Not on My Watch

Do you have moments you wish you could return to and prevent something from happening? I suspect we all do. I experienced one last week.

You may recall my telling about the eight days I spent in charge of my small grandsons in Calgary last January. With their parents two countries away, I felt paranoid all week that something horrible would happen to one of the boys on my watch. I mentally rehearsed how I’d handle such a disaster.

Nothing ever happened.

Ironically, when we visited them again last week, such fears were farthest from my mind. With their mom in a Zoom meeting at home and their dad running an errand, I decided to take the boys to the park at the end of their street. They rode their bikes and wore their helmets. They enjoyed a swell time on the swings, slides, and climbing equipment. I loved pushing them, catching them, and laughing with them while we soaked up a glorious sunny morning.

When it was time to return home, I began packing our belongings and helping the younger guy put his bike helmet back on. Linus, the four-year-old, had never taken his off. He jumped on his bike and took off. Next thing I knew, a stranger ran toward me carrying a screaming Linus. His mouth appeared to be full of blood, the front of his T-shirt soaked red. A closer look revealed a deep gash in his chin. He was shaking and hysterical.

I’d make a pathetic paramedic. At first, I thought I’d lost my phone. After finding it in my back pocket, I called my daughter with shaking fingers and voice. Long story short, Linus ended up with four stitches in his chin and his parents did not get their “date night” that evening.

I felt horrible.

Yes, I know these things happen. Yes, I know it could have happened even if I’d kept my eyes glued to him. And yes, I know it could have been far worse. None of that stopped me from wishing I’d stayed home in Manitoba. That way, even if Linus took a spill, it wouldn’t have been on my watch.

Funny how we think. No one blamed me. In fact, my daughter said if it had to happen, it was the best-case scenario because I could stay with the two-year-old, freeing both parents to take Linus to the hospital.

Did it have to happen? I suppose as long as we live in a broken world where gravity rules and is (mostly) a good thing, these things do “have to happen.” But I’d gladly split my own chin open and worse if doing so could have spared Linus the pain and trauma. Every parent and grandparent understands that.

I’m relieved to hear Linus is healing swiftly. Hopefully, he’ll be a little more cautious…or maybe not. He is a four-year-old boy, after all.

For me, I suppose it’s yet another lesson in humility and knowing I cannot control everything. Sometimes my best effort isn’t enough. If their parents trust me with the boys again, I hope I’ll be more mindful without becoming a worry-wort, helicopter grandmother. Besides, I’ll never know how many angels surrounded Linus that day, allowing this relatively minor injury while preventing one far more serious.

A teacher I admire once said, “Don’t ask God to keep your children safe. Instead, ask him to make them dangerous. Dangerous to the kingdom of darkness.” That’s a hard one to swallow, but there’s truth in it. I suppose if we allow the hard knocks of life to grow us and our children into more valiant warriors in the Lord’s army, they can be answers to that prayer.

Even if they must happen on my watch.

No Such Thing as Unplanned

If ever a pregnancy were inconvenient, surely this would have been it. At twenty-six, the woman already had four children—two girls, two boys—ranging from age three through eight. She thought she’d hung her last diaper on the clothesline.

Their little three-bedroom home had been fashioned from two former granaries, with no running water and no basement. Her husband had recently incurred a life-altering physical disability. His reduced earning capacity had prompted her to launch a long-dreamed-of career of her own in order to help provide for their growing family. This meant first finishing three years of high school via correspondence, followed by a year of university to gain a teaching certificate. It would require great courage and determination, but they would make it work.

Not a great time to discover you’re pregnant. One could certainly understand and empathize if this surprise interruption brought with it something less than instantaneous joy.

By the time that child arrived, however, these parents had come to terms with the idea. They’d involved the other children in preparing for the new baby. The mother had charged ahead with her education, taking her textbooks with her to the hospital when it came time to deliver so she could study for exams between feedings while she recovered. Two years later, she found herself the only student living in the dorm during the week and returning to her family of five children on weekends.

That fifth baby, that unforeseen little interruption, was me.

Me in 1959

I tease my mother that all her studying while she carried me made me smart. But for all my so-called smarts, it took me over fifty years to piece together the notion that my parents may not have had every reason to feel completely delighted when they learned I was on the way. It wasn’t until an older relative shared with me a story that started me thinking. Maybe I was not exactly “planned.”

This speaks volumes about my parents. That I never felt unwanted or unloved tells me I am one of the truly blessed. One of the “lucky ones,” if you believe in luck.

Now, I can look back over sixty years of life and name eight other people who would not exist today if I had never been born—my children and theirs. On my shelf I see three books that never would have been written, not including those still waiting to be published. More stories, articles, plays, and columns than I can count. No one else would have put those exact words together in that exact way.

I am left with the conviction that I was, indeed, planned. Perhaps not by my parents, but by someone. Someone who knew more than they did.

Do you ever feel unplanned, unwanted? I’m willing to go out on a limb and say it’s safe to assume that a great many of us were not necessarily “planned.” Maybe you were not as blessed as I. Maybe your parents made it painfully evident by calling you “the accident” or the “oopsie baby.” I don’t know who needs to read these words today, but if this describes you, can I make one thing perfectly clear? You are not here by accident. You may be unsure, unworthy, unfaithful, unwise, uneasy, unqualified, unemotional, unavailable, or unfit. But you can never be unloved, unwanted, or unplanned by the God who made you.

In the words of musician Matthew West: I don’t believe in accidents. Miracles, they don’t just happen by chance. As long as my God holds the world in his hands, I know that there is no such thing as unplanned.