Today I was looking for an old photograph to post. The photo depicts me in a body cast with my nickname Eowiggle written across my chest. I can see it in my mind's eye, but I did not find it. It must still be with my parents. In looking for it, I stumbled across my baby book. On the very last page, my mother (Rebecca Jones) describes events that occurred on April 27, 1973 when I was 10 months old.
This account of how God preserved my life as a baby has become more precious to me as I have grown older and have children of my own. It encourages me in numerous ways. The first is the faith of my parents who, with the uncertainty of whether I would live or die, were willing to trust their heavenly Father with their child's life. My mother dedicated me to God right then and there. What a blessing she has been to me through her example and her actions that prove her unshakable trust in God. The second way this story lifts my spirit is it reminds me that God knows the number of our days. He knows the number of hairs on our head. He knows exactly when it will be out time to leave this earth. Is this thinking morbid? On the contrary, it is quite freeing! It frees me not to fear my own death and not to be overly anxious about the safety of my own children. This does not mean I don't struggle with fear. I do. I am tempted to worry whenever one of my kids sets off across town on bike or on the Berlin public transportation system alone. Every time this happens, I am challenged to stretch my faith muscles and trust God with their lives. So when in doubt, I remind myself that they too are in God's strong yet tender hands, just as I was on April 27th, 1973, the day of that terrible accident, when those hands gently placed me on the other side of the guard rail in deep grass. One day those hands will carry me safely to the other side of the guard rails of this life and it will be the right time then.