It's a Miracle!

I heard him crying out in the dark. The moans grew louder, the pain and discomfort more obvious. I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for my son to wake up and call out that he had to go to the bathroom 'really bad.' He never did. Still, I watched the clock for just over an hour before my daughter stumbled her way into my room demanding to be snuggled. I obliged happily. Shortly after sharing snuggles, she said "I have to go potty Mom and I am hungry." Quietly we slid out of my bed and went into the bathroom, my son's moan floating across the hallway once more.

As my daughter and I emerged from the bathroom in order to forage for breakfast, my son called out. "Mom, I'm hurt! Come help me!" This was unlike him and I walked down the hall a little faster than usual. I turned the corner to his bedroom only to find him sitting naked on his bed and cradling his feet. "My foot hurts really bad mom. There is a red line on my toenail and it hurts really bad." Tears cascaded over his cheeks as he lost control of his emotions, sobbing louder than he had moaned.

"Can I see your foot?" I was concerned. I knew his daddy had put him into footie jammies that were too small for him. I was afraid the elastic may have cut off some of his circulation or pulled up one of his toenails slightly. At the same time, I wasn't too worried because he was know to over exaggerate every little pain. To be honest, I had suspected he was unusually tactilely sensitive.

My request was met with more tears and sobs. Slowly, we worked out a deal that I could see his toe as long as I sat on my hands so her knew I couldn't touch it. Sitting on my hands, he uncovered his foot and rotated so I could see the devastating injury. There was a small red line cutting across the middle of his nail. It looked as if he had bent his nail, causing some minor bleeding. I took pity on him and helped him dress, reassuring him that his toe did not need to be involved in the process and would be perfectly safe.

He limped out of his bedroom, my daughter following closely behind in case he needed assistance. As soon as he made it to the end of the hallway, he began running around the banister which divided the living room, kitchen, and dining room. "Look mom! It doesn't hurt anymore! I can walk and I can run. I don't think I can ride my bike though because its different than running and walking."

"Uh-huh." I said. "It's a miracle! Thank the Lord Jesus for his healing powers." I threw my hands in the air. My daughter copied me, thanking the Lord Jesus and throwing her hands to heaven in a salutation of praise.

After a lot more running and the preparation of our breakfast applesauce, breakfast bar, and milk, we all climbed into our chairs. All of the joy we had about the miraculous healing disappeared as he kicked his toe on the chair leg. My son was in great pain once again. I was just lucky that daddy walked through the door at that minute. After a quick explanation of the momentary miracle and new bout of tears, I left the room to finish getting ready for work. I returned just in time to witness the second miracle.

My husband was sitting at the table with a piece of wadded up tissue, cautiously running it over the top of my son's toe. "See." he said as my son's eyes and mouth grew into large ovals, "It's was just a little bit of left over toe nail polish. You're fine."

"Wow Dad! You're grawesome!" my son said. He grabbed his plate, put it in the sink and immediately jumped on his bike, showing off his new physical prowess. I was tempted to praise the almighty for his everlasting healing power, but knew it would be just as legitimate to thank the inventor of nail polish remover.