Mary Had A Little Lamb

"I peh uh am, Mama." Micah peeks up at me with bright, sunshiny eyes.
"You did?" I reply, smooching his forehead and strapping on his knee immobilizers. "You pet a lamb right in church?"
Micah has been testing the waters of vacation Bible school without me by his side this year. As I lined him up with the wriggling group of kiddos earlier this morning he said, "Go. Bye, Mama." Gasp! Blink. Sputter. Well, look who suddenly became Mr. Independent! I have to admit, I stood watching the door a bit too long after his teacher rolled him on through.
"Yeah, a lamb!" Seth elaborates, "And he played 'Stampede' with us!" Clearly, Seth is impressed. "When we ran across to the other side of the yard, he ran too. Sometimes he ran to the other side even if he was 'It'." Apparently, one of the perks to telling the story of The Good Shepherd in our neck of the woods is that you can really get some hands on learning in there.
I brush Micah's teeth, wipe his mouth and give him a sip of water. Then it's blankie up to the chin, bedtime prayer, flip on a cd, and lights out.
"Oooooh Eeeeee?" Micah sneaks in, flashing a half grin. He's laying on the charm. Eh. My eyes are crossing and the bed is calling. I'll be up at 5:45 to drive Lucas to work thanks to the little, red car's troublesome transmission. I hesitate and Micah knows he's got me. He waves his hand excitedly and squeals. Who could resist that?
"Sure, you can have a story." I grab a couple books from the shelf and Micah chooses his favorites. There is one, though, I'm glad he doesn't choose tonight. Don't get me wrong, it's a really good book with beautiful illustrations too. It would be perfect for tying in the morning lessons learned at VBS, but not tonight. I just can't. It's the last two pages that get me every time. I don't even have to start reading. Just turning them ties my throat up like the bottom of a balloon. Nothing squeaks out and I end up futilely swallowing and aheming till I have to give up and ask Seth to finish.
Stories are read, children tucked in. Parents even have time to visit. Later, I tip-toe in for the nightly check-and-make-sure-the-kids-are-breathing ritual. They look like angels. Hmmm. The Crippled Lamb by Max Lucado is still lying at the foot of the bed. I flip through, drawn to The Pages.
"Joshua looked down at the baby. Somehow he knew this was a special moment. He also understood why he had been born with a crippled leg. Had he been like the other sheep, he would have been in the valley. But since he was different, he was in the stable, among the first to welcome Jesus into the world. He turned and walked back to Abigail and took his place beside his friend. 'You were right,' he told her. 'God does have a special place for me.' "
Eyes are blurry for a different reason now. The kids are getting extra smooches tonight. As I creep back upstairs I can't help thinking that Max is a pretty smart guy. You know what, Mr. Lucado? You are right. God does have a special place for each and every one of us.