Coulda been a scary story....

And another true confession.  A friend wrote on her Facebook asking what's the best way to get a splinter out of a child's foot.  My answer was to DELEGATE the task to a husband.  You may find this hard to believe, but even with seven children I never once had to remove a splinter.  Jim or one of the older kids, or our household helper, Edith, always did it.

Splinters are in the same category with blood, pus, and other nastiness I avoid with everything in me.

God was very merciful to our children in preventing any major bleeding-type accidents when Jim was not available.  As much as Jim comes and goes, this was truly a miracle.

I'll never forget the day Christopher came into our house in Guatemala announcing very frantically that Timmy was hurt REALLY BAD, and I needed to come quick.  (Just what every mother never wants to hear, right?) I muttered a quick "please help me, Lord!" prayer as I ran outside with him.  There was Timmy crouched on top of the wall leading to our outside laundry room with blood gushing from his hand.

In Guatemala, like in Mexico, properties are often protected with high walls in which jagged glass (broken pop bottles) are imbedded in the cement to deter break-ins.  Somehow the boys had managed to walk with their feet next to the broken glass all the way over to the laundry building.  I don't know why or what they were doing.  On the way back, Timmy started to fall, and caught himself by grabbing onto the wall with his hand, severely cutting it in the process.

There I was, helplessly watching him bleed, stuck on a wall too high for me to reach up and grab him.  Even if I could have managed to get him down, how would I have gotten him to the hospital?  Jim was gone with our only car.  And how would I have gotten a baby, a toddler, a bleeding 4-year-old, plus Christopher on and off the bus?  Back then we had no ATM cards, so how would I get quetzales to pay the medical bill?  Jim had no cell phone, so calling him was not an option either.

Just then, out of the blue, Jim pulled into our driveway.  I don't remember what exactly he had forgotten that required the unexpected trip home, but there he was, just in the nick of time.  He easily lifted Timmy down from the wall, wrapped his hand, and got him to the hospital in a hurry.  What a precise answer to my vague "Help me!" prayer.

God always did care for our children.  He never needed cell phones, prayer chains, Facebook statuses, or email prayer bulletins.  He just needed us to cry out to Him, and He was there.  Maybe some prayer partners were simultaneously alerted to pray for us, I don't know.  Either way, God made it happen.  He sent me a super hero husband (not allergic to blood) to rescue me and poor Timmy precisely when needed.

Now I'm off to Facebook to see what replies my friend got.  Ironically my youngest daughter just came to me complaining that she had a thorn in her foot.  Uh-oh.  Guess I'll have to rise to the occasion or find someone to rescue me again.