It’s been a doozy of a weekend. Rather than just accounting for all that I’m grateful for, I’m going to take my own medicine and record the daily manna that God doled out to us in the last few days. Because, boy-howdy, did we ever need it.
We were told to take my eldest son, our Scooby Doo, to the hospital Saturday night
No sooner had I thought to myself: “What if it’s serious? How will I go to be with him in the middle of the night when Scrappy is sound asleep in his bed?” then I get a text from a new friend, offering to come and spend the night at a moment’s notice. And she kept her phone on all night, just in case.
All this went down on the very day our dear Uncle Dr. Bob, my older brother, was just pulling into town for the holiday. To have a pediatrician all to ourselves, who speaks the language, who can talk to the other docs, and who will explain everything to me as many times as I need him to.
And most importantly, that dozens of prayers went up on my boy’s behalf, almost instantly and all through the night. They asked, God delivered and he came home two hours later with a normal temp that never went up again.
The cause for our excitement will remain a mystery and I’m ok with that. Now on to our week’s regularly scheduled programming of class parties, train rides, family dinners and Christmas in the Park.
I’m so thankful, so very, very thankful.