Gullible Grandma Gets Taken in by Toddler (it ain't hard)

Self Portrait

Yesterday I was the woman on the right; I felt intelligent, in control. Today, I am reduced to a caricature in fruit.

My three year old granddaughter, Lily, came over this morning to spend the day. She means the world to me. We love spending time together and rarely have a dull moment. After playing school and tea party, we watched a toddler dance DVD and she enthusiastically tried to follow all the moves. Me, I just tried to make a few moves without throwing my back out. Afterwards, it was time for snack. She bellied up to the bar and I watched as she deteriorated before my very eyes. Her eyes got droopy and she started complaining about how Mommy had made her get up too early this morning, and how tired she was. I knew naptime would be welcome and figured she would sleep well today.

She then started complaining about her foot hurting. This soon escalated into full-blown screams of pain. I started to get worried. Had she hurt her foot while she was dancing around? She had also put on her dress-up shoes. Had she twisted her ankle when I wasn't looking? Maybe something was even broken! But I tried not to jump to conclusions.

After carefully checking and re-checking her foot, trying to see if there was swelling or bruising (there wasn't), I tried to divert her attention by getting her interested in some arts and crafts until lunch, but she was having none of it. This isn't typical behavior for her. We usually move from one activity to another and have a lot of fun together. Still crying and even screaming off and on about her foot/ankle/heel (I never did get a straight answer from her) she seemed to be in such agony that I put another DVD in the player, propped the poor baby on the couch with a pillow and an ice pack under her foot and sat down with her to give her moral support. Every 5 or 10 minutes for the next hour, she would cry out in pain, tears and runny nose dripping down her face uncontrollably. I would dab her face and make soothing Grandma-feels-your-pain noises, but everytime I'd attempt to touch her leg or foot, trying to find out if she could even move her "broken" limb, she would scream. 

Thinking lunch might perk her up, I tried to encourage her flagging spirits by enticing her with all the good stuff I was going to make for her, but she barely paid any attention to me, such was her pain and discomfort.

Finally, I called my daughter. After giving her the blow by blow, she decided to come get Lily. I had visions of them spending the afternoon in the emergency room waiting for x-rays. By the time they got to my house, my granddaughter had managed to choke down some food and was much calmer. My daughter and son-in-law came into the room and immediately went to her. Of course they were concerned, but there was also a note of skepticism in their voices - apparently, they had seen this movie before. Within minutes, my daughter had managed to take a close look at Lily's foot and ankle and there was, in fact, a microscopic wound in her heel, had put Lily in her lap, asked her if she could walk, and plopped her onto the floor where Lily proceeded to demonstrate that, yes, she could indeed walk just fine, thank you very much, albeit without putting the injured heel on the ground.

'Nuff said. Score another one for the Lilster. I've always known that she's got my number, but today I was on speed dial.

My heart (the little stinker!)

Thank You, God, For Saving My Life

(C, this poem is especially for you)

A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He whom most I love to please,
Doth listen to my song:
He caught and bound my wandering wing,
But still He bends to hear me sing.

My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh! it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom, of the mind.

I found this poem in the book "A Step Further" by Joni Eareckson-Tada (check out Joni's website, she has an amazing story!) This poem was written by a French noblewoman named Madame Guyon who was arrested in 1688 and falsely accused of heresy, sorcery, and adultery by jealous church officials. She spent ten long, lonely years in prison after being convicted, and wrote the above verse during her confinement, which, Joni writes, "...is an eloquent expression of the strength God will give to the suffering heart that waits on Him."

I read this during a particularly difficult time of my life when I was suffering both physically and mentally. I was in so much anguish, day after day, month after month, that each day I woke up I wished it could be my last. I wasn't suicidal, I just wanted the pain to be over, longing for God to take me. When I read, and then re-read (many times) this poem I sensed my whole perspective on pain and suffering changing. "Well pleased a prisoner to be because, my God, it pleases thee." That is a point of view that never would have occurred to me on my own. My mind just doesn't work like that, but I was able to see the beauty of it, and I wanted that conviction for myself. As I claimed this poem as my own prayer, my life slowly began to change. I know this isn't always the end of a person's story, but I was eventually able to find the medical help that I needed to drastically reduce the amount of pain I was having to deal with.

I'm much healthier now and, when I think back on those difficult years I realize I wouldn't trade them for the world. I never thought I'd be able to say that the suffering was a "gift", but it was. Would I still be able to say that if my pain level had remained high these past couple of years, had I not been able to find medication to help me? I'll never know. I'd like to think that I would, but I'm sure the journey, if graphed, would be a line going up and down continually.

I know my suffering in this world is not over. Somewhere along the way I will experience more - it's part of the human condition, and I know I won't like it or necessarily be able to embrace it as I learned to do before. In fact, I'll probably have to start all over again in the process, but I'll have the memory, the experience of my previous victory over discouragement to draw on.

At the beginning of "It's a Wonderful Life" with Jimmy Stewart, the angels are talking and Clarence, the guardian angel, asks if George, our hero, is sick, and the other angel responds saying, "No, it's worse. He's discouraged." May God help all of you with your own personal discouragements so that you can also say, "My prison walls cannot control the flight, the freedom of the soul."

Have a truly happy Easter!