The number was six

Six.  Six stitches that is.  Yesterday Savannah took the opportunity of a ring at the door to follow me just long enough so that I would be distracted while she went to the kitchen, got a block of cheddar cheese and a knife (they were out,  but on the other side of the room and required a chair... and she's never tried to get one before...), then took them across the room, up on the chair again, and cut almost all the way through it (exactly half - the long way).  All that in the space of time it took me to say,  "No pizza, a bag of cut corn, broccoli, and three bags of meatballs."  Then I heard the fateful sound of metal, Sydney's words "Savannah has a knife!" and, while already moving, "SHE CUT HERSELF!!!" followed by loud screams and very bloody fingers.  

Praise God Kevin (and our friend Brent) had just arrived home from lunch, so I put Savannah under the sink, told Sydney to "get Daddy now" and then let him take over (so I wouldn't pass out).  Sydney then got Brent to retrieve a bath towel (which she soaked through) while I  packed up a few additional items to the diaper bag, gave quick directions on what to feed Sydney lunch, and paid the Schwan's guy.  Poor guy.  He looked devastated.  As, I'm sure, did we.  Sydney, by the way, was very calm and incredible helpful.  Then she said she was worried about her sister but would pray for her and would be good while we were gone.  I love how she's a gamer.

Praise God we live close to the hospital. 

Praise God we have in-laws who can come over and relieve our friend.

Praise God for the nurses and doctors in the E.R. (they took care of Savannah and me - but I told them, on the floor with my head between my knees was just preventative - if I was going to really pass out I'd warn them first).

And PRAISE GOD that she "managed" to miss her tendons (it appears) and cut the best part of those tiny little fingers (to the bone on one and almost to the bone on the other).  We call that the Mercy of God.

So,  please pray for our little 2.5 year-old.  She already removed the hospital bandages and we had to get them rewrapped at the doctor (they were supposed to stay on until Sat. but, well... I only stayed until she fell asleep last night and jumped in her room at the first sign of wakefulness so that she wouldn't remove that beautiful cocoon dressing...).  We now have the kind of supplies we need to do this at home.  Let's just say that our attempts earlier in the day were completely pitiful, due entirely to our lack of professional laceration-type pads and gauze. But it was pitiful.  

Pray that she keeps this bandage on (as she has so far).  

Pray that she keeps her hand clean and dry.  

Pray that she doesn't scratch what will inevitably be very very itchy fingers.  

Pray that she makes it through outpatient surgery on Monday (tubes for her ears).  The building is next to the E.R. 

And pray that we will continue to care for her and her sister well.  

It's been a full 30+ hours (there were actually other things going on then too) so I'm going to go date my husband now.  The man who talked me out of shaming myself last night by finally saying,  "Anything short of rejoicing and praising the good God in heaven who has spared our daughter any number of worse outcomes, is sin."  Sobering, sure, but accurate.  Cowering in shame and perceived culpability was doing nothing for my heart, and diminished the goodness of God in my own eyes.  The only true response is to worship the God who was overwhelmingly merciful in the whole situation - as He would have still been even if the outcome were different.  I love that man.  We have a "Burn Notice" waiting on the DVR, and I got good bread and cheese.  Bring on the dating.