, even my mouth was not dry anymore. 1 Liter later I began to feel like myself again. My heart stopped palpitating, my rash disappeared, the shaking stopped, and i drifted quickly off to sleep. I slept more soundly for those few hours in that ER cot than I had slept all week. Refreshed from the inside out.

I have never been so physically thirsty in all of my life. And many of my thoughts in the last two days have revolved around water and thirst. We all thirst. Daily for water. But we thirst for many things. Love, acceptance, and purpose to name a few. My mind has wandered today (on this first of two days of doctor-ordered bed rest) of all the thirsty people i see. Sometimes, i glance at them and then look away, because it’s uncomfortable to see people so in need. Thirsty, not in body, but thirsty in spirit. Desperate for love, joy, peace, acceptance, purpose. People at the grocery store. People walking along the street. People who just by looking at their eyes can tell you they are desperately thirsty. Maybe so thirsty that it is all they think about, that it consumes them. Maybe so thirsty that they are confused as to what is really going on in their life. Desperate for a drink.

Jesus talked a lot about thirst and water. In John 7, Jesus is celebrating the Feast of Tabernacles, where the priests would have poured water and wine towards the base of the altar, a symbolic offering giving thanks to God for water and rain, and a prayer for abundant rain in the coming year, which would yield a bountiful harvest. It is in this context, while the people are thinking of their human thirst for water and the need for rain for their crops, that John 7:37-38 picks up:

“On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood up and said in a loud voice, ‘Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them’.”

We are all thirsty for more than water, and sometimes the thirst can be consuming in the dry seasons of our life. Jesus promises that if we believe in him, ask him, call on him for help, he will quench the thirst inside that nothing else can fill. Spiritually hydrated from the inside out. What a promise. What a wonderful God.  I am drinking lots of water today, and feeling much better.  I’m also thankful that when I feel thirsty for more than water, I know the Source, the Giver of Life, whose well never runs dry.

“The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”  Isaiah 58:11

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life’.”  John 4:13-14

Sorry it’s Rotten, but it’s All I Could Find

After handing me a tiny shriveled up rose, my five-year-old son popped his head back into the car to say these words,  “I’m sorry it’s rotten, but it’s all I could find”, before bouncing back out to play in the snow.  I looked around at the winter scene all around.  Snow and barren trees for as far as I could see.   I wasn’t disappointed that he brought me a little yellow shriveled flower.  I was amazed that he even was able to find  a flower in these conditions.  Even moreso, I smiled to know that when he did find that dead flower, that the first thing that came to his mind was to come and give it to me. 

Upon finding that flower, his little quick mind had probably instantly thought of all the beautiful flowers he had seen during the summertime and thought that, in comparison, this one was looking pretty beaten down.  On its way out.  Less than splendid.  But still, a flower.  Created to be a thing of beauty.  It was for this reason he gave it.  Because even in its current state, it was still a flower.  And right then, in his child-like innocence, it was all he could find, and with love, he gave.

As an adult, some of that child-like innocence fades from view.  I would never give someone I loved a gift like that.  If all I could find were a dead flower, I would wait until I COULD find something better.  Or maybe an excuse would do.  “I HAVE a present on the way for you….I just haven’t been able to get it to you yet.”  Truthfully, I would rather not give at all than give something that was rotten, tasteless.

This idea, of bringing the perfect gift, may keep me from giving less than ideal gifts to people I love, but it becomes a little problematic at times when it comes to my faith and my attempt to pursue relationship with God.  I know God wants my best.  The best of my time.  The best of my praise.  The best of my character.  The best of all I have.  What a wonderful feeling it is when I feel I am giving Him my best.

But what about the other days?  When the landscape of the day is barren winter.  The prevailing feeling overwhelmed.  Or weary.  Or hurt.  Or failing.  On those days, I don’t look for what I can give.  I wait.  Sometimes I wait and wait until maybe the day will get better and I can give the God of the Universe some worthwhile, well-thought-out praise that He deserves. 

But I am learning that even though He DOES want our best and he DOES deserve our praise, that He very much also wants ALL of us.  If all I have in a given moment to give is failure, or regret, still I give it.  In love, I give it to God, to the only One who can take it and transform it, transform me, into who I was made to be.

