Earlier this month, my grandson was quite sick. He was in the ICU, treated with IV fluids, oxygen machines, suctioning, and frequent breathing treatments. It had to be difficult for him to understand.

With each new torture, he signed, “All done, all done!” willing it to be over. As each torture finished, he clapped his hands, “Yay, yay!” And often, he followed that clapping with his simple word, “Tanku,” aka, thank you.

I’ve reflected on this now that he is home, safe and healthy. Yes, he’s a happy baby with a big heart, but that couldn’t explain all his reactions.

Finally, I realized it was trust. He trusted his parents and me, and therefore also the hospital staff. He had no idea why we were doing things he didn’t like or understand, but he knew we loved him and wouldn’t hurt him.

It reminds me of God’s words in Jeremiah: I know full well the plans I have for you, plans for your welfare and not for your misfortune, plans that will offer you a future filled with hope (29:11, NCB).

We want to trust God because we know he loves us and wants the best for us – but it’s not easy.

We question his wisdom: “God, I have a better idea…”
We second guess his plans: “Are you sure God? This doesn’t seem right to me.”
And we doubt his love: “If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t put me through this.”

We all go through tough times. It’s part of the human experience. But just because we’re struggling doesn’t mean God abandoned us. Just because life gets difficult doesn’t mean God isn’t right here, walking us through it.

So next time I have trouble trusting God’s plans, I will remember my grandson’s example and say, “Tanku, God.”

We love celebrating New Year’s Eve with fireworks, but our tradition almost didn’t happen the year Jordan was born.

The weather was exceptionally cold, and tiny sleet crystals fell off and on throughout the day. An ice-crusted blanket of snow covered everything in sight. It was too cold for the girls and I to go outside, and there was nowhere clear enough for Neil to set off fireworks.

Jordan was only three days old and Jackie not yet two years, both too young to know what they were missing. But Gina was seven, already well acquainted with the tradition, and disappointed to give it up just because the weather was bad.

“Please, Daddy,” she begged. “There’s got to be something you can do!”

After mulling it over, Neil did what any dedicated dad would do, and came up with a plan. He decided to set the fireworks off on our deck.

He spent the late afternoon in preparation. He chopped ice off the railings and threw it overboard. He shoveled a path down the middle of the deck and salted it to minimize sliding. He made sure the windows were clear of winter dirt and dragged away any potentially flammable outdoor obstacles.

Once darkness fell, Neil pressed the oversized living room chair against the French doors and settled me in the middle with the baby nuzzled asleep in my lap. He perched Jackie and Gina on piles of fluffy blankets and excitedly revealed his plan.  Bundled up like the Michelin Man, he headed outside.