Little Lane's Legacy

Parenting is hard.  Really hard.  And so we second guess ourselves, and our kids, and each other.  It’s hard to make all the right decisions, and to be vigilant every moment, and to know what to do, all the time.  The pressure can make us weary, and make us doubt ourselves, and even make us make mistakes.  I know I’m not the perfect parent, and I suspect you’ll admit that you aren’t, either.  So why?  Why on earth are we so hard on each other, and so quick to hurl judgments at each other?  It seems like lately, every time there is a news story about something happening to a child, it is quickly followed by a hateful flurry of social media condemning the parents, even if all the facts of the story are not yet known.

Today, my heart broke a little, as I read the story of the precious 2 year old little boy who lost his life in an alligator attack in Orlando.  This family was on vacation, at the most “magical place on earth”, enjoying a respite from “real life”.  And then “real life” came crashing in like an uninvited guest, destroying their days of magic, and changing their reality forever.  This child was simply wetting his tiny feet a little at the edge of the lake at their resort, with his parents close by.  He wasn’t being neglected, or abused, or mistreated.  He was just having fun.  And in a matter of seconds, his little body was snatched by an alligator, and even with his parents RIGHT THERE, they could not save him.  And joy turned to mourning, and laughter to tears.  The worst thing a parent can ever experience was now their reality.  And when they wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the next month, and the next year, that reality will still be a wound in their hearts that won’t completely heal this side of heaven.  And that just breaks my heart.

But you know what else breaks my heart?  That these parents, in the midst of their worst nightmare, didn’t find comfort in the kindness of people, but were instead skewered on the sharp judgments of others, who weren’t even there.  Instead of compassion, they were met with hatred.  In perusing some of the comments from readers on various news sites, my stomach turned.  The parents were called all sorts of names that I won’t repeat here, some called for their arrest, and much venom was spewed as this tragedy was discussed.  Thankfully, there were others who spoke with kindness, but the number of people who spoke hatefully was quite significant.  And, unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to be an isolated incident.  If you’ve followed the story of the little boy who fell into the gorilla enclosure at the zoo in Cincinnati last month, you’ve probably seen even worse, even though that story ended with the child being safely rescued (although at the cost of the gorilla’s life).  I think these are simply symptomatic of the kind of world we have built…where judgment prevails over mercy and vitriol trumps compassion. 

So, let’s don’t let little Lane’s legacy be just alligator safety or more rules and regulations, but in his honor, let’s make the world just a little nicer.  Let’s pray for each other, instead of lord it over each other.  Let’s extend the hand of compassion instead of the pointing finger.  Let’s be quick to offer grace instead of fly to judgment.  Let’s think before we speak, and like Thumper from Bambi, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all.”

In the Hands of God

Three nights ago, I had a terrifying experience. My son had complained of a migraine, so I decided to keep him home from church. My husband and daughters left for church, and I sent Noah to bed with an icepack for his pounding head. About fifteen minutes later, he stumbles into my room, gasping for breath and crying, “Mom, something’s wrong…I can’t breathe!” I looked up from my laptop and saw a terrible sight—my son, with his eyes swollen almost shut, his nose twice the size of normal, clutching his chest and panicking as he tried to draw a breath. I jumped up and raced to help him, praying silently in my soul for God to rescue us. I calmed him down, as his panic was making the asthma attack worse, grabbed his inhalers and a Benadryl pill and helped him get the medicine down a throat that was almost swollen shut. I quickly made a decision to get him in the car and race to the nearest ER after determining that the inhalers had eased his breathing enough to buy us the time to get to the hospital for help. We raced down the road, pushing the speed limit—I figured if I got pulled over, the policeman could help us get to the hospital faster. We arrived at the Emergency Room, walked in and when the triage desk took one look at my son, they immediately grabbed a wheelchair and took him to the back, in front of several other waiting patients. That, more than anything, scared me.

As the nurses got my son hooked up to a pulse oximeter (which measures the amount of oxygen in the blood), I could see that his oxygen levels were very low. He was now covered from head to toe in angry red hives, and his hands were swollen to the point of being unusable. A doctor came in almost immediately (another ER first for us!) and ordered an epinephrine shot and some prednisone to reduce the swelling. Within minutes of the shot, Noah’s breathing eased dramatically and he relaxed against the pillows.

