~I’m a bit dazed. I received a message that put me in shock. A small shock, it’s nothing to worry about
…but everything to think about.
The message was regarding our granddaughter, Lexi. She used to spend lots of time with us. She was so small and cute and funny. She bounced around like a little Lucky Charms leprechaun, so I called her my little Lexichaun. “Carry me on your shoulders Papa,” she’d say with a giggle. I’d hoist her up and away we’d go; me and my little Lexichaun. She was—and still is—so ticklish that just the threat of tickling her makes her crack-up. She’s taught me a lot about laughing and living with her ever present smile and constant giggle. She taught me that the laugh of a child is the closest thing this side of heaven to hearing an angel sing.
And then a few years later, she showed me how little kids can be brave as soldiers and forgiving as saints. We were in the boat. It happened years ago, and the memory is a bit faded, but I can still hear the quick zip of line peeling off Shyloh’s reel as she swung her pole to cast. You know; the sound a reel makes when you hook a big one and he makes a run for it. Well, this time the fish wasn’t a fish, but a Lexichaun. My favorite lure covered Lexi’s left eye. Our daughter Shyloh kept sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” One barb from the treble hook of a Mepps Spinner buried deep into her eyebrow. I thought, Thank you Jesus it’s not in her eye.
We cut the line and made our way to the nearest shore. Lexi didn’t flinch. And I think an angel must have met us because a lady appeared and drove us some fifteen miles to the hospital.
Shyloh was hooked deeper with remorse than the hole in Lexi’s brow, but the little girl held no malice and their tearful, giggly hug removed every barb.
Doc used a simple wire cutters and removed the lure just above the skin. And then, with a tiny rod he pulled back the skin where the hook had entered and slid it out. I thought—I coulda done that— but that was after thinking—man, he ruined my favorite lure—um…of course that was only after thinking—thank you Jesus, he got it out.
And then believe it or not Lexichaun apologized to me—to me. “Papa,” she said with a funny looking stitch over her left eye, “sorry I ruined your favorite lure.”
“It’s okay,” I patter her head. “Maybe we ought to call you, Hook-Eye.”
I’ve since replaced my Mepps and Lexi healed up just fine, you can hardly even tell where she was hooked. And Shyloh? Well, she’s the safest caster you ever want to meet.
And then it happened, overnight it seems. Lexi became—God help us—a teenager. Days of our little Lexichaun staying with us grew few and far between. She got busy with school and sports and texting and, possibly but hopefully not, boys.
I figured she was too busy to even think of us, we were too old, too slow, too boring.
“How come Papa’s written about everyone but me?” She asked her mom.
I didn’t think she noticed that I wrote at all—let alone what or who I wrote about.
But once again, my little Hook-Eyed Lexichaun taught me something new. Kids are watching. They may not want us to know it—but they really do.
Lord, help us keep our eyes on You and let it influence how we live, because others have eyes on us and it influences how they live too.
Train up a child in the way he should go,
And when he is old he will not depart from it. Prov. 22:6
I don’t know much about all this modern day techno-geeky stuff like—ipad, iphone, ipod, itunes, ibook, iCloud, iOS—but I do know how to use the best communication device known to man.
I’d love to pray for you—just leave me a message here or e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org
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