Have I got a story for you.

As a mama of 3 boys I always wonder how on earth we’ve made it this far (13, 11 and 9 respectively) without a broken bone.

Let me rephrase that.

As a mama of 3 boys who like extreme sports, I always wonder how on earth we’ve made it this far without a broken bone.  But we have.  Sure, they play volleyball and basketball at school with the rest of the kids but away from school is bmx’ing, skateboarding and snowboarding.  There are jumps involved.  And spins and grabs.  And rails.  Why on earth there has to be metal rails I will never understand but there does.  And there is.

So while there has yet to be a bone broken there has been lots of blood.  Band-aids.  Polysporin if the hubs is home.  There’s been road rash and carpet burn and trampoline….um…tradgedies.  There’s been pulls and sprains and muscles that hurt and legs that ache and backs and necks that require regular trips to the chiropractor.  The fight before they all hop in to bed is always who gets the hot water bottle.  I really should just buy more.  (pocketing that little idea for a silly yet insanely practical easter gift!)

I knew that when I got a text the other day from my man that only said, “Little has a story for you….” that it was going to be a good one.  If it was no big deal they would have just told me in the text.  This was good enough to have to tell in person.

I had a few guesses.

  • He landed a 360 with a grab, Travis Rice rode by at just that time, saw it and now wanted him in The Art of Flight Part 2.  
  • He almost landed a 360 grab but instead fell on his head requiring snow patrol to come and rescue him scoring him a ride on the snow mobile down the mountain. (and a concussion to boot)
  • He lost a tooth?

I knew when they got home and came in all calling for me, dashing about the house to secure my location, that this was going to be good.  What I didn’t expect was that it was going to be completely terrifying.

My little didn’t say anything.  He was quiet with a shy grin on his face.  The others were coaxing him to tell but he wouldn’t.  This was bigger than I thought or he would have blurted it out excitedly.  But he was hesitant.

“You guys!”  I proclaimed, possibly stamping my feet cause I couldn’t take the suspense anymore, “just TELL me!”

Or not.  Turns out they maybe shouldn’t have.  But since I’ve come this far i’m assuming your thinking the ‘just tell me’ thing like I was.

Turns out, you guys, that my boy nearly fell off the chairlift.

We’re talking dangling.

Like, not at the end when its only 15  feet and you’re preparing to unload.  No, more like 100 feet?  If one can guess how far the ground is away when you’re at that point when you don’t really want to look straight down because it’s really really far and there is no seat belt on this sucker.

I wasn’t there so I don’t know exactly how it all went down I’m just so thankful that HE didn’t go down.  But the story is something like, he shimmied, a board got caught, this must have slid him forward towards the edge of the seat and soon enough his little bum was sliding off.

Thank the Lord above that he had (the heroic) Dad on one side and big brother on the other.  As his bum slid off the chair he let out a gasp and somehow grabbed onto the leg that was on either side of him and held on for dear life.  Dangling.  From chairlift.

The heroic hubs saw bum slip, heard gasp and lunged to grab….anything….but what he got was the hood of his jacket.  The hood of his jacket, you guys!  In one quick swoop he grabbed onto it and yanked it so hard and put that kids little butt right back where it belonged.  Firmly planted on the seat.

I will never purchase another jacket for children without a hood.  I solemnly swear.

I had to sit down, after hearing this tale.  I looked that little boy straight in the eyes and grabbed hold of his little face, fear still deep in his heart from what had happened and I just looked.  Hard.  Thank the Lord Jesus for not letting you fall.  Thank-you dear Jesus for whatever angels were there to catch you and hold you in those split seconds while daddy grabbed your hood.  Thank-you God that I can peer straight into these eyes without a thing wrong with his body besides a right good scare.

Because we know that it wasn’t him grabbing onto the legs on each side that saved him.  Or daddy yanking him up.  Or the hood of his jacket.  It was, it is, only and always because the Lord God wasn’t finished with him yet.  He saved him.  He kept him.  He gets the thanks.  Over. And over. And over, again.


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