Miracles & Broken Mirrors

I felt the scream rip through me before my brain registered what was happening.

There was a crash, the sound of glass shattering, and my son crying.

My feet just started flying. I raced back to my bedroom where I’d left him for just thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

Just long enough to carry a stack of books to my living room.

A few years ago, I purchased the most ornate, one-of-a-kind, full-length body mirror off of Facebook marketplace. I scored it at an amazing deal, from a savvy, successful New York native who needed to relocate suddenly. She couldn’t take it with her, and literally almost cried when she helped me load it into my van.

What is it, with women and mirrors?

It was heavy. Extremely heavy. Solid wood and glass. I should have known to secure it to the wall. But I liked the way it looked propped up, so I never bothered. My daughter never messed with it. My son on the other hand, loved it, and I’d always remind him not to push on the mirror.

It’s all my fault.

I ran to him. My room was aglow with the evening sun reflected off thousands of glass shards. He was pinned underneath of it, calling out for me in terror.

I pulled him out and held him to my chest. I was so afraid to see red, I couldn’t look. I just rocked back and forth, trembling like a flame. My vision started to tunnel and miraculously my husband came in the door at this very moment! He took our son from me and all I could blurt out was “Where is all the blood!?”

My son was completely unharmed. Not even a scratch! It doesn’t make any sense. He should have been sliced to the bone, blind, or concussed.

My feet were another story. I didn’t even realize I’d run into glass when I flew to him. When the shakes and adrenaline subsided enough for me to tweeze bloody fragments from my feet, a fresh tidal wave of thoughts pounded over me.

Why did I leave him alone?

Why didn’t I secure the mirror?

Why did this have to happen as soon as I left the room?

Why wasn’t he severely injured?

Why am I such a bad mom?

Why am I so sad that this mirror is destroyed?

Why do I even need it?

It’s a symbolic thing.

As I spent a good half hour cleaning up all the glass with my husband I thought of all the wasted time and energy I’ve spent in front of that mirror.

It needed to break a long time ago.

We have this saying in our house-

“Angels around you!”

We say it whenever we drive, or say goodbye to someone.

I don’t know why sometimes we’re spared from heartache and why sometimes we have to walk through it. All I know is that God protected my son, and God would have sustained us through any serious injuries as well. His mercy and goodness transcend circumstances and offer hope no matter the outcome.

He is good when there’s blood, and He is good when there are just tears of relief.

God’s sovereignty eclipses my shortcomings.

Where I am weak, He is strong.

We do our best to nurture and protect these little babies, but really, He is the one orchestrating all things for good. We get to partner with that goodness, and let Him be the perfection we could never be.

For better, or for worse.

In sickness, and in health, to Him be the glory.