The Ant Bite

The Ant Bite

Raising two boys, I was used to broken bones, bruised bodies, and stitched up wounds.  Our boys were physical, playing hard, working hard, and seldom complaining about the pain.  I love little boys; they are so easy.  You just give them a ball, put them into the fenced backyard, and let them go – feeding them and hosing them down, occasionally.  They will play from sun up until sun down and still complain about having to go inside.  On the other hand, I have been blessed with five granddaughters and only one little grandson.  Wow!  What a difference! 

My granddaughters want right up beside me all the time.  Their feelings get hurt if I talk too long on the phone, excluding them from conversation with me.  Little girls want you to watch them twirl and tell them how well they twirl.  They want you to watch them color and compliment them for staying in the lines.  If they go outside to ride their bikes, they want you to be their audience of one. 

Boys, on the other hand, do not want you watching them because you will tell them to stop.  They don’t want to color because you might tell them to do it neater.  Boys don’t want you right beside them because you hamper their plans and games.  At least, that’s how ours were.  Imagine my shock when I began taking care of grandgirls!

Our two older granddaughters were staying with us for the weekend.  It was a beautiful spring day, and I had the windows open as they were playing outside.  Suddenly, I heard a blood-curdling scream from our oldest, about eight at the time, and I went charging through the backdoor, expecting to find her broken and bleeding.  Instead, she was standing in the grass, with one foot up, crying and screaming.  As I ran to her, I was asking what was wrong, thinking she must have been bitten by a snake, an alligator, or a ferocious dog to be screaming so.  As she stopped crying, she managed to get out, “Ant!”  “What?” I said.  “Ant.  An ant bit me.” 

The first reaction was one of relief that she had only been bitten by one fire ant.  My next reaction was pure indignation.  Mercy is not my primary gifting, you see.  As I marched her into the house to put astringent onto the bite, I lectured her on saving those kinds of screams for when your life is endangered because her screaming in that tone had put my life in danger.  She had nearly given me a heart attack!

After I had doctored her foot, located the ant bed, and watched them begin playing, again, I was thanking the Lord that she had not been in nearly as difficult a situation as she thought she was.  In the quietness, I heard the Lord remind me of all the times that I had come to Him believing it impossible for Him to stop the pain.  Sometimes, the pain was horrific – the death of our daughter or the death of both of my parents within five months of one another. 

At other times, the pain was really more disappointment at unfulfilled expectations.  At still others, it was simply because I had been told no, through the loss of a job or working conditions, the loss of a home, or – as with other little girls – the loss of esteem, approval, or appreciation. 

Yet, through it all, God says, “Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He will sustain you (Psalm 55:22).  Even to your old age I am He, and even when you have gray hair, I will carry you.  I have made you, and I will carry you, and I will deliver you (Isaiah 46:4).  So, as I went back outside to check on Taylor and her ant bite, I loved on her, reminding her that she can always call me when she needs help, and, at the same time, asking the Lord to help me stand a little stronger when I wander into an ant bed in this world. 

© 2011 Gerry Sisk

(05/25/11)