Sunday, August 2, 2015

Good Thing Chicks Dig Scars

My husband never calls me at work. Like, ever.

So when I was interrupted in the middle of my lunch shift with the news that he was waiting on hold for me, my stomach sunk and I already knew it was going to be bad.

I got on the phone and he told me that he was taking Isaiah to Urgent Care because he had split his lip open.

Now, I have three boys and quite frankly I am somewhat amazed that we made it until the oldest was SEVEN before we had to take one of them in to have their face fixed. This stuff is pretty much required in the childhood of a boy though I think that page was left out of the most recent edition of What to Expect When You're Expecting. Still, my gut reaction was to throw my apron on the ground and run out that door to race to be at my baby's side. Evan assured me he had it under control so I asked him to send me periodic updates, but we agreed I could stay at work.

But then he sent me a photo of the damage my boy had done and my Mama Heart immediately jumped up into my throat.

The photo showed what happens when a little boy's face comes flying into contact with the edge of a coffee table while inside a bouncy house. Yup, that's what happened. He threw himself somehow into the side of our bouncy castle in such a way that his face was propelled into a table.

I had to scrub blood out of a bouncy castle when I got home last night.

I'll spare you the photo that made the color drain from my face, but I will show you the text that I got from Evan after the Urgent Care doctor had taken a look at the injury.

Nothing like being told your child is being sent to the emergency room to make you lose focus on your work.

My manger on duty was very understanding and said numerous times that I could leave if I needed to, but Evan said all the boys were doing really well so far and were pretty content just watching TV in the exam room while waiting for the doctor. They were watching Spongebob Squarepants, a show that is strictly forbidden at home, so they were soaking in the contraband stupidity while they could.

The point finally came where I couldn't do it anymore. I was crazy busy, trying to manage seven or eight tables both inside the dining room and outside on the patio, but my brain was at Children's Hospital with my son. A four-top asked me what the desserts were and I think I got as far as Flourless Chocolate Cake before I started stammering, crying, and apologizing. With shaking hands, I explained that I just found out that my son was being treated at Children's and that I was having a really hard time not being there with him. The words were just spilling out and landing there on the table right next to their dirty plates and silverware.

Then the woman to my left put her hand on mine and gently asked, "May we pray for you?"

Friends, how does God do this? How does he orchestrate details so fine as to place that table right in my path at the very second I would need it, when my resolve had broken and I was struggling to find peace on my own?

But He did.

And the five of us approached the throne of grace, right there on the patio while I stood there holding the remnants of mashed potatoes and sauteed collard greens, and prayed for healing for my son and for peace that surpasses all understanding for him and for me. Other tables needed things - drink refills, their credit card to be processed, dishes to be cleared. None of that mattered in those moments because this was a holy moment where the presence of the Holy Spirit had descended and entered into my anxiety, providing a very real intercession to the Father.

I instantly felt more settled, more confident in the care my son would receive at the hospital, and more resolved than ever that I would go to him as soon as possible. In another incredible act of provision and grace, all my remaining tables finished up nearly simultaneously and I was able to drive directly to the hospital.

He was still watching Spongebob when I arrived.
He was also doped up on an anti-anxiety medication that had him acting slightly drunk, which was kind of hilarious.

I sent Evan home with the younger boys so they wouldn't have to watch the stitches going in. It was hard enough for me to watch, even though I knew Isaiah wasn't really feeling any pain. Seven stitches later, my boy was sewed back together and we were on our way to get him a chocolate shake and sit on the couch to watch Harry Potter.

Probably about ten o'clock at night, I finally remembered something.

That table never did get to order dessert. 

Here's how Isaiah is looking this morning, a little less than 24 hours after the injury. It's already looking so much better!

Thank you so much for your prayers and messages while we waited in the ER yesterday. I'm so grateful for each and every one of them. I also want to make sure to say thank you to my co-workers and managers for their patience and understanding yesterday. It's never convenient to adjust to losing a server from a shift, but they knew I had to go and they just made it work. Thank you, friends.

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