Note to myself:  You actually wrote a good deal of this post last week but were interrupted many times from the kids and life.  Tonight is the first chance you had to finish.  Therefore, the ‘two Sundays ago’ and ‘yesterday’ and all time references aren’t accurate, anymore.  Oh, well.  You weren’t about to do the math to figure out the correct time, and your writing would’ve sounded weird, anyway.  But for the sake of your memory, which isn’t very good, I thought I’d let you know about the inaccuracies.

Two Sundays ago, I remember lying in bed somewhat fearful.  I’m not normally one to get afraid of thunderstorms, but when I saw the lightning strike right below my window and heard the electricity crackle in our outlets, I tensed up.  Caleb had already joined Matt and me in bed and formed a ball beneath our comforter.  I couldn’t see any part of him but would feel him move closer and closer against Matt and me with each pound of thunder that rattled the house. Even the rain was loud, as the storm seemed to intensify with every minute.

At one point in the night, Matt had gotten up to unplug everything in our room, but he was too late.  The next morning, our upstairs air conditioner was broken, and our modem was fried, so I couldn’t use the internet or our house phone.  I felt very inconvenienced and disconnected from the world.  I typically don’t ever have the TV on during the day, and I normally put the radio on in the car when carting kids back and forth to preschool.  Monday is their off day, though, so for most of the day, I was in my own bubble.

I had no idea what the storm was really like–only my perception of the events.  It wasn’t until I spoke with my mom and learned of flooded roads that kept some of her co-workers from getting to work, heard from my husband that Gwinnett county had closed school, and saw pictures the next day of the Scream Machine roller coaster partially submerged in water that I began to understand the true intensity of this horrific thunderstorm.

Then the following day I read an article of a woman’s frantic call to 911 as she was trapped in her car less than a mile from her home.  She was a mother.  I saw another article of a toddler swept by the rushing water from his father’s grasp, a story that would stay with me as I imagined myself trapped in my van with my three children.  Even if I were able to get my windows down in time and the door open, I can’t imagine a happy ending to this story…and my stomach is still in knots as I count my three blessings and think of that poor family grieving their loss, a family who didn’t have to imagine .

It’s amazing how one’s perspective can color an event.  The storm that I found so terrible and frightening and inconvenient paled in comparison to what those around me were experiencing.  Until I saw the damage elsewhere, I didn’t realize how blessed I was to be without air conditioning and a cable modem.  As I moved through that week, the lessons God was teaching me were very apparent.

When Caleb was frightened the night of the storm, he didn’t cry in his room, he didn’t go downstairs and find comfort in a doughnut, and he didn’t turn on the TV.  He came in his parents room and snuggled with his mom and dad.  Yes, he was obviously frightened, but with each strike of lightening and clap of thunder, he moved a little closer to Matt or me.  He found reassurance simply in our presence.

God wants me to do the same.  Whether I am frightened by a little thunder or I can see the flood waters rising, my response should be the same–draw closer to Him.  In doing so, He will give me peace and perspective.  In the midst of my storm, I will be able to find that for which I should be thankful because there is always someone going through something worse, and at the same time, find reassurance that the Lord cares about my struggles, too.  He just wants me to be honest about my struggles with Him.

And as with any lesson the Lord teaches me, He provided a pop-quiz to see what I actually retained….

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Yesterday morning, I managed to get my daughter’s tiny hair claw stuck on my tongue.  I was rushing to get Caleb and Hannah Grace ready for preschool while trying to take care of Chloe, and I actually had a green clip hanging out of my mouth.

“Ha-uh, HOL  SIL  PEAS!” is not what I heard in my head but was what came out of my mouth, as I was trying to keep her from running out of the bathroom.  I still needed to fix her hair (one side of her head already had a clip), so I was squeezing her with my thighs while trying to squeeze the little clip to release it from my tongue.  It was so small, though, and slippery because of my saliva.  I had never felt so ridiculous and knew my tongue would begin bleeding at any moment.  The more I tried to pry it open, the tighter that stupid clip clamped down on my tongue.

Briefly, very briefly, I contemplated asking Caleb to help me, but he would’ve just pulled on the clip with my tongue attached.  I hate to admit it, but I was a little scared.  I was afraid that if I actually succeeded in removing this *cute* hair accessory, I might have a permanent hole in my tongue.  Would pizza ever taste good again?

No sooner than I successfully transferred this demonic hair claw from my mouth to Hannah Grace’s hair, I noticed Chloe’s crying had risen to the next intensity level.  She was across the hall playing in Hannah Grace’s room.  I ran into the room to check on her and noticed she was on her stomach with her head under Hannah Grace’s dresser.  I figured she didn’t know how to roll back out from under the dresser, so I proceeded to help pull her out, except she wasn’t budging.  My baby had gotten her head stuck under her sister’s massive dresser.

I tried to lift the dresser, and it didn’t budge.  I think my heart stopped for a second at that moment.  What in the world was I going to do?  I didn’t even know how long Chloe’s head had been stuck under the dresser, and I was terrified that her skull would get crushed.  And then God gave me the Mom Adrenaline.  I lifted that dresser and was so proud–until I noticed that Chloe was crying too hard to notice and wasn’t rolling away as a cooperative baby should’ve.  Caleb and Hannah Grace were just looking on, probably paralyzed in fear as their mother was in a state of panic.

At this moment I was dumbfounded.  Caleb, my son who has rolled his sister across the floor like a log was just standing there.  “CALEB! ROLL CHLOE OUT!!” I screamed, to which he obliged.

And all was well again.

My heart proceeded to pound out of my chest for the rest of the day, and I was never so ready for bed that night.  Unfortunately, Hannah Grace stayed up until midnight, refusing to sleep in her bed, and Chloe woke up at 1:30 ready to eat.  And again every two hours until morning.

So, I have decided that today I am getting under the covers, curling up into a ball, and resting in my heavenly Father’s arms.  It’s starting to rain outside, and I need a nap.