“The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” (Psalms 145:18)

He wants to be near us.  In our best of times and our worst of times.  He can bring order out of chaos and beauty from ashes.  He holds the power to heal and overcome.  He can tame fears and provide for needs.  He can grant wisdom and bring peace in turmoil. 

Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)  I don’t have to always be at my best, but I do have to come.  Sometimes, all I have to give is rotten.  And I open my palms and say, “I’m so sorry its rotten, LORD, but its all I can find today.  It’s all I have to give.”  I hope that just like me in the car that day, that He smiles, pleased that I thought to come to Him, knowing that He can take my shriveled gift, and make something beautiful out of it.

 

 

My Prayer for Newtown

As I drove my 5 year old to kindergarten today and my 3 year old to preschool, returning in a bit to watch him in his Christmas pageant, my heart aches for the parents in Newtown.  If it were a natural disaster, I could send aid.  There is nothing I can send that will really help.  All most of us can do is to keep praying.  This is my prayer for Newtown.

For your town, as you continue to come together to mourn those lost, I pray for unity.  That you would surround these families with all the love and support that you have to offer.  That you would commit to serve and comfort and pray for them for years to come as they grieve and as they hopefully heal.  For your First Responders, that they would turn to You for comfort and that they might find a safe place to talk about this tragedy and find peace.  For your teachers, that they would find healing in You.  That they would understand how valued, how needed they are.  That they also would not be afraid, but empowered by You to continue teaching, loving and guiding the children you have placed in their classrooms.  For your children, who still live, but are haunted by this event and scared, that they would have family, counselors and friends who would surround them, reassure them, love them.  That You, LORD, would overshadow their minds and their hearts with love and security.  That they would be able to sleep at night, eat when they are hungry and that you would turn their anxiety and fear into peace.

For the extended families of the victims, that you would give grace to them as they weep.  That they would never feel alone in their sadness but that You would bind them together as a family.  Heal old wounds so that these families might be united in love as they move forward, day by day.  May they find ways to express the love they felt for the one they lost to other members of their family who are hurting.  In their anger and outrage, help them to not shut you out, Father, but to run to You for help and healing.  Count their tears, LORD.  Lift up their broken hearts.   I pray for you, brothers and sisters of those lost, that you would find shelter and refuge in the God of all Comfort.   That you will carry this brother, this sister, in your heart close to you always.  That you will grow up not in bitterness of spirit but will find grace in your journey.  That as your mothers and fathers mourn that others will surround you to also be moms and dads to you during this time.  That you will still understand how much you are loved and treasured even if your parents don’t have the strength to show it fully at this time.

I pray for you, Mothers, Fathers.  In this, the deepest, darkest, midnight of your soul, that you would be infused with Hope from above.  That God Himself would rush to your aid.  That in the most hollow, bitter hole in your heart that you would experience Emmanuel, God with you, in a way that is real and all-encompassing.  That you would not feel alone, even for a moment, in this grief.  That you would feel the love of family, friends, and a nation holding you up.  That moment by moment, the God of all grace and peace would give you strength in your body, mind, and spirit.  Strength to breathe.  Moment by moment, in this, your greatest nightmare, that by your Creator, you would be held.  Amen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-hJ87ApWtw&feature=player_detailpage

Living “In Christ Alone” on a Monday

Mondays can be rough.  Especially after a great weekend.  Yesterday was no exception.  It all started very well with a good run and time to pray and an optimistic attitude that I would intentionally pull all the happiness out of the weekend and that it would spill into Monday.  I was pulling off my happy Monday plan without a hitch until about noon.  Then the bottom fell out, as children screamed in angry tired fits, laundry piled, dinner plans had to be cancelled, a friend became angry, my head began to hurt, and by the end of the day on my hands and knees picking up somewhere between 6-8 one hundred piece puzzles that had been dumped on the living room floor for no apparent reason, my morning optimism turned to tired, frustrated exhaustion. My intentions had been sincere, and I do believe an optimistic attitude is important, and can go a long way, but it is most often not enough when our day, our circumstances, seem to spiral out of our control.  We are always tempted, as people, to believe the “if…then’s” in life.  If I come into some money, if my children are always kind (ha), if I find true love, if I live somewhere that’s always sunny, etc., then I will be happy.  The problem is that even our happiest weeks have Mondays, and there are many weeks that have nothing but Mondays.  As believers, our hearts are constantly being drawn away to hope in other things besides Christ, and the work He has done, is doing, and will continue to do in our lives.  We must return, day by day, morning by morning, hour by hour, and sometimes minute by minute to the fact that “In Christ alone, our Hope is found.”  No amount of happy determination will see us through each day, each season, of our lives, especially when presented with 700 puzzle pieces at 9pm on a Monday.  But we can take great comfort in knowing that as we trust Him, he is piecing every part of our lives together for our good, as we strive to hope in Christ alone, especially on Mondays.

