My father says the hand that grabbed me was that of a well dressed woman who, once having saved my life, then promptly melted into the Pre-Christmas bustling mob without a word. Who was she? I don't know. Would I have lived without her attentiveness and quick reflexes. Nope. Not likely.
Mercies. We have all heard about them, read about them, experienced them. And yesterday I lived through another. My daughter plummeted through a gap in the floor of our framed home, onto a concrete floor below, with only a bump on the head to show for it. She was making her way down the newly constructed stairs of our home-in-progress when she stumbled, pitched sideways onto some light foam that had been laid across the opening to the basement stairs, and disappeared below.
I was behind her. I saw it happen. I heard her shriek. I saw her curl in on herself. Saw the blue foam snap in two. And then saw nothing. And in my head: Please. Please. Please. Please. Then she cried. And I knew she was alive, and that it was ok to breathe again.
After her grandfather tore down the steps after her, and carried her back up to us, it didn't take long for us to discover a long raised bump on her scull where she, no doubt, smacked her head on a step before she hit the concrete. No bones broken. Memory intact:
"What did Oma and Opa give you for St. Nicks?"
" A faery--no, an angel dress."
And after a bit of well deserved sniffling, she was back to munching on raisin bread and arguing with her brother. I know that God giveth and taketh away. But he chose to keep her safely within our wordly grasp this day. And I have been thanking him all day long.
" A faery--no, an angel dress."