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Jackson doesn't like cake, so we put a candle in a cup filled with gummy lifesavers. And he seemed to really enjoy having us sing Happy Birthday to him. It's so hard to believe our big doll is 14!
Lately, Jackson's been hanging out with us more in the living room instead of being on the computer in the bedroom. I like that. And the last couple of times he's been at the house, he actually sat for hours in the living room with me and Robert watching TV. I was concerned that the miniseries on World War II in the Pacific might have too much graphic violence, but inexplicably, when soldiers were getting their heads blown off, Jackson chuckled a couple of times.
It reminded me of how as a toddler, he would watch boxing matches on Friday nights with my dad. When a fighter landed a punch, that little boy would just giggle. And once in a doctor's waiting room, Jackson laughed with delight at a crying baby. Although he's extremely sensitive to people he knows getting their feelings hurt or having an argument, I guess he doesn't associate any real pain with anonymous crying babies or fighting men.
Jackson himself has a high tolerance for physical pain (for an example, see my first post in Nov 2009), but he has the most tender, compassionate heart of anyone I've ever known. And I can't stand to see him upset.
Darrell usually picks him up from our house, and Jackson's OK to leave. But a few weeks ago, Darrell was at work and Angy asked us to bring Jackson home. Robert and he sat in the front, and I sat in the back. As we pulled out of the driveway, Jackson started weeping. No sound, just tears rolling down his face. When I reached up to try to comfort him, he grabbed my hand and held it to his chest all the way home while his tears continued to fall.
It got even worse when we arrived at his house. Angy said that Christian and Sara (Jackson's young siblings) would get upset if they saw me, so she asked me to drop Jackson off at the driveway before we got in front of the house. It was so horrible asking him to get out of the truck and carry his bag up to the door by himself. When I hugged him goodbye, Jackson was crying harder, and Angy called to tell me that he was sobbing when he got to the door.
I cried all the way home, cried in the shower, cried in bed later that night, and every time I thought about it over the next few days, I cried again. I just can't deal with such a sweet, joyful, precious child feeling hurt like that and especially being the cause of it. Never again will I ever drive Jackson home! He'll just have to stay until someone can pick him up.
I can't explain nor do I fully understand why it affected me so deeply. And yet, I'll admit that I've judged others for their reaction to an adverse situation. Sometimes I thought that they shouldn't take it so hard, because after all, I wouldn't. Shame on me. Something that might seem inconsequential to me might be momumental to someone else.
A good thing about pain is that it brings us Closer to Love—closer to the awareness of our love for someone, closer to God who is love. Only He fully understands our pain. Only He can heal it. And only He can shield us from receiving more than we can bear.
Like the song says, "We're all one phone call from our knees." I thank God for every day I don't get a phone call that brings me to my knees, and for the assurance that if and when I do, He'll be on the floor beside me.
