PART 1 of this story is how we *miraculously* stay at the Hilton, for free.
PART 2 of this story is how we *miraculously* find our lost passports, in a dustbin.
PART 3 of this story is how, on the morning after PART 2, Cameron asks, ‘Mom, have you seen my iPad?’
And I’m like, You have GOT to be kidding me.
He hasn’t needed it since we’ve been home – on account of collapsing in a sleeping heap of jetlag.
Now he needs it.
Cam doesn’t need his iPad like other kids need devices like oxygen. Too much screen time actually makes his eyes ache. He avoids it.
He NEEDS his iPad because it’s how he takes photos of homework boards and too-small worksheets when he’s away from his big magnifiers. It’s how he reads on his Kindle app with the text as big as he likes and it’s how he pinches-to-zoom and plays chess and listens to books. It’s also how he makes truly awful music on GarageBand (that part is the same as other kids).
And his iPad is missing. A family conference to jog the memory of our every movement in the last 24 hours confirms that we left it on the plane between two seats.
My first thought: Oh well. It’s insured. And I don’t have to go to Home Affairs!
My second thought: This is embarrassing. We are NOT that family! We are the family who checks the seat pockets in front of us to make SURE we haven’t left ANYTHING on the plane! Except, we left our passports at the airport, so maybe we ARE that family?
My third thought: What if God is doing another miracle?
Murray phones British Airways lost-and-found. Gives our seat numbers. Describes the iPad. ‘It’s got my son’s name and my wife’s phone number…’
Yip. They’ve got it.
Murray drives back to the airport, with Cam, who needs to be there to swipe in his secret code and claim it in person. They have to take their passports, to prove their identity. Good thing we have passports, ha ha. Be sure to bring them BACK from the airport, I joke. (Too soon?)
Cam comes home with his iPad and as far as we can tell, all our people and possessions are now fully accounted for.
This may not seem like a miracle to you. People leave things on airplanes all the time, and nice flight attendants guided by policy and integrity retrieve them and return them.
But again, God was saying to me,
I’ve Got This.
Because so much of my fear of the future is around our boy.
A tactless, well-meaning person actually said to me recently, ‘What’s Cameron going to do one day when you guys are dead? How will he manage his life? How will he work and get around and stuff?’
He’s super smart and cute and resourceful and gregarious and even though he owns his visual impairment with humility and mature nonchalance he simultaneously thinks there’s nothing wrong with him at all and so in the warm light of day I’m convinced God’s future for our boy is brightly lit and beyond my biggest imaginings.
But I’m his mom and so in the dark hours of the night I sometimes fall prey to strange and silly and real and imagined fears that are even darker and I let them loose in torrents of anxious prayer –
Please Jesus he’ll need a superb education. Public transport or a massive Uber account or a self-driving car. A safe place to live. Near his brother. A high-capacity wife who loves-loves-loves him and will never get annoyed when he doesn’t notice she’s done something different with her hair because God You know he just can’t notice that stuff and it’s not his fault and maybe Jesus You could just heal him? Please.
And the lost-then-found very-important-iPad was God’s way of reminding me,
I love your son more than you do. I’ve watched him from the womb and when you’re dead and gone I’ll still be watching, and walking beside him. I know the plans I have for him. I know just what he needs. Like this iPad, and more besides. Trust Me.
I’ve shared our three (fairly-small) (big-for-us) miracles because I want to be a faithful record-keeper of God’s wonder-works in our lives.
And because I’m quick to forget and lost focus or faith. Quick to get cynical and complacent and misplace my hopes.
And because it would be cool if our great-great-grandchildren tell their kids, In the olden days there was this ancient thing called The Internet, and our great-great-grandparents wrote stuff there about the God of miracles and He’s the same Jesus we love and He’s coming again.
We will not hide these truths from our children; we will tell the next generation about the glorious deeds of the LORD, about His power and His mighty wonders. (Psalm 78:4)
. . .
Happy weekend, friend. I’m praying God will open your eyes to the massive or mini miracle in front of you today.
I’d love you to pay it forward by sharing this post with someone who came to mind while you were reading.
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