Unaware and Unharmed

Dear Aden,

I feel as though every letter I will ever write to you starts with a smile. As I start typing your name, I smile just thinking about your most recent escapade of the day. This particular day, you were so unaware of what harm almost came to you.

I want you to know that you make me smile. Every day.

I’m fairly certain you’ll grow up thinking you make me fuss. Every day. You definitely do that too.

But at the end of the day and usually a lot during it, you make me smile.
Today, you made me incredibly grateful to be home and all in bed, instead of at the hospital. We had a soccer game tonight – you scored two goals and Eli scored four. Your dad beamed in pride as he coached you boys. You will never know how proud that man is of the two of you.
After a picnic supper of sandwiches and fruit at the soccer field, we stopped by our house to check out the new construction of today. We have an upstairs floor, finally. But though the studs are up, if you walk too far, you can fall off the upstairs level.
The girls stayed close, but you kept running around upstairs – in the dark – it was already eight o’clock by this point. (This, by the way, was not my finest moment as a mom. I know that bringing four kids to a construction site late at night and walking around an unfinished upstairs area is asking for trouble. But in the moment, it really did sound like a good idea.)
Though we corrected you several times, it seemed as though every time we turned our flashlight a different way, you somehow weren’t near us anymore. Not wanting to stay much longer or risk something happening, we started making our way down the newly formed stairs.
You stepped around the post by the top of the stairs and circled around it to start making your way downstairs. But there was no solid sheeting under your foot. You somehow made your way around the post, and started going downstairs.
I don’t even think you knew just how close you were to falling off the upstairs level of our house. It’s at least a 12-foot drop. Looking down from the top of the stairs to downstairs, your dad and I both shook our heads in disbelief. Though we both clearly saw you step to the outside of the post, there was no floor where you stepped. It was as if someone held your foot up and helped you circle around the post and make your way downstairs.
Unaware of the danger that almost befell you.
But not unprotected.
A preacher I listened to all my college days says there “are angels that guard your destiny.” I don’t know what your destiny is, Aden. But that angel did his job well tonight. I somehow think that all that passion and energy will one day be used for God in a glorious way.
Tonight, I’m just thankful you are okay. That your sleep is sound and your body whole.
Thankful for a God who protects even the littlest of footsteps.
So that you can make me smile again tomorrow.


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