Episode 14 - Dear Hildegaard: Fledgelings and Flowers

The writer shares two important things about their child, Hildegard. First, Hildegard showed bravery when she held a baby snake and set it free. Second, Hildegard now sleeps with books and cannot sleep without them. The writer also mentions their lazy summer, picking flowers and playing with a plastic bus. However, their peaceful time was interrupted when Hildegard's dad had a bicycle accident. Hildegard was upset but handled it well. The writer reflects on the challenges of life and the love of God. Fledglings and Flowers Dear Hildegard, There are two things worth noting for future generations who will undoubtedly study you, whether for some scientific invention, for writing the next great American novel, or for living the kind of beautiful, ordinary life that others want to imitate. To start, you held your first snake this week, a baby garter I found slithering past our lettuce bed. You didn't hesitate when I handed him to you. You pinched his hide with your baby fingers and looked into his kind eyes. Round pupils are what you want to see. And then we set him free and watched him belly away through the grass together. You bid him farewell with a wave and a bye-bye. You are incredibly brave. The other thing to note is that you now sleep with books. When babies are very little, they aren't allowed to sleep with anything. In fact, parents are encouraged to swaddle their infants, binding their arms to their sides and placing them to sleep on their backs all night. This is because of something called SIDS, which I'll tell you about later because it makes me too sad to talk about. I remember opening up your swaddle in the mornings when you were first born, and your arms would immediately dart out into a big, kneaded stretch. As you got older and could roll back and forth, you were allowed to sleep on your belly. Then when you passed the age of one, I let you take stuffed animals and a light blanket to bed. I also let you take a book or two. Now you can't seem to sleep without them. Even in the dark at night, Dad and I watch you flip through Madeline or Pajama Time before falling asleep. I wonder what will happen when you learn how to read. I'd better get you your own bookshelf and a flashlight. Other than that, we've had a lazy summer, picking sweet peas and flowers from the garden, walking down the street with your plastic yellow bus that you like to fill with sticks and dandelions and rocks, and splashing around with the garden hose in the humid midwestern heat. But our perfect laziness got interrupted last week when your dad got into a bicycle accident. He was just riding home from work, and within hours, he was in the hospital with internal bleeding. You saw him faint on the hardwood floor and sobbed and sobbed at his side while I frantically called different numbers. I wish I could say that I am calm under pressure, but by now you know the truth. When the babysitter arrived and I rushed past you with Dad to get him to the ER, she said that you put your head into your hands for about 30 seconds and sighed, shoulders slumped. You recovered quickly, and all your babysitter's sense have said that you've done great, which makes me incredibly proud, but every night when I come home from the hospital, you held on to me tightly and stroked my face, speaking your dad's name like a question. Daddy? Dadden? Dada? You feel everything deeply. This will be one of your greatest gifts to the world. It will also be one of the greatest challenges of your life. Ask me how I know. They transferred your dad to a hospital farther away that night, and I drove back home to be with you. No one called me until 2 a.m. when a nurse rang my phone. I honestly didn't know what was waiting on the other end of that phone call, and I won't ever forget that feeling. God, please preserve his life. Let us keep him, I whispered before saying a shaky hello. And God did preserve your dad's life, but what's hard about following Jesus and reading the Bible is that we see how often God's children suffer, how being loved by God doesn't mean we won't experience pain, loss, or dizzying grief in this life. I want to give you the formula for avoiding pain or teach you a specific prayer or a way to live that ensures you a trial-free existence, but I can't. I just know this, that God can tell you the exact number of hairs on your head, and he sees every lily in the field and every bird that falls from its mother's nest, and he loves you even more than fledglings or flowers. So do I.