I've got your back, good buddy is a common phrase truckers use when chatting on their trusty CB radios. Years ago, in a time when cell phone technology was still being tweaked, we purchased our CB radio for 16-hour drives from Alabama to Chicago. We bought it after being helplessly stranded for hours, hours from home, with a 1-year-old in the wee hours of the morning, near a scary state prison. It was comforting to know that, if we again had car trouble on the highway, a kind trucker might one day have our backs.
February 2011, Chicago received a near-record 20-inch snowfall the day I (delay) air-traveled to Chicago to help my (new-mom) daughter. Her hubby was at his annual conference. That frightful day holds a story all its own, with my lost foreign-cabby, and building-high snow piles completely hiding streets and signs. But, instead I blog about day five of the visit.
It is bedtime as I wearily climb a flight of steps. I stop at my daughter's room to see how our unusually fussy 6-week-old is doing. She desperately looks at me teary-eyed and says: It’s been an hour and I can’t get him to sleep. I don’t feel well and vomited.
I am shocked that she hadn't called me earlier for assistance. That's why I'm here. She is definitely one determined girl: Maybe the baby has been extra fussy the
past few days because he’s sick. You desperately need rest! I'll take care of the baby.
I rock our little treasure for a while and then try the "stand-&-bounce" method with no success. In desperation I lay him on the changing table, mainly to check his diaper. To my shock-and-awe, he immediately settles. I prayerfully cup my hand over his tummy. Could it be he’s falling asleep? I wait for deep-sleep signs: One deep breath and twitching eyelids. I don't dare move him. Not yet.
How long can I stand here? Not long. Aha! Where there's a will, there's a creative way. My [elasticized] free arm s-t-re-t-c-h-e-s,
r-e-a-c-h-e-s for, and drags the upholstered rocker close to the changing table. I gingerly sit, with my hand somehow still covering his tummy. I identify with elderly Moses' weary appendages (Exodus 17).
After about 15 minutes I slowly lift my hand, prepared to quickly replace it if necessary. Whew, that works! I slide my two open palms under his peaceful head and limp body, gently raise him, shuffle a few steps to his sleep recliner, and breathlessly and safely situate him. Done! I tiptoe out of the room, gingerly close the door, and curl up in bed (it feels so good).
Miraculously, he sleeps until 4:00 a.m., allowing Mommy the beginnings of rejuvenating rest. This grandma receives her needed sleep to prepare for the next day’s staircase climbs to wash and dry multiple vomit laundry loads, and grocery shop for Gatorade and soup to nurse my nursing daughter back to health, and help care for a special little guy.
I'll never be good enough (even though I valiantly strive to accomplish life on my own strength). Jesus heroically took floggings on His back. Roman floggings were so brutal, that sometimes the victim died before crucifixion. God is good, He loves me, and His back received those floggings, for me. I need His saving grace and His mercy (John 3:16).
I'll not soon forget that exhausting 24 hours and that potentially harrowing night. It is permanently stored in my March 21, 2011 journal entry, and now it is blogged. That night I was once again reminded there is One who sticks closer than a brother (Proverbs 18:24). Hanging on the cross, He had the foresight and fortitude to care for his widowed Mother Mary. If Jesus possessed that power, in the midst of physical torture... WOW!
He's.got.my.back.
Tres Bon.
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