Brighten Your Insides
Daddy Hands
I awoke in the night to find my husband, Marty, gently rocking
our baby
son, Noah. I stood for a moment in the doorway, watching
this amazing
man with whom I was so blessed to share my life, lovingly stroke
Noah's
fat pink cheeks in an effort to comfort him. I felt in my
heart that
something was seriously wrong with Noah. This was one of
several nights
Noah had been up, burning with a high fever.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched my beautiful husband move
Noah's
little cheek up against his own chest, so that Noah could feel
the
vibrations of his voice. Noah is deaf. Learning to
comfort him has
brought on a whole new way of thinking for us. We relied on
our voices,
a soothing lullaby, audio toys, and music to comfort our other
children. But with Noah, we need to use touch, his soft
blankie, sight,
the feel of our voices, and most importantly, the use of sign
language
to communicate emotions and a sense of comfort to him.
My husband made the sign for "I love you" with his hand
and I saw a tear
roll down his cheek as he placed Noah's tiny, weak hand on top of
his.
We had taken Noah to the doctor more times than I can
remember. It had
been a week and a half and Noah's fever remained very high and
very
dangerous, despite everything the doctor or we had tried. I
knew in my
soul the way only a mother can know, that Noah was in trouble.
I gently touched my husband's shoulder and we looked into each
other's
eyes with the same fear and knowledge that Noah's wasn't getting
any
better. I offered to take over for him, but he shook his
head, and once
again, I was amazed at this wonderful man who is the father of my
children. When many fathers would have gladly handed over
the parenting
duties for some much needed sleep, my husband stayed stubbornly
and
resolutely with our child.
When morning finally came, we called the doctor and were told to
bring
him in again. We already knew that he would probably put
Noah in the
hospital. So, we made arrangements for the other children, packed
bags
for all three of us, and tearfully drove to the doctor's office
once
again. Our hearts filled with dread, we waited in a small
room,
different from the usual examining room we had become used
to. Our
doctor finally came in, looked Noah over, and told us the news we
expected. Noah had to be admitted to the hospital.
Now.
The drive to the hospital in a neighboring town seemed
surreal. I
couldn't focus on anything, couldn't think, couldn't stop
crying. My
husband reassured me that he felt in his heart that Noah would be
okay.
We admitted Noah and were taken to his room right away. It
was a
tortuous night, filled with horrible tests that made my son's
tiny
little voice echo though the halls as he screamed over and over.
I felt as if I were shattering from the inside out. My
husband never
wavered in his faith. He comforted me and Noah, and
everyone who called
to check on Noah. He was a rock.
When the first batch of tests were done, the nurse informed us
that a
spinal tap would be performed soon. Meningitis was
suspected. Marty and
I had prayer together with Noah. Our hands intertwined, we
held our son
and the love of my life lifted his voice to the Lord, telling him
how
grateful we were for this awesome little spirit with whom he had
entrusted us. With tears streaming down his face, he humbly
asked the
Lord to heal our son. My heart filled with comfort and
gratitude.
A short time later, the resident doctor came in. He told us
that Noah's
first results were back, and that he had Influenza A. No
spinal tap was
needed! Noah would recover and soon be back to his zesty,
tornado
little self. And Noah was already standing up in the
hospital crib,
bouncing like he was on a trampoline. My husband's talk with the
Lord
was already being answered.
Marty and I grinned at each other through our tears, and waited
for Noah
to be released from the hospital. Finally, in the middle of
the night,
our own doctor came in and told us that it was fine to take Noah
home.
We couldn't pack fast enough!
A few days later, I was cooking dinner. Noah was healing,
slowly but
surely. I felt at peace and knew my husband was the
greatest father I
could ever want for my children. I peeked around the corner
into the
living room, and chuckled at the picture I saw. There was
my husband,
sitting in his "daddy chair", Noah in his lap.
They were reading a
book, dad taking Noah's teeny hands to help him form the signs
for the
words in the book. They both looked up and caught me
watching them, and
my husband and I simultaneously signed "I love you" to
each other, then
to Noah. And then Noah put his little arm up, trying to
shape his
chubby hand in his own effort to sign "I love you" to
his daddy. I
watched with tears as my husband carefully helped him form his
tiny
fingers into the sign with his own gentle hands. Daddy
hands.
Susan Fahncke
xoxosooz@fawnkey.com
My 3 grandsons were visiting and accompanied me
to the doctor's office.
When I went in, I told them to say their prayers for me that
everything
would be ok. The one about 4 years old said he didn't know
his prayers
but he knew his ABC's. Would that be ok. I told him
yes, indeed.
--Loraine Hoyt
At a Milwaukee post office, a woman complained
to the clerk that a
Pony Express rider could get a letter from Milwaukee to St. Louis
in two
days, and now it takes three. "I'd like to know
why," she scoffed.
The clerk thought a moment and then suggested, "The
horses are a lot
older now?"
A second grader came home from school and said
to her mother, "Mom, guess
what? We learned how to make babies today."
The mother, more that a little surprised, tried to keep her
cool. "That's
interesting," she said, "How do you make
babies?"
"It's simple," replied the girl. "You just change
y to i and add es."
An archaeologist was digging in the Negev
Desert in Israel and came upon a
casket containing a mummy. After examining it, he called the
curator of a
prestigious natural history museum.
"I've just discovered a 3,000 year old mummy of a man who
died of heart
failure!" the excited scientist exclaimed.
To which the curator replied, "Bring him in. We'll check it
out."
A week later, the amazed curator called the archaeologist.
"You were
right about the mummy's age and cause of death. How in the world
did you
know?"
"Easy. There was a piece of paper in his hand that said,
'10,000 Shekels
on Goliath'."