The doctor, who was wonderful with Noah (the best we’ve ever had in an emergency room situation), believed that his reaction was probably due to something airborne, but was unable to determine what that might be. He decided to observe Noah for 2-3 hours before releasing us, to make sure he was stable. He warned me that when reactions come on this fast, it is very dangerous. He gave us a prescription for an Epi-pen (which delivers an emergency dose of epinephrine), so we can be prepared for next time. “Next time?!” my anxious heart silently cried, “I don’t ever want to experience this again!” We spent the next 3-1/2 hours waiting for his symptoms to subside so we could go home. Noah and I had some great conversations, watched a little TV, and I watched with relief as my boy’s hives faded and his swelling subsided. Inside, I prayed fervently to the God who made my little boy to protect him and to help us through this terrible ordeal.

I know that God was with us during those dark hours as I watched my son suffer. I felt His hand on me as I was able to calm Noah with soothing words and a calm demeanor, even though inside I was panicking, too. Both my husband and my son later commented on how unruffled I was throughout the whole ordeal…I know it was only because God provided what I needed to help save my son’s life. Noah and I also believe that God provided for us through Noah’s headache, as strange as that may sound. If he had felt well, and we had gone to church, I would not have had the tools to save his life. I was no longer carrying his inhalers with me, as his asthma had improved so much in recent years that it seemed unnecessary. I wouldn’t have had Benadryl, either, which helped to counteract the allergic reaction. Another provision that made the whole experience much more bearable is that from home, we were only about 7 minutes from our brand new hospital, with a terrific emergency room team. If we had been at church, we would have had to go to a different hospital, where we have had horrendous emergency room experiences. Looking back, it is so easy to see how we were held safely in God’s hands. Even though I was alone dealing with this crisis, I never felt alone, knowing that God was with us every step of the way.

Two days later, Noah and my husband were scheduled to go to the mountains for a father-son retreat. My heart was filled with fear at the thought of my son being outdoors, with all those possible allergens, and having another attack in a remote place without a hospital nearby. I did everything possible to ensure his safety—locating the nearest ambulance service, writing out detailed instructions for my husband for Noah’s medications, suggesting that my husband find the nearest landline in case his cell phone didn’t work, etc. Finally, though, I had to release control of the situation…it was out of my hands. I had to watch my husband and son drive away, knowing there was nothing I could do to protect him for the next couple of days.

Ultimately, it comes down to this…do I really believe that Noah belongs to God and is in His care? Am I willing to trust Him that whatever comes, He loves Noah best and has a perfect plan for his life? Why is it so hard to let go, and trust, and realize that I can’t keep him safe in this world? Sometimes I believe that God gave me Noah just to teach me these lessons in surrender. Those of you who know his whole life story know that God has saved this boy over and over again. He is a miracle many times over, and God has faithfully watched over this precious young man, working His will in Noah’s life. And I will rest in the peace that comes from knowing this: Noah is safe in God’s hands.

The Gift of Praise

When was the last time your child gave you a gift? Was it Mother’s Day, your birthday or just a day that he colored you a picture and gave it to you “just because”? Did you love that gift because it was expensive, or because it was exactly what you wanted, or just because he gave it to you to show you his love? Sometimes the best gifts our children give us are “best” because of the love expressed, not because of their monetary value or intrinsic usefulness. One of the best gifts my oldest daughter ever gave me was for Mother’s Day last year. She bought a bright pink basket with a lid, and filled that basket with notes full of love and encouragement. The notes expressed her love for me and her appreciation of the sacrifices I have made in order to homeschool her. She may not know this, but I turn to that precious basket often…on days when I need to feel valued, on days that are frustrating or discouraging, and on days that I just need to know that I am loved and appreciated. It is water when my soul is thirsting and comfort when my heart is weary.

We all need praise. Marriages die for lack of praise. Children wither for lack of praise. Even our Father in heaven desires praise from His children. When was the last time you gave your children the gift of your praise? Sometimes we mothers can be so diligent about correcting our children’s faults and misbehaviors, and yet fail to offer them praise when they do something right. How many times has your child brought you a beautiful picture that they colored especially for you and instead of noticing the vibrant colors and creative drawing, you instead bemoan the marker all over their hands or new white T-shirt? Have you ever seen that little face fall as they receive your criticism instead of your sought-after praise? How about the child who “helps” you by attempting to fix breakfast or “clean” something and instead of receiving your gratitude, she receives a heartfelt sigh at the mess left in the kitchen or bathroom? Sometimes their little hearts work ahead of their abilities, leaving chaos in their wake instead of true helpfulness, yet don’t they still deserve our appreciation for their efforts?

