Sometimes it takes an Angel

SOMETIMES IT TAKES AN ANGEL

My son Jack, when he was 7 years old, was playing on our neighborhood playground equipment with several friends. They, all of a sudden, discovered a beehive and everyone scattered - except for Jack, who in the panic of the moment, slipped and fell into the vice grip of a wedge that his head had slipped into. His legs were flailing around, in an attempt to find an escape, but he could not move his head. He was strangling. My friend, who was supposed to already be at the church with me for a youth activity, was still at the park with her grandchildren. She had told them twice that it was time to leave, but they begged to "just stay a little longer." That "stay a little longer" is why my son, Jack, is alive today. She dashed to him and was unable to find a way to help him - but then figured out a way to use the strength of her legs to manage him, since there was nothing her arms could do to help. Miraculously she was able to release his neck from the grip of the wedge. Jack did not come home and tell me about this. My friend, Kara, did not tell me either. A few days later, when I was at her house, she told me that for three nights she had been unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what would have happened if she had not been there. She said she could not tell me because she did not have the strength, yet, to be able to speak of it.

I think on this - and wonder - perhaps this situation needed an angel friend, and not a mother. Perhaps only she could have heard the voices of "stay a little longer" and heavenly instructions about how to save a strangling child, reminding me of Esther - "Yet who knows whether you have come ... for such a time as this." Esther saved her people. Kara saved "my people."

Since writing poetry has been my friend in expressing the depth of my feelings, throughout my life, I wrote:

SAVING JACK

She happened to be at the playground one day

Dreamily watching the children at play

Merrily they danced through the grass and the sand

From climbing to swinging, they gleefully ran

Then….. all of a sudden, a bee was in sight

And all the young ones ran away with their might

But one small, blond boy was not part of their flee

There was one left behind…he could not get free

She desperately ran to the struggling boy

His neck wedged tight in the jungle-gym toy

Giving her all…with her strength, did create…

An inspired rescue, quite changing his fate

Gently she worked with the young, distressed one

Her friend’s small son that would run in the sun

She brought him to safety…sent on his way

Knowing he’d see, now, many anew day…

And in the night…her eyes would not close

As she pondered the miracle, that just arose

She could have been most anywhere

But Kara… of light… was… “right there”

Stirrings within… sent her to the grove

And now we see Jack through neighbor paths rove…

And her friend, not knowing how to express

Her heartfelt thanks of deep, deep depth

…Picks up a pen, a silly old pen…

And tries to describe what she feels in her heart

How to thank Kara for playing the part…

In God’s saving plan on that warm, sunny day

To give back to Karen her Jack to still play

“No tongue can express, nor can it be written”

The joy of escape from a possible smitten

From mother friend… to mother friend

I beg you to know… that to the end

I will bless your name forevermore

For giving me back…… my Jack….my last-born…

This last summer, years later, when we were together, she rehearsed the event to me, showing what she had done to save my son.

Afterwards, we held each other and wept.

Kara Davis