Late yesterday afternoon the sky grew ominously dark. I knew that the toddlers had left some toys around the backyard and that our big heavy shed doors were open. This was a job for Ryan. Ryan was upstairs in his room and I was directly below him the living room. Now my preferred method of communication is generally NOT shouting from across the house but since it now takes one adult or two strong children to hoist me out of a chair and I am completely unable to climb stairs shouting is what I am reduced to. So I call him, and call him, and call him. After about ten minutes of intermittent screeching I am completely aggravated both at my inability to get around and what I thought was his refusal to hear me. So I call Katie (who came right away) and ask her to go upstairs and send her brother down to me. "DIDN'T YOU HEAR ME CALLING YOU?" I asked , not really bothering to keep my annoyance out of my voice. "No, I'm sorry". "What are you doing up there that prevents you from hearing me when the whole neighborhood can"? "I was praying for you and the twins". Ouch. So of course I wanted to cry but I didn't. I just hugged him until he begged me to let him go and then he went out back to pick up the toys and lock up the shed. Natural piety is a pretty enormous lesson to live with. How often am I so deep in prayer that the distractions around me disappear? Uh, never. Through this child God often shows me who is the more disabled in this world and it's not the child who is struggling in school it is the adult who lets the temporal cares of the world outweigh the eternal cares. I sincerely hope that when Ryan reaches heaven he continues to pray fervently for his mother. I have a feeling I am going to need it.