After all, think about the messes we bring to God, longing for His approval. “But I meant well,” we say beseechingly, and He receives us lovingly, in spite of the damage we have wrought. The few paltry gifts we bring to the Ruler of the Universe pale in comparison to what He has done for us, yet He delights in us and in the gift of our praise. No matter what we have done, or haven’t done, for that matter, He welcomes us, taking us in His loving arms and giving us more than we could ever deserve. I love the picture painted in Zephaniah 3:17: “The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing." Picture a father, swinging his child up into his arms, throwing back his head in laughter as he delights in this little child of his heart. Picture a mother, rocking her child in her arms, singing softly as she soothes this child whom she adores. This is how God feels about you and me…wow. If the God of the Universe can feel this way about me, then surely I can demonstrate some of this powerful love and praise to my children, even when they’ve left a mess in the bathroom or spilled their juice for the tenth time on my freshly mopped floor. Humbling, isn’t it?

So, how about giving your children the gift of your praise today? Instead of watching their little faces fall, watch them light up in delight as your loving words soothe their hurts and fill their hearts with joy. And then sit down together and praise your Heavenly Father, who delights in both of you.

Marlin and Me

We just came back to our condo from our first ever “Dive-In” movie. The resort where we are staying had a special showing of “Finding Nemo” shown on a big screen at the edge of the swimming pool. The kids thought it was quite unique to float around in the pool while watching one of their favorite movies. Alan and I enjoyed lazing in the beach chairs and watching our little fish and enjoying one of our favorite movies.

I had forgotten what a great message can be found in this charming movie. I can so identify with Marlin, Nemo’s father. At the beginning of the movie, he is shown to be an overly protective, somewhat neurotic father. He is so afraid of harm coming to his little fish that he prevents Nemo from experiencing much of anything. He is constantly warning Nemo of the dangers to be found in the ocean, and telling him all the things that he can’t do. Nemo finally rebels against this suffocating parenting style, and his rebellion gets him into serious danger. The movie goes on to portray Marlin’s desperate search to save his son and the lessons they both learn during their time apart.

I remember the first day we brought Molly home from the hospital. Alan and I looked at each other with a great deal of fear and trepidation upon realizing that we, alone, were now responsible for this tiny, fragile being. All of a sudden, we were the ones charged with the task of making sure this little person had food, shelter and all the emotional and spiritual nurturing necessary to grow them into a successful adult.

I remember the first time I held my son in my arms as he suffered from a serious asthma attack and as he struggled to breathe. I was filled with terror as he gasped and coughed, feeling helpless to provide his most basic need for oxygen. Many more of these nights occurred before Noah finally began to outgrow his very serious asthma.

I remember when the pediatrician came to me in the hospital and with tears in his eyes told me that my newborn daughter had a serious hole in her heart and would probably require open heart surgery a few months down the road. I looked at her perfect, tiny body and held my hand over her chest, feeling that heart beat and wondering if it would continue.

I once heard motherhood described as living forever with a part of your heart walking around outside of your chest. The fears and anxieties we struggle with as parents can paralyze us. We can be so consumed with the “what ifs” and the frightening possibilities, that we completely miss the joy and excitement of watching our children learn new things and celebrate new experiences. There came a point for me, as a new mother, where I literally fell to my knees and surrendered. I had to let go, and give God my children. They belonged to him anyway, and I had to learn to believe that He loves them best. I had to learn to trust Him with their lives, and with their futures. As hard as it was for me to accept, He loves them even more than I do, and He loves them perfectly. Psalm 112:7 became something to cling to: “He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the LORD.”

Does this mean I no longer worry about all those horrible things that can happen? Unfortunately, no. Just ask my children…they will probably tell you that I constantly remind them to “lock the door” when I leave, rarely let them go to the restroom alone in a public place, and am frequently heard saying, “Be careful”. It’s an ongoing process, this letting go…and it doesn’t happen easily. But I believe that, ultimately, my children belong to God, and that He has good plans for them and that they are safe in His loving care. So, I’ll try to curb my Marlin tendencies, and give them room to grow…but I will gladly cross the ocean, just as he did, if my little fishies should need me.