As I write this, one of my religious education (PSR) students, a second-grader, is lying unconscious in an intensive care unit with fluid mysteriously pooling in his brain. I went to visit him yesterday with Kim, my dear friend and PSR director. The doctors drained fluid Wednesday night and again Thursday morning. As far as I know tonight, there are still no answers.
When I think of what this child’s parents are going through, I am embarrassed to admit that I spent most of Wednesday stressing over why my daughter has field trip anxiety.
Of all things.
Wednesday night I came home from PSR exhausted and upset. I shared the news with the Hubster and my own children. Then I ceremoniously turned off the porch light and slowly headed up the stairs. It struck me how simple that little act is – turning off the porch light. When it is turned on, it is done so with little thought to what all will transpire while it burns, what the day – or night – will hold. But turning it off – that has always held significance for me… like the closing of a book, the lowering of a flag, or the kiss goodnight. It means the day is done and we are all safe at home together. Wednesday night our home ended the day whole, unscathed. Another family’s did not.
So while I still inwardly reel from recent news of potential legislation that protects the pesticide industry over human health, I hope you will forgive that I just don’t feel like talking about it today. While this issue is important, my political soapbox is not my priority right now.
If you pray, may I ask that you add my student to your list next time you talk to The Big Guy? For his family’s privacy, I am not sharing his name here. “The busy little boy with the big smile” will identify him just fine.
May your family be blessed, may your children be safe, and may all your prayers be answered.