Oh How He Loves Me....

Every night Jer and I tuck the kids into bed and leave their night lights on. Tonight was no different.  Dyson excitedly jumped into bed to sleep in his new sleeping bag. He was so giddy about it. We prayed together and I asked him how his day went. As always (regardless if it was horrible or not) he responded, "I had a ggggREAT day mom!" I kissed and hugged him goodnight and walked out.

Following a hot bath, TV show with my husband and 40 minutes later, Jer goes to shut the kid's lamps off and then asks, "Where's Dyson?"  I pulled the covers over myself and responded, "I don't know. Check the closet."  

Dyson has this habit of thinking sleeping in the pitch dark in the closet is super cool.  No fear at all. After a few moments, Jer comes back, "He's not there."  That was odd. I jumped out of bed and walked to his room. The bed had already been stripped by Jeremy and pulled away from the wall. I looked underneath. Nothing. Checked his closet. Nothing. Fear immediately swept in as I looked at his windows, being triggered with my fear of abduction living on the main floor of the apartment complex only feet from the playgrounds.

I could hear Jeremy starting to panic as he turned on every light in the house on while shouting, "Dyson?!"  He had already frantically searched the girl's rooms, with no concern of waking them, as they slept deeply through it all.  I ran into their rooms and checked everywhere a second time. Nothing.

Now I was panicking. Kasiah sleepwalks. Not Dyson. He has never left his bed. Ever. This was completely unusual and out of character for him.  Now Jer and I were racing around the little space we had to cover, saying over and over, "This doesn't make sense!" and "I don't understand?!" Everywhere we looked, nothing.  We ran outside and around the house. Nothing. 

I felt the darkness set in and I imagined my six year old son, alone in the dark with some stranger who could careless about his precious beautiful life.  All I could see was his big eyes filling with tears and frozen with fear.

An eerie feeling set in. It was late at night, not in the middle of the day. Something about the still darkness made my stomach rot. We continued to look in the same places over and over, and still, nothing. By now, all I could think about was the precious time we were wasting and I grabbed my phone to call 911.  I wasn't panicked on the outside as much as I was on the inside. 

"911, What is your emergency?"  

I mustered out the sickening words, "My son....he's missing from his bed!"

"O.k., what is your address?"

I proceeded to calmly give all the information the dispatcher needed. He asked questions like, what color is his hair?  Tears filled my eyes and I started to cry. "He's California blonde... surfer like. He's known for his hair......"  My voice trailed off and I just wept.

"O.k. Maa'm. What was he wearing?"  Silence.  

I thought and thought and I couldn't remember. Every other night I knew what pajamas he was wearing. But this particular night he had gotten dressed and pulled up those covers before I even saw them.

Next, Jeremy raced past me, and asked, "Who are you talking to?" I responded ,"911". Completely panicked he yelled, "This can't be happening!"  

I knew his biggest fear was consuming him as well. I also knew he had sex slavery on his mind.  He always does. It's his holy discontent and has been for years.

I continued to stand in the garage and stay focused on the dispatchers questions, while looking out into the night, completely horrified. My son can not be out there dealing with this all alone. He just can't.

Suddenly, Jeremy screamed, "I FOUND HIM!" I looked into the house and saw Jeremy carrying him, shaggy hair, droopy eyed and confused, wearing (of course) his favorite pj's from Grandma, his Angry Bird pajamas. I quickly said to the dispatcher, "we found him....oh my gosh we found him...." and I don't remember much after that. I collapsed to the floor right there and found myself sobbing uncontrollably, a hot mess of every emotion imaginable.  I couldn't even move. I just cried and cried and cried.  

Finally when I was able to pick myself up off the floor, I made it into the kitchen, fell apart once more, and then Jer told me where he found him.  He had fallen asleep wedged between our entertainment center and lazy boy, a very small space for a six year old, and one I have never seen the kids even take note of. We didn't know whether to feel foolish, relieved, confused, or what....

I had a feeling inside that I knew what happened. He had snuck out of bed wanting to talk to me, but I was in the bath, so he hid until I was done, knowing he wasn't supposed to be out of bed....but not wanting to go back to bed.

Sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

Looking back, all I could think about was the fear, sickness and horrifying feeling I had of Dyson having to deal with whatever he was dealing with.... alone. It's one thing to have your child hurting while you're by his side comforting and guiding. But to not even be there. That was beyond what I could bear.

Then it hit me.  God must feel the same. It's not the hardship of the circumstances that concerns him. It's when I try to endure the pain without him. His comfort. His guidance. His arms wrapped tightly around me, bringing safety and peace in the midst of any storm.  It was this that pulled on my mommy heart-strings more than anything else. So, with that being said, I can't help but believe that the same thing pulls on my Father's heart strings as well.

Oh how he loves me. Oh how he loves me......