all of these things were still in the back of my mind - and my heart - as i drifted off to sleep on sunday night. and there, in the stillness and the darkness and the quietness of my room, a piercing light - not completely unlike a light bulb in my head - it came as a flash. in a momentary thought:
i sat straight up in my bed. instinctively, i threw my hand over my heart.
we spent monday morning at the pediatrician's office having the now infamous, ginormous splinter removed from parker's foot. when it comes to parenting, i am the weakest link. and there should be some sort of rules for that. you know, the weak link shouldn't be the one that holds the newborn baby for shots... or holds the three year old down for splinter removal. in the waiting room, he looked at me, very seriously, "are dey gonna take it out?". "yes", i said. "I don't want dem take it out!". he stood up, pranced around in his little brown crocs and looked at me with such hopeful optimism, "but mommy... wook! i can still walk on it". [enter flash of light again]. had i said that before?
i was blinking hard - either from that now familiar, piercing light or the tears in my eyes - i'm not sure which. and in that moment, i couldn't tell if what i was explaining to Parker in three year old terms was meant for him or for myself: "you can't walk around forever with a splinter in your foot. it could become infected and the infection could spread... eventually, you wouldn't be able to walk on it at all. and yes, it is going to hurt... but it has to hurt before it can heal... and even though you can walk on it right now, you are going to be able to run again soon and it is going to feel sooo much better."
one band-aid and one spider-man sticker later, parker was running to the car. "see, parker, didn't mommy tell you? that's what trust is."
"Trust God from the bottom of your heart;