At 4am, I was woken by my 4-year-old's cry. It's not uncommon for her to cry in the night, and she probably would have gotten back to sleep eventually. But I wanted to check on her, so I did. She was crying in her sleep. Her body was stiff and her hands were clutching her face. I tried to roll her over, but she resisted me. So I talked quietly to her and stoked her little body. Finally she rolled over and stuck her little rump in the air -- which I patted and asked her if she needed to go potty. She nodded. I brought her into the bathroom and helped her get her footie pajamas off ... and back on again (see how I cleverly edited the part where she actually urinated?).
As she got out of the bathroom, she turned left to go to my room instead of right to go to hers. That meant she wanted to spend the rest of the night in my bed. I find her hard enough to argue with in the day time. I never even attempt it at night. Besides, she's my youngest. When she's done crawling in bed with me, it's all over. I hope she does it until she's 10!
Anyway, once we snuggled in, she reached out to me in the dark and began exploring my face, very methodically. She started down by my chin and worked her way up to my ear and temple. It was as if she wasn't quite awake during all that moving and suddenly realized she was in bed with someone else -- and needed to make sure it was someone she knew. Once she confirmed it was me, she relaxed and went to sleep.
But not me. I was moved to prayer. A truly thankful prayer that I should be loved by this little girl. My mind remembered when we first met that little girl, so small due to malnourishment and heart defects. The images of her in the hospital after surgery are burned in my brain, hooked up to so many tubes, a ventilator, IVs, and everything else. So vulnerable. And here she was, 2-1/2 years later laying in my bed so strong and feisty ... yet so gentle and loving.
And as I prayed, I realized that I was the vulnerable one. My life. Her life. We're all so fragile. She is a pain in the ... neck (!) most days. But she is my life and joy, too. And I don't know what either of us would do without each other. I prayed that it would be a good long time before either of us had to experience such a thing.
And then, mercifully, before my thoughts could permanently wake me, I drifted off to sleep, too.
And that's the news from Browerville.
As she got out of the bathroom, she turned left to go to my room instead of right to go to hers. That meant she wanted to spend the rest of the night in my bed. I find her hard enough to argue with in the day time. I never even attempt it at night. Besides, she's my youngest. When she's done crawling in bed with me, it's all over. I hope she does it until she's 10!
Anyway, once we snuggled in, she reached out to me in the dark and began exploring my face, very methodically. She started down by my chin and worked her way up to my ear and temple. It was as if she wasn't quite awake during all that moving and suddenly realized she was in bed with someone else -- and needed to make sure it was someone she knew. Once she confirmed it was me, she relaxed and went to sleep.
But not me. I was moved to prayer. A truly thankful prayer that I should be loved by this little girl. My mind remembered when we first met that little girl, so small due to malnourishment and heart defects. The images of her in the hospital after surgery are burned in my brain, hooked up to so many tubes, a ventilator, IVs, and everything else. So vulnerable. And here she was, 2-1/2 years later laying in my bed so strong and feisty ... yet so gentle and loving.
And as I prayed, I realized that I was the vulnerable one. My life. Her life. We're all so fragile. She is a pain in the ... neck (!) most days. But she is my life and joy, too. And I don't know what either of us would do without each other. I prayed that it would be a good long time before either of us had to experience such a thing.
And then, mercifully, before my thoughts could permanently wake me, I drifted off to sleep, too.
And that's the news from Browerville.
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