My daughter-in-law slipped and fell in the parking lot this morning. It was an icy morning. We had rain and temperatures hovering around the freezing mark. She is not a clumsy person at all, but truth be told, she is 8 months pregnant. So she ended up in the birthing center for observation. She texted me to let me know that she was there and to inform me of what had happened. Why did she tell me about it? Because she knows I am a worrier and if I had found out after the fact that she had been in the hospital and didn't tell me about it, I would have been upset! If I don't have the opportunity to worry about someone I love, then surely I have missed out!
All joking aside, I did some praying and then got back to the job at hand, which today happens to be writing out and addressing Christmas cards. But my mind was on her and my newest grandson. I am very anxious to meet him. He already has a name. He will be the sixth generation namesake. At least, as far as we know, since it is virtually impossible to trace our family tree any further back than the potato famine in Ireland. Record-keeping was pretty sketchy during that period in history, unless you're lucky enough to physically dig up church records or gravestones with your family name on them.
It's a strange kind of pressure, having a family name like that. I wonder if she minds. I didn't mind it when my first son was born. But these days it seems as if nothing is forever anymore, especially marriages and families. I pray that my families all stay together.
Two hours later my daughter-in-law texted me to let me know she was being discharged and everything is fine for now. The little one is safely protected inside his mother, even during a hard fall on the ice. She, however, has some bruises and a scratched knee. I imagine she'll be pretty sore tomorrow. How wonderfully we are made for creating, really, when you think about it...
Psalm 139:15 "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place"