A Jon Post
My computer is on my lap, a word document is open and I’m sitting here watching my almost-two-year-old daughter playing on a wooden table made of old splintery nail-split pallets. The slats are coming up, the rusty nails are failing in their job of holding mushy, rain ruined wood together and my daughter is dancing on top. Gasher, my huge dog, is pushing at her with his nose and I can’t tell if he’s concerned for her or wants to get up there and dance with her (and probably push her off to a painful landing on the concrete below).
As I write this I’m realizing that there are few things I’d rather do than make unsafe, FDA non-approved, child hazardous pallet tables and watch my daughters dance on them with my dog. I don’t want to watch them fall off those tables or step on one of those splinters or nails but those risks come with dancing on rusty, splintery pallet tables.
Watch The Fall
So when I take my daughters to the hospital with me, like I did yesterday, I have to remind myself, some times it’s ok to let my daughter dance on pallet tables.
See, yesterday we spent some time laughing and playing with Papa João. João is a wonderful grandfather who speaks of his family with immense pride and misses them fiercely while he sits here waiting to finish his 6 months of chemo treatment. From everything I can tell he is as healthy as I could hope for having the cancer he does and we hope together that in 2 more months, when he finishes his 6th and final treatment, he can go home to that family he loves.
But for now, I take my daughters and they laugh and play with Papa João. They are still getting to know him so they want me around when we’re there and yet they are getting more and more comfortable.
So where are the splinters?
Papa João will, one day, stop being there at the hospital. I hope and pray that it’s because he will be home with his family in Mozambique, but there is a chance it will be because he is home with his family in heaven. And, as hard as it is for me to understand death and it’s gruesome victory, I know my young daughters do not yet know why Dad gets scared when, after repeated treatments, the lump hasn’t gone down like it should. My young daughters don’t always see the rusty nail coming when a friend at the hospital is spending more and more time in bed rather than outside laughing.
Yesterday, when we were leaving, I was holding Anaya and we were walking to the car saying goodbye. Standing there with Papa João I said, “Tá tá Papa”, which in her perfect-two-year-old voice Anaya repeated, “Tá tá Papa”. João smiled and replied, “Tá tá Anaya”. Anaya took this as a good reason (with coaxing from me) to try to say “Tá tá Papa João”. Her perfect-two-year-old voice mangled it beautifully and it come out “Tá tá Papa Jollaw”. João loved it, smiled at me and told me how big she was getting and we walked away.
So what scares me about all this? I don’t think my girls understand that there will come a time when they won’t have the chance to say “Tá tá Papa” anymore.
So watch out for those splinters, rusting nails, and nasty falls my precious girls. And keep dancing. I’ll keep making tables for you, you keep dancing, and we’ll trust together that our Savior will kiss the splinters and cuts when they come and make them all better.
Dancing Together