The Trouble at Wal-Mart

Broken.  That's how my heart felt, sitting in the urgent care clinic with my baby girl with a swollen finger, possibly broken.

"What's wrong with your little one?" asked the receptionist.

"Minivan door.  It shut on her finger." Feeling dejected, I looked down at the clipboard and finished filling it out. Picking up my toddler, I returned the clipboard to the receptionist and sat to wait until our name was called. She sat on my lap and held her hand up with fingers extended. Her index finger on her right hand was twice as large as the one on the left.

It all had happened so fast. We were at Wal-Mart, just baby and me. I grabbed my purse and went to the other side of the van to get her out of her car seat. Sliding the the door open, I reached over to hit the automatic lock button, so it would lock up when I shut it.

After taking the baby out of her seat, I yanked on the door to slide it shut. As I turned to go, my daughter reached out her hand. Before I could stop it or pull her away, the door shut on her finger.

I was ready for an avalanche of tears, but she didn't cry at all.

Maybe the finger wasn't stuck in the door. A little tug. Oh, yes it was. My daughter began to cry. All the doors were locked. The baby's finger was stuck, and so was I. My key-less entry button on my keys didn't work, and there was only one way to open the doors once locked—the driver's side door—on the other side of the minivan.

My heart was racing. I couldn't calm down. I couldn’t think. I breathed in through my nose for a count of seven and slowly exhaled out of my mouth. I needed to be calm, to stay in control. I had to think. But, what could I do? She was stuck. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t put her down. Where her finger was pinned in the door, she couldn’t reach the ground.

Deep within me, came a cry, louder than I thought I possible. "Help, help!  My baby!  Please, somebody, help me!"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man running toward me.  He was a young man with skin the color of brown sugar. I handed him my keys. "Please. My baby's finger is stuck ... I can't unlock the door on this side."

The man sped to the other side of the van and shuffled with the keys until he found the right one and tried it. I shook my head no. The door was still locked. He went into the van and manually unlocked it.

The door came free. I held my baby close. The young man handed me the keys as I was breathing a prayer of thanks. He smiled at me, then he ran off. I didn't even get his name or get to thank him. The way he sped to my rescue and then raced away, I wondered if he was an angel.

By now, my daughter's finger was swelling and so was her crying. Back into the van.  Forget Wal-Mart, we needed to go to the urgent care clinic. On the way there, my adrenaline level was at an all-time high. Little condemning thoughts kept on antagonizing me. 

It's all your fault...you're a terrible mother...she'll be scarred for life...

Then I remembered who I am. As a go to for when I’m struggling, I had been compiling all the new names that God gives us when we trust in Christ. Those names returned to me now:

You are Chosen, Accepted, Daughter of the King…

Breathing a sigh of relief, I parked the car at the clinic. Self-contempt doesn't have a chance with a heart resting in God's grace.

At the clinic, the doctor asked if our car had a door sensor that stopped it when it detected something in the way.

"No. No sensor." 

More condemning thoughts trickled in, but this time about others. Car companies care more about money than people's safety...big business is just corrupt like that...Aw, I shouldn't go there either. It would only steal my peace. Anyway, not all minivans had that sensor and ours was an older model. 

And, what about the guy who helped me unlock the door?  He probably wouldn't have been the first person I would have asked for help. I prefer asking a person who is in uniform. It feels safer. But, the person I least expected was my hero. And it turned out that my daughter’s finger wasn’t broken, and as she rested against my chest, she seemed to have recovered better than me. I was still panicky and unable to settle completely for some time.

The thing is, we're all broken people, living in a broken world. We'll never be in a place where something in our lives doesn't need fixing. And, though it seems like we're in control sometimes, we're really not.

If we walk by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7), knowing that the Lord is with us and there to help us, then eventually we will have peace. Sometimes right away, and other times, we have to wait for it.

One day Christ will return, and He will make all things new (Revelation 21). He will restore everything that has been broken in this world.

Until then, we can wait and rest in His grace, releasing control to His holy Sovereign will and thanking Him for the little things like an unsung hero at Wal-Mart and soft bones that didn't break.