A Mother's Heart

While we were playing with Charles Friday evening at about 7:30, he hurt his wrist.  We had been swinging him and he was loving it!  Laughing, cackling, holding his hands up for more.  And then... he wasn't.  He made a pitiful little "ouch" cry, and toddled over to me.  He sat in my lap holding his arms stiffly, fussing pitifully, for about 20 minutes.  I texted our chiropractor and he agreed to meet us to check him out.  Thank goodness it turned out to be just a little out-of-whack wrist, and with a quick "thump" of the activator, Charles was as good as new.

But during those 45 minutes, my heart ached for my little boy, who was hurting and didn't know why.  He didn't even seem to know what was hurting, exactly, just that something was wrong, and he didn't want to move anything in case the thing that was wrong happened to be what he was moving.  He never screamed, he was really quite calm, just obviously uncomfortable.  I felt it odd that I myself was not hurting too.  My heart hurt for him, but surely our connection was so strong that I would feel his pain in my own body.  But it was just an echo of his hurt, made worse by the fact that I couldn't just kiss it and make it better.

After visiting Doc, we returned home and put Charles straight to bed as it was already well after his bedtime.  I came back down from his room, opened up my Chromebook, and got on Facebook as I chatted with Trevvor.  When I looked back at the screen, at my news-feed, my heart sank.  The first post was the brother of a childhood friend of mine, Rebecca.  He had written that his sister, my friend, had gone to be with the Lord at about 7:30 PM, the same time Charles hurt his wrist.

Rebecca had fought a long, hard battle with cancer--Hodgkins Lymphoma--for over five years.  We saw each other several times over those years, and I kept up with her on Facebook.  I'm sure she had her moments, but when I saw her, she always stayed positive.  She kept joy.  She maintained hope.  She praised God.  She inspired me.

As I wept for her Friday night, I knew that my heart-hurt for Charles' pain was a mere shadow of what Rebecca's mother had experienced these five years and was experiencing right then.  The pain of watching your precious child suffer, fight, and then pass on to the Lord before you, is something I cannot begin to fathom.

Praise God for Rebecca's life, for her testimony during her sickness, and for the hope that we have that we will see her again in God's kingdom.  Such hope is the only thing that can soften the pain of a mother's heart.