Dash, The Sparrow

This past weekend, eight year old Dash proved worthy of his nick-name, again.  His impulsivity earned him the name, and his reputation for dashing off…quick as lightening.

This is a close up picture of the ground around our house this April:

The landing

The snow has just receded from this side of the house, leaving the debris from autumn exposed.

Here is a bigger picture (clearly, we need a paint job!), you can see the brick landscaping from the front of the house wrapping around toward the side.

The launching point

That window on the top?  That is Dash’s room. That’s where it happened.

Dash was playing outside and he found a toy that he wanted to put in his room.

Princess Buttercup and Sketch were watching Veggie Tales…oblivious.

I’d seen him go upstairs…running.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Putting my toy in my room!” he yells back.

Almost instantly, I hear it.  Kinda faint at first and then louder.

The scream.  (Such a short word, it really should take up more space.)

I run upstairs where I saw him go, but I am greeted with an open window.

I run back downstairs, baby inside balling up.

“Dash!!!”  I call out, panic-stricken. “I’m coming!”

And I run out the door toward the window, but Dash is coming to me. He got up and is walking.  He’s walking to me.

I hold him, thankful.  It could have been so much worse.

I hold him, thoughts disheveled, breathing hard.

I hold him, he’s clinging to me, sobbing. Hurt. Scared.

We come inside, and I tell him to sit on the couch and rest.

He goes upstairs. He wants to sleep. He has a headache, his back hurts. His “lungs don’t work” he says.

I tell him to come down and rest on the couch, while I call the doctor.

Turns out Dash had no broken bones, no broken ribs. The diagnosis:  mild concussion.

He was supposed to be really sore the next day or so.  When Saturday came, he complained a little in the morning.  But by the afternoon, we didn’t hear much about it.

He was ok, he was really ok!

We wondered, with autism changing the way he feels pain — how he’d bump into things as a small boy and not notice, his body bruised from the frequent collisions — if he was hurt more than it seemed.

But he was really, truly, fine. Not a bruise, not even a scratch on his body!

Here is a picture of him on Saturday afternoon:

Dash "driving" the Rescue Truck

It was his brothers birthday party, at the local Fire Station.  The kids got to climb in and ontop of the Fire & Rescue trucks.

Dash was fine, he was really fine!

When Dash and his twin sister were toddlers, I used to pray every. single. day. for big cushy angels to watch over them and to easy their landings when they’d fall.  Dash was wild, even then…diving off the back of couches, climbing…even before he walked!  I couldn’t keep them both safe & cared for by myself.  I had to feed one, I had to change the diaper of one, while the other was free to be wild…unprotected.  We did what we could–became masters of child-proofing–but some kids are just not safe! But, I was not alone. God was my Helper.

Apparently, that prayer has been hanging out there rising from the incense bowl to the face of God…waiting.  Answered more than once. Answered more often than it was prayed.

God is also worthy of His many names. One is not big enough to contain Him.

The God who is there.

The God who sees.

My Helper.


When I didn’t see what happening, God did.

And he Rescued my wild son… and He Was There… underneath him, protecting him, just enough.

What a wonderful God!

Full of Grace & Mercy…Full of Love.

Glory to God!

Matthew 10: 29-31  Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

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