“Lead me by your truth and teach me, for you are the God who saves me. All day long I put my hope in you.” ~Psalm 25:5

Riches to Rags – To Belize and Back (Part I)

Every trip holds a story. The same was true of my trip to Belize where I worked with a team for one week in a small village in Belmopan. It took at least a day, maybe two, for most of us to shake off Northern VA. Our busy, scheduled, stuff-infused lives didn’t fit in there at all. It took some time for me, and for all of us, to give in to the slow paced life of this Central American village so that we could refocus and see. Beyond the impoverished homes and villages and the countless inconveniences that come with life lived in poverty, that many of us are able to rise above back here in VA, there were people, stories, and lessons that began to come into focus. Beautiful people, incredible stories, and powerful lessons. I’d like to share two of my favorites, the stories of Anna and Kimberly.

ANNA: On the first day at the little church in the village, Anna smiled at me. I asked her if she wanted to come and draw some pictures and that was all it took. Anna came every day and looked for me and stayed by my side for a good part of every day. Over the next few days, I learned a lot about this shy, smiling, 12 year old Mayan girl. She loved to draw and play ball. I watched as her brother, just 12 himself, was always coming to check on her and make sure she was okay, and would get a snack or lunch from the church and only eat half so he made sure Anna had enough. A couple days into our trip, I met Anna’s mother and learned that there were six children in the family, that her father struggled to keep work and that Anna’s mother attended the church there and prayed fervently for her children. It was her dream that they would all finish school, and now with school fees approaching for the year, she didn’t even know if she could send them, and was left to choose who would go and who could not. She had only finished 2nd grade herself and desired her children to be more prepared to grab onto some kind of lifeline out of the poverty she had known. She said that Anna was delayed because of a seizure disorder that has plagued her since birth, and we joined together one evening as the moon shone over the small white church and asked God to intervene. From Anna I learned again the beauty of joy in pain, and from her mother the stubborn determination that makes us, as mothers (and fathers), hold onto hope against all hope whenever our children’s well-being is at stake.  I cannot rewrite Anna’s story. I have to believe, that just as my story, God is writing it as a story of grace, just the way He chooses. I was excited to join with the Pastor in Belmopan and friends and family here and raise enough so that all of Margarita’s children, including Anna, will be able to go to school for one more year.

KIMBERLY: I met Kimberly and her three brothers walking along on the dusty road that ran in front of the church and led all the way to a small store where i was hoping for some cold gatorade to ease an upset stomach. (They had it, by the way, which was a miracle in itself.) Kimberly, 10 years old, was walking alongside us with her two brothers, ages 9 and 8, and pushing a good sized stroller down that bumpy dirt road that held her 9 month old brother Ezekiel. She and her two brothers each had one coin to buy a piece of candy each.

Their spirits were high at the thought of that candy and we struck up an easy conversation.  I would have never guessed from Kimberly’s friendly laugh and sweet disposition that her 10 year old life includes more work and sorrow on a daily basis than i feel equipped to handle as an adult. Kimberly’s mother had been in the hospital for several months and Kimberly had been talking care of the house and her three brothers day and night as her father searched for work. If baby Ezekiel woke up crying at night, this 10 year old sister turned mother was the one to handle it. She made all the meals for her family and cared for any of the three boys when they were sick. During the next few days, I invited Kimberly and her brothers to vacation bible school and they came. I held Ezekiel and cared for him as much as he would allow it while Kimberly made crafts, (always saying the craft was to cheer her mother), sang, played frisbee and enjoyed being a child, if only briefly. I learned so much from this sweet, kind-spirited girl who I never heard complain. I learned again from Kimberly that hardship doesn’t determine attitude and complaining is a choice, not a given. That hope survives despite desperate reality. That there is a sweetness of character that comes, even in a child, from learning that we ourselves are not the center of our own lives. I have been delighted to be able to keep in touch with Kimberly and hope to be a small encouragement to her as she struggles with such a heavy weight to carry at such a young age. I was able to connect this family with the church in her village and the pastor is now visiting with the family to share Jesus and try to provide whatever care they can for them. A Samaritan’s purse contact at the church was able to give and put a large dent in the family’s medical expenses due to the mother’s long term illness.  In his words, during the home visits, he found them “in desperate circumstances.”

