I’ve always said we would never get a trampoline. I’ve heard too many stories of people breaking bones, or spraining ankles, or cracking their heads open while jumping on a trampoline. Don’t get me wrong, I bear no ill will toward people who have trampolines, I just wasn’t interested. We had at least twice when people offered us a trampoline and the answer was always, “No, thank you.”
So wouldn’t you know that a trampoline would be involved the first time one of our kids broke a bone.
It’s a beautiful August afternoon. A neighbor down the street from us has invited us over to their daughter’s birthday party. It’s close enough that we choose to walk. We get there just a little early and my kids head back to the back yard to play. It’s a nice yard, about the size of ours, and they have… a trampoline. My sons are thrilled. They immediately ask for permission to go jump on the “trampolinium” as my second son Ezra calls it.
We say they can and off they run.
My wife and I sit and chat with the other adults as we wait for the other guests to arrive. We can’t see the trampoline from where we’re sitting, but it’s just around the corner. It’s not more than a few minutes when I hear my son Ezra crying in the back yard. Nothing too uncommon there. He likes to play rough and often manages to get hurt.
I stand up and walk over to see what’s going on.
That moment when I see my son is a moment that is seared into my mind. He’s running toward me, crying, and immediately I can tell that something is really wrong.
I found out later that Ezra fell trying to get off the trampoline. It had one of those safety nets and a ladder for climbing up and down, but he just happened to catch his foot on the edge. He fell and caught his weight on his left arm.
Now, as I look at him running toward me, that left arm doesn’t look right. It’s oddly crooked.
I see that and my heart rate quickens. My adrenaline starts to pump. I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, but I know immediately that my son’s arm is broken. My mind starts to race. Am I sure it’s broken? Isn’t this just another one of those times when he’ll shake it off and be fine in five minutes? What am I supposed to do if his arm is broken? I’ve never dealt with this before. No one has ever explained to me what a dad is supposed to do when his son breaks his arm.
While a dozen different thoughts chase each other around in my mind, my son has one goal. He wants to get to me. He doesn’t know what’s going on or what to do either, but he knows if he can just make it to Daddy, Daddy can take care of it. He’s scared and in pain, but once he gets to Daddy, everything will be ok.
Meanwhile, Daddy is freaking out. I’m trying to stay calm on the outside for my son’s sake, but I feel weak at the knees.
Ezra and I meet in the middle of the yard and I sit him down in my lap. The arm is definitely broken. I look around, but no one else has realized yet what’s going on. I’m still not sure what to do, so I call 9-1-1. I don’t know much, but I do know you’re not supposed to move someone with a broken bone so I want to leave it to the experts.
In retrospect, that was probably an over-reaction, but I don’t have a script for this. My son can run to me, but I don’t have someone to run to. He doesn’t know what to do, so he trusts me to figure it out. But who can I turn to? I just want someone to tell me what to do! I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t know how to help my son through this! I’m lost! My son has me, but who do I have?
The ambulance comes. They load up my son and my wife rides along with him to the children’s hospital. I leave my daughter with my mom and take my oldest son to the hospital with me. He’s troubled by this whole thing too and he doesn’t want to leave us. There’s comfort in being close to Mom and Dad when weird things are happening.
I get to the hospital and I still feel like I’m in some kind of weird dream.
I don’t know which entrance to use or what I’m supposed to do to be allowed in at the Emergency Room. I don’t know what questions to ask when they ask if we have any questions or how to move things along when it’s taking forever for anything to happen. I feel confused and helpless. I’m trying to comfort everyone else, but over and over again, I just wish there was someone there to reassure me and walk me through the process, coaching me on what to do next. But I’m the dad. That’s my job.
Through the ordeal, every moment I can, I want to be there next to my son. I might not know everything about how a father is supposed to act in a moment like this, but at least I can be there. I can at least do that. And maybe that’s enough.
We find out that Ezra broke both forearm bones when he fell. It’s a common break and it shouldn’t be complicated for them to treat, but they’ll have to put him under to set his arm before they can put on the cast. I hold his hand as they give him the anesthesia.
Finally, Ezra gets his cast and slowly wakes up. After six long hours at the ER, we are finally heading back home.
The evening is pleasant as we walk from the Emergency Room to where the car is parked. Ezra is still a little unsure on his feet after the anesthesia and all that time lying in a hospital bed, so I hold his right hand as we slowly walk toward the car. It still feels like a dream, looking down at my four-year-old son with that tiny cast on his arm.
At first, as we walk, Ezra holds his broken arm at his side, stiff as a board. Then, he starts to swing it, just a little at first, then more vigorously—more like his normal self—the farther we walk. It’s been a weird day. Ezra has experienced a whole laundry list of things that he’s never experienced before: the pain of a broken bone, an ambulance ride, having an IV, being put under, getting a cast. His mind hasn’t yet figured out what to do with all this, but he knows one thing: Everything is going to be ok because Daddy is holding his hand… and that’s enough.
It’s not until later that it finally deeply dawns on me that all along, my Father has been holding my hand too.
When he wrote Psalm 143, David was facing a difficult time. He’s got enemies who are after him, eager to take his life. He’s in a dark place, overwhelmed and deeply discouraged.
“Hear me speedily, O LORD: my spirit faileth:
hide not thy face from me,
lest I be like unto them that go down into the pit.
Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning;
for in thee do I trust:
cause me to know the way wherein I should walk;
for I lift up my soul unto thee.
Deliver me, O LORD, from mine enemies:
I flee unto thee to hide me.”
(Psalm 143:7-9)
David knew that no matter what his enemies tried to do to him, none of them could touch him without God’s permission. He knew that no matter how great his need was, it was well within God’s ability to supply. God knew the way even when to David it just looked like darkness all around him.
In Psalm 103, David reflects,
“Like as a father pitieth his children,
so the LORD pitieth them that fear him.
For he knoweth our frame;
he remembereth that we are dust.”
(Psalm 103:13-14)
It was nothing compared to the pain and trouble many other people have faced, but when my son broke his arm I felt lost, unsure if I would make the right decisions or shepherd my family in the right way. But all along God was there. He knew what was going on. He knew what needed to happen for my son to get the care he needed. Whether I realized it or not, all along, He was holding my hand.
And when I look back on it, I realize that my son wasn’t the only one running to Daddy that day. Again and again, I prayed short prayers to God asking for help and safety and wisdom and He was only too glad to hold me in His unshaking arms and guide me in ways I didn’t fully comprehend. I didn’t really understand what was going on or what would happen next, but my Father knew and I can always trust Him to handle it well.
I’m going to continue to face situations I don’t know how to handle. This probably won’t be the last time a situation broadsides me and leaves me feeling helpless.
Next time, I’m hoping I’ll be that much quicker to run to my Father. I might be freaking out, but He’s got this under control. When I don’t know what’s happening or how I ought to respond, it’s enough that I can hold my Father’s hand.
Exempla 