My daughter, Lily, is 22 months old and loves to be outside. She makes a bee-line to the door anytime anyone opens it. My husband thinks that she is running to see him and give him hugs when he arrives home from work, but really she is trying to escape. The weather has been so nice the last two days that the older kids have been going in and out of the house all day long. This is problematic because Lily wants to follow them out, but has her own agenda once she is outside. She doesn't want to stay in the yard and play, no! There is lots of unexplored territory for her to cover. Two days ago I came out of the bathroom and walked into the living room where the big windows face the front yard. I glance outside and there was Lily, across the street in the neighbor's yard, traveling southward, a look of fearless determination on her face. I ran outside and called to her to stop, which, of course, only proved to accelerate her pace. Though I am not a fast runner, my legs are considerably longer than hers so I was able to catch up to her before she had a chance to reach inside the chain-link fence and try to pet the pitbull. I took her home. She fought me all the way (which reminds me I need to trim her fingernails.) I took the opportunity to remind my older children that they need to make sure they close the doors - all the way, until they click. I tried to impress upon them the seriousness of the situation, but, as you will see, it fell on deaf ears.
Today after we were done being outside we all came in to clean up. Lily was first in the tub and when she got out I put a diaper on her, but opted to postpone getting her dressed until after dinner, then I could just put her into pjs. No reason to get tomato soup all over new pajamas. I left her to play in the living room while the other kids were taking turns bathing. I went into the kitchen, tidied up a bit and then went to check on Lily. She was not in the living room. My eyes went to the front door. It was open, the screen door was closed, but not latched. I hurried outside but didn't see her anywhere in our yard. I looked up and down the street...nothing. I ran to the back yard. No sign of her. I checked the yards of our neighbors. Empty. I went back into the house, yelling for her, calling her name. I dropped to my knees in the laundry room and begged the Lord to protect her and allow me to find her. Then I checked every room, twice. I went back outside, surely I would see her. But I did not. In the meantime I had told my eight year old and seven year old to help me find her. They began to panic and cry as they also looked but couldn't find her.
I knew I would soon have to call 911, but I didn't want to, I just wanted her to waddle back into my view. Finally, Lucy (7 years) said, "Mom, I have an idea. Call 911." So I did. I told the dispatcher that my 2 year old had wandered out of the house wearing only a diaper and that I couldn't see her anywhere. Yes, I had checked each closet and under every bed. They promised to send someone right away.
Strangely, during this entire drama I felt unusually calm. Calm might not be the right word, perhaps "reassured" is a better fit. I was anxiously looking for her, I felt eager to find her, but knew that she would be fine.
I instructed my oldest to stay with the baby while Lucy and I scouted the outside again. I tried calling my husband...straight to voicemail. Arrggghhh! I was yelling her name, walking along the street outside our home, when a half a block away, a few kids who had been walking around earlier, called to me, "She's over there," pointing up the street that was around the corner from my house. One of the girls took off running in the direction they had pointed, and by the time I caught up to them she was walking back, Lily in her arms. Of course, that's when the tears came; mine, not hers. Lily was just as happy as she could be. She had wandered about a block away from home, but had no idea she was lost.
I thanked the children profusely. The tallest girl said they had been in the neighborhood selling raffle tickets for school when they spotted her, but thought she must have lived in the house where she was playing. I thanked them again and again, and hugged each of them.
As I was walking back to my house with Lily firmly planted on my hip, my cell phone rang. The lady on the line identified herself as a member of the local police department. Before she could say anything else, I told her that we had found Lily...that a few neighbor kids noticed her around the block from our house. I don't remember what she said, something about letting the other officers know and then we ended the call.
Lucy had gone in the opposite direction to look for her sister so I whistled for her and announced the good news. She came running and we met in the front yard. I took her into the house, Molly (8 years) started to cry with relief (she takes after her mom). I sat down on the couch with Lily and with my other children around me, I reiterated the importance of shutting the doors. I think, maybe, we've learned our lesson.
So, what does this have to do with Say Go Be Do? I'm not sure. I didn't feel any guidance about where to look. I wasn't "sure" she was outside or inside. I don't remember a feeling that prompted me to "go check on Lily." All I can think of is that feeling of assurance I had that she would be okay. In fact, I felt a little guilty for not being more worried. Maybe today's experience was sponsored by the "Be" of Say Go Be Do. As in "be faithful," "be believing," "be still and know that I am God."