Thoughts on Belize to be continued…

Asleep in the Boat

Earlier this week, on Monday, I had one of those “woe is me” days.  I woke up thinking about something that was said to me the day before, that I had perceived as being said in a somewhat threatening way, and instead of letting it go and entrusting God to deal with the situation and the person, I chose to have a nice long stew about it.  By the end of the day, I felt exhausted.  What had been a perfectly good day overall had been wrought with worry and fear and doubt.  Before I crawled into bed, anxious to leave the day behind, I took some time to pray.  Feeling exasperated, as the issue that had plagued me all that day was (and is) an ongoing one, I prayed, “God, my faith is in you. I have trusted you.  I have prayed about this.  I have fasted about this.  I have believed you are going to come through.  God, where are you?  Why haven’t you rescued me?  Do you see my circumstance?  Do you see what is happening?  I feel like I am drowning here!  Where ARE you???”  I knew, even as I prayed, that God did indeed see and know my situation, that He was there and that He hears when his children pray, but in that moment of frustration and just not being able to see HOW He was there and WHY things haven’t changed, in that moment I began to question Him. I fell asleep disheartened, and woke up a few hours later, in the early hours of the morning when everything is silent and still and knew I needed to read my bible.  I was inspired and encouraged by what I read.

The story of Jesus calming the storm on the sea of Galilee is recorded in three of the gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke.  When the disciples and Jesus got into the boat in the evening to cross the sea, the sea was calm.  The gospel of Mark records that “a furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped.” (Mark 4:37)  A “squall” is defined as being a sudden violent wind or storm that seems to arrive out of nowhere.  Matthew records that the storm was “furious” and came up on the lake “without warning”. (Matthew 8:24).   Luke writes that “they were in great danger” because of the storm. (Luke 8:23)  Jesus, who was sleeping comfortably in the stern of the boat during this particular storm, was wakened to a barrage of questions and statements from the disciples that we can all relate to at one time or another in our lives:  “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”  and the one I could most relate to in my poor attitude of the previous day, “Don’t you care if we drown?”.  Sometimes,  in situations that require a long trust in the Lord and persistent prayers and during those times when we wait and wait for God to just show up and remove a situation from us, there is a temptation to begin to wonder not only if God sees that we are drowning, but even beyond that, if He cares if we do drown.   Rembrandt certainly captures the “holding on for dear life” desparation of the disciples in his 1633 painting “Christ In The Storm On The Sea Of Galiliee”.

Thankfully, the story does not end with the disciples drowning, or it certainly would not have been much of an encouragement to me in the middle of the night.  Two of the gospels record that Jesus first stood up and rebuked the waves and the wind before addressing the disciples, while Matthew records that he first addressed the disciples, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid? (Matthew 8:26), before calming the storm.  Either way, the effect was the same.  The disciples were amazed and in awe, as they should have been, that not only had Jesus calmed the physical storm on the lake, but he had also within a moment calmed the fear of certain doom and the fear that maybe Jesus didn’t even care about what was happening to them, that somehow He didn’t even see their circumstance.  While Jesus’ power to manipulate the elements of nature is astounding, I wonder if the greater miracle is His ability to within a moment calm our fears with a word.  He speaks “Quiet. Be still.” to us in the middle of our personal squalls, those situations that come up quickly, without warning, and threaten to do us in.  It’s not that the danger is somehow not real or minimized, but that we are safe, and there is calm, because Jesus is in the boat.  I realized during that night a few days ago that I had been silly to remind God of all my faith in Him while in the same breath crying out “Where are you??”   I was also reminded that although I didn’t see the immediate answer I was looking for, that Jesus was not frazzled by my circumstance.  He was not freaking out like I was.  He does see.  He does care.  He remains All-Powerful.  He is able to speak calm and bring peace in every situation.  The squalls that come out of nowhere and threaten to consume me will not.  They will, in the end, only serve as reminders that when the circumstances of my life threatened to do me in, He stood up and quieted me and I was always kept safe because He remains faithfully with me through each and every one.  Tuesday proved to be a much better day.

