Chicks

A few weeks ago, I heard Caden frantically calling my name.  "Mom, hurry, there is a mommy duck and her babies in our front yard!"  I left fire tracks behind me as I ran.  I'm so glad Randy had his camera to capture it.

 I arrived a little behind the others because I was making sure that all of the kids came out to see.  You can't have baby chicks in your front yard and not have your kids see them!  It freaked the mommy out to hear our quiet squeals of excitement (I was so proud of my kids for stepping lightly, staying well away from them, and not being super hyper- they were amazing) so she turned around and started back the way she came.

 One of her little chicks ended up falling down in all of our excitement (and their terror, I'm sure).  You can see it above, lying on it's back, one foot kicking straight up.  That sweet little baby was flailing all over the place, little scared, constant peeps ringing out.  It flopped and flailed for quite a while, trying to right itself and get back to the safety of it's family.  It broke my heart to see, but not as much as it broke Keilie's.  She could not stand to see it struggling.  She wanted to rush to the aid, but was stopped by Randy.  He told her that the little baby needed to learn for itself how to get back up, that if the mommy thought it needed help, she would have helped immediately, and that we needed to leave them alone.  She cried that she just couldn't stand to see it struggle.  She is so tender hearted!

 The baby eventually did make it back to its mommy and they started back home.

I imagine that this scenario is much like the trial we are going through.  That sweet chick was probably begging his mom for help with frantic, pleading peeps. 

"You can help me, I know you can.  You're big, I'm just a baby.  Just come nudge me onto my feet again.  Lift me up, and help me move on.  Help me!" 

But that mommy was probably thinking, "I can't help you.  As much as I want to help you, I will actually hurt you if I help you.  You need to learn to do this on your own, to know how to get back up when you fall.  But I'll stay close, never leaving, cheering you on, ready to walk with you when you get back up.  I love you.  You can do this!"

I haven't felt terribly anxious or devastated about stopping the at-home chemo pill, but I do fully understand the reality of the situation.  One more option is just wiped from the board.  The options are just kind of falling away.  I am that chick, flailing around, scared that I won't be able to get up, not really knowing what to do, begging my Heavenly Father to take it away, to just make things easy.

I imagine Him saying, "You need this experience.  If I help you, I'll hurt you.  I'm right here, I'll never leave.  I'm cheering you on.  I love you.  You can do this!"

And so I'll keep trying.