The Day My Son Fell Into a Hole

It started just like every other normal day.
Eden spent the morning at preschool. Brandon and I spent the morning in language study. Salem spent the morning playing with his trucks, trains, and tractors.
Chinese food for lunch. Cherries for dessert because they're about $1.30 for a pound.
Then nap time for mini-man and quiet time for the little girl.

3:30 p.m. rolled around. Nap time was over. Inside play time had been had. And the kids had reached the it's-time-to-go-outside melting point. And so had mommy.

We live on the third floor. It doesn't take us long to get to the front door of our apartment complex where there is usually a small crowd gathered of neighbors or the local trash pickers (that name sounds derogatory...I wish I could come up with something that sounds less condescending...but I'm sticking with it).

On this occasion, Salem insisted on sporting his sunglasses. And I'll be the first to admit, that he's a cute dude, and even more so when wearing shades. So of course, he started drawing even more attention than usual. I mean, he's two, so he has trouble paying attention to where he's walking, much less when every onlooker is oohing and ahhhing over him and he thinks it's cool to egg them on by smiling his "Yeah, I'm hot stuff" smirk.

But apparently his mama has trouble paying attention to where he's walking too. And I was too far from him to prevent the impending doom of what lay before him.

See, we have this hole. It's been there for a few weeks. Imagine a brick sidewalk...only what's below the sidewalk is something unknown. And there's a hole in the brick sidewalk about 2 feet by 4 feet. And what's in that hole about a foot or more deep is broken bricks and what looks and smells similar to the bottom of a port-a-potty. (and that's as far as I'll go in the department of speculation...for sanity's sake)

It kinda happened in slow motion. In my mind there was dramatic theme music playing as I watched wide-eyed and screamed "SAAALLLLLEEEEEEMMMMMM!!!!" toward my son who was oblivious of where he was headed.

As he looked back toward the onlookers with his smirky smirk, he walked straight into the hole of all nastiness.

In all seriousness, he's lucky he didn't break his arm or crack his head open. Praise the Lord.

But what covered his right hip, leg, and right shoe was a substance I'd rather remain naive to it's actual contents. I picked him up by his hands, held him at arms length like he had some sort of disease, turned right around and headed back inside.

I didn't need to say anything to him. Eden was taking care of that for me, "Salem, you have to be careful where you are walking. You fell in a HOLE!!"

He was crying. Not because he was hurt. But because we were walking back inside and he wanted to be outside.

I knocked on the door. Handed him over to Brandon who could tell by the look on my face that I was not in the mood for an explanation. Within minutes our house helper was on the phone with our apartment manager speaking entirely too fast in Chinese for me to understand words, but loud and stern enough that I could understand her meaning...and she was one seriously unhappy Chinese woman. She and Salem are pretty tight.

The nastiness was washed down the bathtub drain. His shoes and clothes were washed. And he was ready to head back outside within minutes.

I, however, was not. In my mind it was China's fault that there was a hole outside my apartment. It was every Chinese person's fault that my son fell in that hole. And I was not ready to face them again for the remainder of the day. My son falling in a hole and having who knows what all over him had rendered me culturally useless.

For some strange reason though, I got it in my head that we'd head back out after dinner. This time, to the bus stop to go to the park.

We waited. And waited. and waited some more. And the bus that is usually so timely, just wasn't coming. So we headed to the intersection to try to flag down a taxi. After 20 minutes of waiting, and flagging, and waiting some more, one taxi driver pulled over.

Insert Man Who Shall Remain Nameless.

He swoops in from nowhere. He jumps in the front seat completely neglecting Brandon's hand on the door, Salem in Brandon's arms, and sweaty, pregnant me standing there holding Eden.

I lost my cool. I was in over my ears in culture shock. And I flew off on him in English like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli. (did you catch that Matt?)
I even darted off after the taxi yelling absurd things (yes, still in English) about how he should know better.

I'm sure at that point that I looked really cool. Giant pregnant me, being the responsible sane woman that I am, holding my 3 year old daughter, chasing after a taxi yelling things in English toward a man that obviously didn't understand or care. It's a good thing I haven't learned Chinese curse words yet.

It's times like that that I feel certain that God is nodding his head toward me saying, "Ok, April. You're right. I picked the wrong person for this job."
I have one-sided arguments in my head trying to convince Him that I'm in the wrong place. On days like this one, I feel like my behavior should be fairly convincing to Him.

Thankfully, these hard days are few and far between. Salem hasn't fallen in a hole since, in fact, it's been fixed! We were all quick to learn the Chinese word for "hole." It's not one we'll ever forget. And since that day, I haven't felt the need to learn any local curse words.

Days like this one remind me of the Lord's sovereignty. They make me ever-so-thankful for his grace, mercy, and forgiveness toward my sinfulness. They remind me that even though we're right where we're supposed to be, it doesn't mean it'll be easy. They remind me that I can't "handle" China on my own, and that I'm supposed to delight in my weaknesses. Thank you Lord for days that my son will fall in holes and that Chinese men will do rude things. Help me to walk in your grace and not to lose my cool. Please don't stop reminding me that I will always fail when I attempt to live on my own strength.

And thank you Lord for bathtubs, washing machines, and Chinese men that don't understand my English rants.