A Song in the Night

I came across a recipe today that reminded me of a memorable day I spent several years back.  I had just returned to Reagan National after flying to see family and had a few hours before I needed to head home to Winchester, and I decided to pass the time with a visit to Mount Vernon with a friend.  It was an incredibly beautiful and breezy spring day, one of those days where the sky is clear and blue no matter which direction you gaze at it.  After touring George Washington’s estate, we enjoyed a superbly delicious lunch at the Inn there, complete with Virginia Peanut and Chestnut soup and a Bread Pudding that was so scrumptious, I asked for the recipe.  I was impressed to learn from the waitress that I was in good company, and that George himself had thoroughly enjoyed the very same pudding on many occasions.      

After lunch, we walked out to the back of the estate and sat on the grounds for a while, admiring the pains taken to preserve Washington’s apparent green thumb.  I lay back on the soft grass that day, staring at that blue clear sunny sky that seemed to disappear into an optimistic forever, and thought about how utterly good life was at that time, my life as free from worries as the sky above from clouds.

In remembering that day, my mind also drifted in contrast to another time, when the world was dark, with my soul feeling darker still within it.  One of those sleepless, restless, mournful nights, when the heart aches too acutely to consider rest.  No thoughts of springtime or clear blue skies enjoyed with friends would come that night.  Joy had turned to sorrow, and optimistim had given way to doubt, grief, and aching of heart.  I remember this particular night because it made an impression on me, in that I learned that there are times when it is too painful to speak, or even to pray…but not to sing.  I sang that dark night.  I sang to God. Out of life’s desperation, I sang to my hurting soul.  When words would not come, a song did.

A song in the night, either a literal night, or the even sometimes more bitter darkness that comes from the night of the soul, is a gracious gift from God.  To still be able to sing, even utter praise, when all seems lost, or without hope, is a graceful defense God has given against stormy times.  A song in the night can be the hope that gets us through grief that might otherwise overwhelm us. It is what sustains us until we start to see the new day’s comforting light again. It is a reminder that we we are never forsaken, never without hope.  It is the promise from God that Isaiah speaks of, that –

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”    ~ Isaiah43:2

I am all for days that are full of blue sunny skies, friendship and the best bread pudding known to mankind.  I take them gladly, gratefully, as a gift from God.  Even as I write today, life is good, and again warm and sunny.  I’m ready to gather up all that i need to recreate that amazing bread pudding that i had years ago. What a comfort, and gift, as well, to know that in the darkest times, that there is a God who will not abandon, “God my Maker, who gives songs in the night.” ~ Job 35:10

Splinters

My five-year-old son kept waving his hand around today, complaining about his finger hurting and stinging.  It took me a little longer than it should have to really investigate the matter, as he tends all around towards great exaggeration.  This leads him to exceptional drama, and the finger incident was no exception.  When I did sit down to look at the top of his finger, I saw that he had his first real splinter, and it was getting quite irritated and red all around it.  A look of horror crossed his face as I calmly explained that I would have to extract said splinter in order for it to get better and for him to move on to happier things for the rest of the day.  A cat and mouse chase quickly ensued, with the mouse quickly darting to and fro with the finger in question held high above his head and screams of, “No!!  Don’t touch it!!  You can never take it out!!  It will huuuuurrrrtt!!”  Well, Momma finally won out, as Mommas tend to do, and so as I was just about ready to take out the splinter, I uttered one more reassuring word…”I’ll get it as quickly as possible, and then it will heal up, and you will be fine.”  Thankfully, I did get it in about a second’s time (although that second was filled with a blood-curdling scream that would have led those outside the room to think there was some kind of major amputation taking place).  There was the standard after-splinter mourning, and then, a few minutes later….”Hey, it feels better. Thanks!”, as he scampered off to happier times.

I was reminded of so many splinters I have had in my own life, some literal, some figurative.  Things that seem small at the time, but if left unattended and not cared for, become bigger, prone to infection, more painful.  God is so good to remove “splinters” in our lives, in our character, if we allow it.  Many times the process does begin with our protests of, “No!  Don’t touch this!  It’ll hurt!!”, but He lovingly attends to areas in our lives that could cause us much further harm down the road, and all the while, I believe He whispers…”I’ll get it as quickly as possible, and then it will heal up, and you will be fine.”