My 13-year-old daughter came down with Bell’s Palsy last weekend. I was reeling a bit from the diagnosis and the off-hand comment that this might take “awhile” to go away. Middle school is hard enough without a partially paralyzed face; the humiliation and awkward moments caused by it are painful to contemplate.
When the PA stepped out to find the doctor and consult about the need for a neurologist, I turned to my daughter. I was grasping at straws when I asked her, “Did your father’s blessing say anything about you being sick this year? I don’t remember it saying anything about you being sick.”
“No, Mom,” she said with her sloping, half-smile. “It just said that I’d be embarrassed sometimes.”
Yes, now I recall. In August, she was told that there would be embarrassing moments in seventh grade, but that it would be okay—because she is a good girl, a righteous girl. Her Heavenly Father is proud of her. He is never embarrassed by her.
A moment of gratitude for sweet girls, inspired husbands, and loving Fathers. The foreknowledge and the promise cushion the blow immeasurably.