A Barstool, a Bloody Nose, and a Step Closer to God

Now that Claire has learned to pull herself up and stand up, the world has become one big curiosity. Every ledge has the potential to expand her horizons, lifting her up to have a bigger perspective on this ever-changing world of hers. And so it is that at any given time, I'll turn around and she's hoisted herself up by clinging to a couch or a coffee table, sometimes a trashcan or a large toy.

This skill, though it has delighted her, has proved to make her world a bit more perilous. She doesn't yet understand that not everything is sturdy, not everything is meant to hold her up and, though it might for a moment, may not continue to do so.

She learned that lesson the other night when, while I was do some motherly multitasking, turned my back to her. She'd been contentedly playing with a toy piano. Then, I heard a thud and a screech of a scream. I turned around to see she'd left the piano in favor of a wooden barstool, which had evidently fallen on top of her when she pulled up to it.

I ran to her, lifted her, hugged her and rocked her. And then I saw a little stream of blood trickle from one nostril, then the other. As a new mom, it was a terribly scary moment for me and a million worst-case scenarios flew through my head.

Fortunately, within a minute, the blood had stopped and we settled her down. After phoning the family pediatrition and finding out that we probably didn't have anything to worry about since she hadn't bled "a lot," was able to nurse without trouble (and, consequently, breathe through her nose) and was acting normal.

Still, it was a really good bonk that left her pretty sore. So when I tried to put her down for bed, without fail, she'd end up rubbing her nose which would lead to more shrill cries. As I cradled her and tried to comfort her, I prayed over her and the pain she was feeling that she surely didn't understand, as a baby who heretofore has been incredibly healthy.

I prayed that God would take away the pain. Then, without even thinking about it, prayed that God could transfer the pain to me, so that she didn't have to suffer through it. As soon as I prayed it, cuddling my little girl whose sobs had subsided to pitiful little sniffles, I realized the enormity of it. I realized that is exactly what God did for me.

As a parent, he too wanted to spare the pain that I would otherwise endure. The pain was so unbearable, he didn't want us to ever know it. And so he wore it himself. On the cross. To a death that we can't even imagine.

Then, as my daughter finally gave way to sleep, I laid her down. Walking away from her crib, I couldn't shake the awe that came from this glimpse God had given me. Of something so simple but that hadn't yet really understood until now.

Then, in the still and quiet dark, I moved the barstool so that it wouldn't ever hurt her again.

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