The boys were watching Batman when the phone rang. I recognized my friend’s number.
“L just stuck a Lego up her nose – what do I do??” was her plea.
I suppose she called me because I am a mom of boys, but surprisingly, we’ve never dealt with that particular issue. My mind raced back to a story I’d heard about the time I stuck a raisin up my nose as a toddler. Something about a friend of my mom’s being a nurse and the need to get it out. But how? I was no help.
“Can you see it?” I asked. “You’ve got to get it out. It could get infected. Don’t try to do it yourself. Call your pediatrician.”
We hung up. The boys never moved. They were in the Batman zone. My friend called back two or three more times – she could see it, she couldn’t see it. She called the doctor, and was waiting on a call back. The doctor said to come, so at 4:30 p.m. on Valentine’s Day, she loaded all three of her children into her car and prepared for a Lego extraction.
I knew what it would be like to hold that young, feisty one down. Oh, I did not envy her. I said, “We’ll pray for you.”
When I hung up, the boys were out of the Batman zone.
“Who was that?” they asked. I explained the situation, and their eyes widened in stunned disbelief. Their attention was mine and I seized the moment.
“We can learn two things from this situation,” I said. “One, don’t ever, EVER, stick a Lego, or anything for that matter, up your nose. Two, we can pray. Let’s pray for L, because it is not going to be any fun for her to be held down and have that Lego pulled out.”
I took a breath to begin, but my five year old beat me to it. “Dear Lord,” he prayed. “Help L to get dat Lego out of her nose. And be wiff de doctors, too.”
My three year old clasped his hands hard and squeezed his eyes tight. There wasn’t much for me to add. I exhaled, and watched in wonder as they zoomed off. What a shockingly focused prayer, I thought, after countless nights of “Thank you for fire trucks,” or “No, I don’t want to say nothin’.” I didn't know he was capable of prayer like that.
Two minutes later, the phone rang. It was my friend.
“Courtney, you won’t believe this – it just came out! We were driving and I looked in the mirror, and all of the sudden it was there. So we encouraged her to blow, and it just fell right out. We’re on the way back home now.”
I replied, “You’re not going to believe this, but the boys and I just stopped what we were doing, not two minutes ago, and we prayed for you. We prayed that it would come out.”
This friend of mine, she never misses an opportunity to pray. She said, “Well it worked! Thank you.”
I hesitated for a moment. Should I tell the boys? Should I celebrate God in a dislodged Lego? I mean, really. It's gross - it is so . . . ungodly. And, what if the boys get confused? What if they think prayer is magic and what we ask for just comes?
But in the same instant, I thought about how God watches over the sparrow, he knows my comings and my goings, and he has counted every hair on my head. He isn’t above a misplaced Lego. He can handle gross.
Relying on “faith like a child,” I called the boys.
“Guess what! Guess who was on the phone and guess what just happened?”
I told the story and my five year old said, “Whoa! God just did that?!”
My reply was a high point on this road of motherhood, “Yep. God just did that.”
Do you think God was involved in this story? Have you witnessed something similar?
and on Thursday:
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