Oh Lord, Not My Child
While Daddy was overseas during the Korean conflict, Momma, my older sister, Paula, and I lived on an army base in Kansas. I was about two years old in a neighborhood full of “army brats.” It was spring, and Momma was getting Paula ready to go to a local birthday party. In the meantime, I played in the backyard with my toys that Daddy had sent from Korea.
Momma made sure the fence gate was latched as she kept an eye on me through the bathroom window. Halfway through Paula’s bath, a high-ranking officer’s daughter walked by drinking a cola. She called to me and demanded to see my toys. Now this girl had a reputation for being bad, and Momma saw to it that we kept our distance from her. I knew Momma wouldn’t like me playing with her, so I said no. This angered the girl, so she broke her cola bottle on the curb and stormed into the fence. Momma looked up just in time to see her stabbing me repeatedly in the back with the broken bottle. Momma ran out the door toward me, screaming as the girl quickly disappeared.
My limp body was rushed to the hospital, where a team of surgeons were having a staff meeting. Word got to them, and they immediately came charging through the halls, grabbing me and pushing Momma aside. The nurse assured Momma that I was in good hands and the finest doctors would tend to me. She offered to call the Red Cross to deliver the message to Daddy in Korea, as was their custom.
Time dragged for Momma as she waited for the doctors to bring some news. Then the door opend and she could see their crisp white military uniforms were splattered with blood, and she braced herself. They told her that I was alive, but each puncture wound had missed a vital organ by less than an inch and I had lost a lot of blood. If I lived through the night, I’d have a chance to survive.
In the meantime, the Red Cross was successful in getting word to Daddy, but all he could do was sit in their tent by the phone and wait for the news.
Once she was granted permission to see me, Momma entered the ward and found me unconscious and strapped down to prevent movement. I looked so small and helpless. She stroked my silky brown hair as she cried and pleaded with God, “Oh Lord, please, not my child. Please don’t take my baby.”
Our loving heavenly Father heard and answered her prayers. The next day Daddy and Momma rejoiced that I had made it through the night and had a fighting chance to recover.
Years later Momma was speaking at a Christian ladies’ fellowship meeting that I attended. She touched on how children can easily become the center of our world. Before you know it, they are first in every aspect of our lives. But that can be dangerous, for that’s where Christ wants to be.
She told this story and went on to speak of her five children and how in each child’s life there came a desperate time when she had to relinquish the selfish grip she had on them and yield them to the Lord’s care. In those moments she could only say, “Lord, here’s my child. I give her to you. You may do with her however you see fit. I love her so much, but if you choose to take her, please give me the grace to suffer the loss.”
Momma smiled as she ended her speech by praising the Lord that healing came each time she placed a child at her Savior’s feet.
Through that event, God taught Momma to trust her precious bundles into His care. He will do what is best.
Spiritual Application: To hand a precious little one over into the unseen hands of the heavenly Father shouldn’t be so hard, but it is. Giving Him free rein of your child’s life is extremely difficult but necessary. It takes a lot of faith and trust to hand over what we feel is ours, but you will see … it’s the safest place for them to be.
Lamentations 2:19 says, “Pour out thine heart like water before the face of the Lord: lift up thy hands toward Him for the life of thy young children.”