The Miracle

At 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning, my bedroom door opened.  Not the bedroom door right across the hall from my little boy's bedroom door, but the other one.  My little boy came into my room and told me he'd had a nightmare.

I hugged him to me for a few minutes, then asked, "Was your nightmare that a little boy had left a green crayon in his pocket when he put his jeans in the laundry?"

He looked up at me.  "No."

"Oh," I said.  "That's the nightmare I'm living right now."  Green crayon had been smeared across every piece of my brand new cream towel set, and had left a big blob of Oobleck on the expensive bath mat.

He continued to cling to me.  I rubbed and patted his back some.

"Why did you go all the way around the house when you could have just crossed the hall?" I asked him.

"I didn't want to wake Daddy."

I didn't comment on his lack of hesitation in waking me. That's what moms are for, and a mom is what I have always wanted to be.

I could have asked him to tell me about his nightmare, but I was afraid we would both wake up too much.  I'm an early riser, but 4:00 a.m. on a Sunday is a bit much.  Especially on a Sunday morning when I experienced a devastating laundry disaster at 11:00 the night before.

Then, he asked me if I would sing him his favorite hymn.  I've been singing this hymn to him all of his life.  I remember well the first time I did so, when he was just a few months old.  He was lying on the couch, probably following a feeding or a diaper change, and I had sung the lilting, comforting hymn to him, watching his eyes grow round in wonder as I did so.  My husband, who doesn't think I sing well at all (compared to himself, and it's true), graciously said, "He thinks you're miraculous."

It may or may not be miraculous for a mother to sing a certain hymn to her child throughout his childhood, but hearing that certainly did not discourage me from continuing.

One Sunday when this child was about four years old, his hymn was selected as the opening song in church.  As the introduction was played, I turned and watched him to see recognition spark in him.  And it did.  He turned his head sharply toward me, and we smiled at each other across various siblings of his who were sitting between us.

As I've said before, I'm not much of a singer, though I wish I were, and a request to sing a hymn at 4:00 a.m. is a temptation to decline, but I knew I could not deny this child that favor, and I told myself that I would only sing the first verse.

So, I did.  My son continued to cling to me, and I continued to pat and rub his back.  I paused after the first verse, then launched into the second.  When I was done, he was ready to face his demons and go back to bed.

Later that day, as the sacrament portion of our church meeting was starting, this little boy, sitting on the other side of his sister, caught my attention.  He whispered, "I'm sorry I left a crayon in my pocket."

I smiled at him.  Here was the miracle.

This child, if caught doing something wrong, struggles mightily with admitting it.  He has trouble not attaching himself to things he sees which are not his but that he likes.  He has trouble being where he is supposed to be and doing what he is supposed to do.  He is often in more trouble for lying than for whatever the original offense was that he is lying about.

I whispered back words of forgiveness, and we both took the sacrament.