When I started reading Elizabeth Esther’s blog, at the recommendation of my friend Sarah, I caught my breath more than a few times. Here was someone who understood and wrote MY heart. How was this possible? By the time she and I met face to face, there was no question our hearts were kindred. At my request, this sweet and wise woman has graced us with her presence here at Heart and Home today.
As you read this, my family is traversing across the United States in the company of my husband’s parents, a dog and a not-so-happy cat. I had every intention of mentioning this fact in the post I never wrote last Friday, but I was highly distracted by the sea of boxes and all the wonderful people who put their lives on hold to help us out this past week. But don’t worry–you’ll be hearing the scoop on the moving truck that wasn’t big enough and the water spilling out of the bathroom and the landlords who were overly eager to have the house re-occupied.
In the meantime, read and be blessed.
It was a blazing hot day in the Yosemite valley. We parked the Suburban on the side of the road and loaded ourselves down with chairs, towels, a picnic lunch. The children took off running across the meadow, headed for the shady trees next to the river.
“Stay on the path! Stay where we can see you! Don’t go near the river!” I shouted after them.
“OK!” they called back over their shoulders.
They were so excited, thrilled to swim on this hot day. I just wanted to find a cool place to rest. I was 9 weeks pregnant with the twins; nauseous and exhausted. The walk across the meadow seemed like the journey of a thousand miles.
I hunkered down and plodded through a meadow buzzing with bees and butterflies. Ahead of me, the children suddenly disappeared around a curve in the path.
Matt and I quickened our step to catch up–they couldn’t hear us if we called. A thread of anxiety weaved its way through my heart. And just as I was about to call out for them, it happened.
A bloodcurdling, violent scream. The kind that makes every mother’s heart stop. It was Jude.
A second scream joined in. James.
“DADDY! DADDY! JUDE IS DROWNING!”
Matt dropped his load and sprinted down the path, over a fallen log and out of sight. I dropped my things and followed, praying harder than I ever have.
“O God, please. Please help.”
Jude’s screams were louder now, more desperate–short sticcato gulps of panic.
I rounded the bend and saw them. Matt was yanking Jude up by one arm. James stood trembling nearby. The screaming ceased.
Jude had fallen into the river. He was submerged up to his neck, hanging onto a clump of grass from the riverbank. A few more seconds and he would have been gone. Matt pulled him out just in time.
The boys walked toward me, heads hanging. They were both crying. For a moment, we couldn’t say anything. It had been such a close call.
“James, why did you lead your brother close to the river?” Matt asked.
“I dunno,” James said, dashing at his face with the back of his hand. “I didn’t think it was that bad. But Jude slipped…”
“You should have listened to us!” I snapped, my voice loud and angry. “Instead, you disobeyed us! Your brother could have been seriously hurt!”
James’ face crumpled and I felt terrible. I was hopped up on adrenaline and really upset. I needed to cool off. We gathered up our things and trudged down toward a sandy spot near the river. No-one was talking.
We unpacked our bags, spread out towels. Matt blew up the inflatable river rafts. The tension eased and the children began to play. Jude was back to being his happy little self.
The afternoon progressed. We splashed around in the river and floated on the rafts. Later on we drove back to our hotel and once there, I sat down with James. I apologized for getting so angry at him. I explained why I had been so upset.
We hugged and kissed. All was well.
But that night, I couldn’t fall asleep. The whole scene kept replaying through my mind.
And then I thought about how Matt had run to the rescue. He had dropped everything and sprinted toward his son without hesitation. Yes, they had disobeyed. Yes, they had gotten themselves into this mess.
But a father’s love for his children is unconditional. It will stop at nothing.
A Father’s love runs to the rescue. A Father’s love runs out to meet His prodigal child.
At that moment, the tears I had been holding inside all day finally splashed down my cheeks.
I’ve never felt good enough. I’ve struggled with perfectionism ever since I was a trembling, fearful child being raised in an oppressive church. I’ve always felt unworthy of love.
But He’s been saying it to me for all my life. And that night, for the first time I finally heard it. I finally believed Him.
Elizabeth, I love you like that, too.
Read more from Elizabeth Esther and let your heart be challenged and encouraged.
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