Raindrops are clinging to the outside window screens of my turret office space. Looking like itty-bitty bubbles, whatever is left drips to nowhere land, falling between white window panes behind my writing desk. I wonder, what happens when they plop to the ground. Do they make silent sounds that only God can hear?
A loud thunderstorm crashed over and above my house last night. The dog shook to wake me up. He hid under the safety of bed covers, fearing what might come next. Getting up to glance between wooden blinds, ancient mottled trees swayed through nature’s bit of forest land. Their long limbs bent far to the left, then further still to the right. Swooning so, they nearly touched the budding ground.
That’s when I heard it. An eerie whistling sound swishing through branches on the hill. Raindrops fell fast and hard, like cold tears from heaven. I felt shaken then, much like my dog hiding under blankets. The noise reminded me of the first time I heard ‘whistling’ from my toddler’s accordion chest. It was much harder for my little one to breathe out than it was for him to breathe in. A term called, wheezing.
Within minutes, a rushing box of red metal on four rubber tires raced my tender treasure to the hospital where he was put in an oxygen tent, dressed in a small cotton gown printed in teddy bears of green. Afraid and nearly blue, he was only two. Finally, he began to breathe! Easier now, in…and…out. “A.S.T.H.M.A,” the doctor with authority, pronounced.
After a few hours in the emergency room, my baby could go home. There, I cradled him in my arms. Not wanting to let go, I delicately brushed wisps of damp curls to the side of his forehead with the tips of grateful fingers. Thanks to God, he slept peacefully then.
Breathing freely…OUT as well as IN.