Thursday, July 25, 2013

Blue Eyes Sinking with My Heart

Our sweet neighbor across the street asked us if we'd like to come over and swim in her pool today. She had asked us to come last year, but the weather would never cooperate with the timing. Things worked out today, so we went.

For most of the visit, Everett was too scared to really get into the water. Nora and Henry were in the entire time. Henry was in a life jacket, and he was a lot more comfortable than he ever has been in a pool. Nora started out in her life jacket and quickly moved on to be without it—shocking me with her swimming skills.

As our time was waning, Everett suddenly became a little more comfortable. So, I lingered a little longer than I'd have probably really liked—just because he was finally enjoying it. When it was time to go, and as I was wrapping things up (in conversation) with our neighbor, out of the corner of my eye, I saw flopping. Immediately, I gasped, ran, and hopped into the pool. As I reached out my arms, I saw two huge, bright blue eyes looking at me as they sunk down into the water. I grabbed him out, fearful that I was too late.

The moment the water rushed off his face, little Everett blurted out, "Go! Want go!"

He didn't even cough. Our neighbor said, "That means he was holding his breath that whole time!"

Oh, thank God.

I don't even know how he ended up under the water: he had been staying out of it. There was no splash. He must've willingly walked down the steps and lost his footing . . . so quietly.

At the end of each day, as I'm falling asleep, I find myself saying, "Everybody is here. Everybody is asleep. Everybody is OK. Thank you, God, for getting us through another day."

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