Then another interesting event occurred. We ate supper at my parents the other night. We girls were chatting in the backyard. The boys were in the garage revving up motorcycles (I think). Doug came back and motioned me to follow him. His stern look concerned me only slightly. Without saying a word, he led me to my car which now barely held a rear windshield with a bazillion tiny little cracks on the verge of shattering. And an 8-year old boy, standing by, ready to burst into tears.
A rock, no bigger than one-inch in circumference, was nonchalantly tossed in the air by our young son. And apparently it landed on the Achille's heel of the glass. To think that I've been worried about my kids puking in the car that was only purchased last May. Or even spilling something.
"God must not want me to have this car," said me, stupidly as I stared at the perforations, trying to fathom what happened.
But Dad reminded me God probably has a few other issues to deal with. Then I noticed how my son really needed comfort with his twisted look of terror and regret. Poor kid. The only thing to do was to hug him.
For the past few days, both incidents had me wondering if it was bad Karma or if the Universe was trying to send me a message. Then it came.
Yesterday Cole cuddled up to me on the couch. With his baby blues eyes he looked up at me and said, "You know the other day when I broke the windshield? That day Grandpa said to me, 'Now you know how bad I felt when I ran into your Mom's car.' But Mom? He couldn't have felt as bad as I did. I felt really, really bad."
I've been really concerned about Cole going down the wrong path. But you know what? There's no way that kid is turning to the Dark Side. There's way too much good in him. He's as good as....his sister.
2 comments:
Love those pictures and love those children.
Very sweet post!
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