Not Twelve Hours Ago . . .

I knelt on the cold, sandy arena floor holding my baby.

Praising God that I can write this post today.

Hubby rarely does barn duty with me and the girls, but last night he did. There the two of us got chatting with other barn parents of horse-loving kids as our youngest daughter took Donner into the indoor arena to begin her ride.

We positioned ourselves outside the viewing window just before hubby blurted, "Oh no."

My eyes locked through the Plexiglas window on a child hanging sideways on a cantering horse.

Our child.

On our seventeen-hand horse acting nothing like himself.

As we bolted to the arena door we heard a sickening crash and thud. (Ten years as a horse mom has me hearing a lot of these, and every time my heart stops, then quickly reboots.)

First line of vision is our horse prancing toward the other end of the arena. His reins aren`t dangling. He`ll be okay.

The coach and hubby are at Cassandra`s side. I can see her legs flayed up against the side board. I zero in on her knees. Please God don`t let them have dislocated again.

They`re okay. Both knees of my near-crippled-child-of-late are safely positioned. Thank you, Lord!

I turn to retrieve our horse who is now in the thick of ponies with their mounted riders at the far end of the arena.

"Eileen!" Not hubby`s voice.

Panic sears me. That`s the coach`s, Laura`s, voice. She never asks for parents to come until the child is up and walking. Phil`s already breaking the cardinal rule of "stay away until she's up".

Her imploring glare has me buckle over.

". . . your daughter." I don`t know how, but now the coach is behind me and I`m kneeling over my baby girl.

I either thought she was dead or I took her seizure as a sign of no spinal injuries. I turned her contorted torso to hold her head in my lap. "Don`t move her," ricocheted off the side board from numerous people.

Stupid me. But there was no way I was going to let go of my baby now. All I could do was keep her as still as possible in the position I had her. Cradled in my lap and arms.

"She`s seizing." I cried. Her ashin face bold against the stark black helmet. Her eyes open, but not seeing.
Tremors worked her otherwise lifeless body.

People gathered. But I saw none of them.

I wrapped her soul more than her body in my arms for fear of injuring my girl more. "Dear Heavenly Father I ask you to heal my girl. Bring her back to us, Lord. Please God, heal my baby. In Jesus His precious name please God bring her back to us." It felt like minutes/hours that I prayed aloud over my baby.

The tremors ceased.

Praise God! He listened. He answered the way I wanted Him to! Praise God!

But Cassandra still didn`t come back to us.

"Cassandra, do you hear me?"

"Cassandra, Mommy's holding you, do you feel pain anywhere?"

"Cassie, do you feel your toes?"

Then her tears came.

Then sobbing. Precious, lovely sobbing. My girl could sob all day if she wanted to now. She was making her way back to us!

"Thank you, Lord!"


As I write this post, I'm tucked into our comfy round chair in our home and Cassandra is sitting on our curved couch across from me working on an assignment. Crayons rush rapidly over paper to colour a treasure box for a school project. She has a badly beaten tail bone, not broken. Praise God! She has a headache that prescribed Motrin is tackling. She's alive. She's all that she was before this incident, just a little worse for wear. And I'm still praising God!

We spent over four hours in ER last night. Of which near three of those hours Cassandra lay bruised and hurting secured to a board for fear of spinal injuries. Her butt hurt, and I loved hearing every complaint her sweet voice rang out while we waited. It's not every day a mother can say that!

The Doctor has assured us that her seizure was a response to her head injury. There is no reason to be concerned that she may have Epilepsy unless she experiences another seizure without obvious cause.
We are gifted with yet another day to raise our three precious daughters, and I'm PRAISING GOD!!

May we all see the beauty in every mundane complaint that our children and loved ones cry out. It is a gift. And after last night, I choose to praise God for it!!!

Surrendering to Him,

Eileen