My ten-year-old son is going in for an MRI today. In his first year of tackle football, third game, he hyper extended his knee trying to get to the end zone. The mom in me is furious with myself for letting him play tackle football. I had tears of concern the first day of his practice, worrying mostly about concussions and long term health effects.
But as I watched him play, and the joy it brought him, I was reminded that we are not called to live a life of fear, but rather of trust that God will protect us.
Though I completely subscribe to this idea, it didn’t stop my heart from dropping when I saw my son got hit. It didn’t squelch the tears when he didn’t get up. It didn’t slow my steps when they carried him off the field, and it didn’t stop my shaking fingers as I wiped away his tears and told him everything would be okay.
So today after school is the MRI. The better picture of what the orthopedic surgeon says will give him a better idea of the damage done to his knee. I zoned out when he talked of scopes and screws and putting my son to sleep, afraid that Caleb would pass out right then and there hearing the words.
But he didn’t and I feel amazingly peaceful today that God’s got in all in His hands…His HUGE hands.
Silver Lining: My son is at the age that injuries are “COOL.” So instead of the deer in the headlights look I glimpsed on his face in the doctor’s office the other day, he seems to think it’s no big deal.
Maybe it is No Big Deal, and God’s teaching me not to be afraid. Teaching me to rest in the knowledge that He’s got it all under control. I do believe that, and I do know that, but I still think I’ll wait for the MRI results to come back before I REST in that.