This afternoon we were racing out the door to try and get Graham to a radiology center to get x-rayed in case he had swallowed a magnet. (He hadn't, praise God.) I was hustling everyone into the car, and Meg was fretting about something for which we didn't have time to stop. "Meg," I cut her off, "It's ok. Trust Mommy and trust the Lord." (That's an order!)
"Yeah!" piped Esme, with all of the grace and cheer my own words lacked. "He got da whole world in his hands, Meggie! Evyting's gunbe ok!"
Do you ever have these moments with your children? The moments where you stop and look at them and think, "Who are you, and what have you done with the child who threw three fits this morning because someone looked at you the wrong way?" Sometimes all I can do is choose to believe that God in His kindness is speaking through my children a word that we (ok, I) need to hear at that moment.
"That's right, Esme," I said, when I finished gaping at my little sage. "He does have the whole world in his hands." Meg brightened up immediately, and I tried to take the message to heart as I hopped into the driver's seat.
And believe me, "He's got the whole world in His hands" was precisely the message that I needed to bear in mind for the rest of this day, as our wait at the radiology place dragged on... and on... and on... and I finally burst into tears in front of the receptionists when I realized they still didn't even have us in the queue... and then we waited some more... and my plans for a nice roast chicken dinner went up in smoke. (Or rather, stayed in the refrigerator.)
He's got the whole world in His hands, Cara. Everything's gonna be ooooookay.