There are moments in life when everything changes. You know what I’m talking about. Someone hits the gas pedal instead of the brake. The “C” word: cancer. That fateful text or phone call with calamitous news you don’t want to hear.

Our family almost had one of those life defining moments last week. Almost. Perilously close.

Almost Is a Beautiful Word by allie taylor

I’m well acquainted with life defining moments. How things, your entire life, can change in the blink of an eye. I’ve experienced these moments in our own family, and also others. Many of you know our son Jacob had a fall, a serious head injury back in 2007. He was six when his head crashed down onto our slate patio from the height of a ten foot high basketball hoop rim.

Airlifted to Dartmouth. Brain surgery. God was gracious, he survived with no long-term effects. Jacob was very brave. He’s fine now, but I’ll never be the same. I’m sure I’ll write about it someday, but it’s not a place I like to go, revisit.

You likely also know that our youngest son Hudson was diagnosed with Down syndrome shortly after his birth in 2010. It’s been a long road, I won’t lie. Both of these moments were life defining. There’ve been others too, many. But these are the ones that come to mind first. Jon’s role as pastor also brings the poignant life defining moments of others very close to our hearts as well.

So on Memorial Day weekend not too long ago we were getting ready for family to arrive for a cookout. Jon and the boys were outside wiping down tables, brushing off chairs, setting them around on the patio.

I was inside whisking lemonade, slicing watermelon, chopping avocados to add to the Avocado Lime Black Bean Dip last minute.

My brother and his family arrived and we had a nice lunch on the patio. Maple Glazed Ribs on the menu.

After eating, we sit around, catch up. Chat. Thankfully we live on a quiet street, our teenage boys are out front shooting hoops by the driveway. The younger ones are in the backyard with the adults, bug hunting, etc. The kids are bug hunting. (!) Charlie (9) and his cousin Molly are two peas in a pod. Molly’s a little older than Charlie, and they’re both mesmerized by nature and animals. So Jon and I, my brother and sister-in-law are deep in conversation about stocks, TD Ameritrade. Twitter. This blog. Stephen Curry.

Charlie’s twinkle toeing along, barefoot on the lawn, not far from the edge of the four foot high brick retaining wall. The one that overlooks the slate patio. Suddenly, he trips. What I see in my peripheral vision is the tail end of a complete somersault over the brick wall, feet flailing.

My worst nightmare: that slate patio and my children’s heads.

I’m about eight feet away and it all happens in a split second. Everyone else’s back is to the scene. I shriek, cover my eyes, brace for the hard splat of Charlie landing on the slate. Deja vu.

It never comes. Because he lands square on his bottom, in a patio chair. Tears spring. (Mine.)

But for a chair. A chair that wasn’t there even an hour ago.

I couldn’t see the chair from where I was sitting. It was behind the grill. All I saw was the somersault over the ledge.

And the worst thing that happens? He’s embarrassed. Yeah.

This, and a million other reasons, is why I believe in guardian angels.

And providence.

And God.

And I know there are millions of times where the calamity does happen. I know, because I’ve been there. But today, I receive a cup of pure grace in the form of a patio chair. And I recognize it for what it is, thank God.

Our family almost had one of those life defining moments last week. Almost doesn’t work for Olympic gold medalists. Or trapeze artists. Or Mt. Everest climbers. But in this case, Almost Is a Beautiful Word.

Related Post: Guardian Angel

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I like to imagine what it was like when our Hudson was born nearly five years ago and the search for his guardian angel began in earnest in the heavenly realms. (If you’re new, Hudson has Down syndrome.)

Maybe God posted an announcement something like this: “We’ve got a new job opening. There’s a precious baby about to be born by the name of Hudson. He’s very special, got an extra chromosome, and it’s gonna take an incredibly kind, focused and attentive angel for this job. One that has infinite patience, understands Hudson’s little fixated ways, idiosyncrasies, mischief. His unpredictability, his curiosity. His sweet, happy nature. His lack of restraint. Only serious, dedicated, focused guardian angels need apply.”

I’m sure the interviews were thorough and the perfect angel for Hudson was chosen. I’m confident of this, because his guardian angel works round the clock protecting Hudson, mostly from himself. We’ve seen his angel in action. Well we haven’t actually SEEN him, just proof of his work.

There’s the time I heard the big crash from Hudson’s room last year. I knew he’d toddled up the stairs, heard him through the baby monitor, happily playing with toys, looking at books. When all of the sudden:

BANG!

CRASH!

And a blood curdling Hudson scream.

I raced up to find him pinned under his bureau. Never before had I seen Hudson touch his dresser, but he obviously did that day. The whole dresser with five drawers jammed full of clothes, the lamp and small book shelf on top crashed down onto him. His head and left arm were still free and I managed to pull the dresser off him with lightning speed. He was crying, scared. But not a scratch. This is how I know Hudson has a guardian angel.

Hudson loves to watch cartoons, and for some unknown reason he’s fixated on angling the TV screen that’s inside our living room armoire. It’s an older flat screen that swivels, and if he pulls on one edge, he can angle it one way or the other. It makes us nervous and he receives frequent instruction about not touching it. We’re always there if he’s watching something anyway. Until that time we weren’t. I was around the corner in the kitchen, heard the crash. He’d somehow pulled the TV down out of the armoire where it crashed onto the floor, hung there by the cords. There’s a big gouge in the wooden floor now, and sometimes we have to fiddle with the TV buttons to make it work. But Hudson? Not a scratch on him. Exhale. Thank God for Hudson’s guardian angel.

So today’s Friday. It’s the morning I try to get out the door for Bible study. You know from past how Friday mornings seem to go for me. (Check out: Murphy’s Law.) It’s early and Jon and the boys are running late, still making lunches before heading out. I dash to get a quick shower, hear crying from the bathroom. I race to the kitchen, find Hudson sitting on the floor. The scene: he’s mad, shaking a lidded plastic peanut butter jar he apparently wants open.

And I don’t think he’s mad about the jelly, that it even phases him. Yeah the jelly.

The jelly and the broken glass surrounding him and what’s left of the big jelly jar, jagged on both ends. Yeah, Jon and the boys had to go, and in the hurry to get out the door on time, leave the lunch stuff out. And Hudson wanders in. Did I mention he likes to grab stuff off the counter? Does he ever. And he’s a southpaw to boot. The rest is history. Just one teeny tiny scratch, drop of blood in the arch of his right foot. That’s all. So thankful, relieved, grateful again for Hudson’s guardian angel.

There are more stories I could tell you. Like the time he hucked his sippy cup during dinner, shattered Jon’s tall drinking glass full of H20. And many more. We’re all doing our best to work consistently with Hudson, teach him better ways. And you can see why he needs a very attentive, focused guardian angel.

Lunchtime arrives today and I explain to Hudson how sad it is that there’s no jelly for his PB & J sandwich. (Ahem.)

 Photo courtesy of www.DesignbyLindaNee.com

Here’s a heartfelt message to Hudson’s guardian angel:

Thank you. We’re so grateful God chose you. Please continue your excellent job protecting our little Hudson. He’s very dear to us and we’re all so very grateful. You deserve a raise. And wings too, if you’re wanting them. (Though I’m guessing you’ve already earned several pairs on Hudson’s watch.)

Related post: Glimpse of Sunshine

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