Jun 27, 2016 3 min read

We were up early Sunday, long before the sun.

The plan was to deliver both of our girls to church, where they were expected to crawl into a caravan of SUVs on their way to the mission field. This year, they were scheduled to feed the hungry, work in food pantries and pray with the people on the streets of New York City.

Both girls were excited. The middle girl was taking her first trip to the Big Apple, while my oldest was taking her fourth – and probably the final one with this group. They were packed for days, having to dig out their toothbrushes and other hygiene items numerous times since shoving them into their tiny suitcases.

But instead of this plan being followed, we awoke to a glitch. The day before, the oldest girl had done some weed and plant removal in a flower bed and was now covered in itchy, burning bumps and hives. Her fingers had little definition because they were so swollen, and her eyes and cheeks were also puffy and red. She said she was unable to sleep all night.

So we packed both girls into the car and delivered one to her mission trip and the other to the emergency room.

The hospital wasn’t very busy at that hour, but we also were pretty low on the triage scale, so we settled in for a wait. After a few minutes, my girl patted the bed beside her and asked me if I wanted to sit with her. I was happy to oblige and crawled up onto the bed.

She laid her head on my chest, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She seemed so sad about missing her trip and also about the pain in her hands, and I was glad she accepted my comforting gestures. We sat and talked while we waited for the doctor.

At some point, we must have fallen asleep. An hour had passed when the doctor entered, and he quickly assessed her condition. (This was after asking which of us was the patient, presumably since we were both on the exam table. Although I’m totally going to pretend he had trouble telling which of us was an 18-year-old female.)

He believed she came in contact with some poison ivy and gave her a prescription to help her heal. We went to the pharmacy and discovered they didn’t open for some time, so we settled in for another wait. At some point, we must have fallen asleep.

A half hour had passed when I awoke that time, and we grabbed her medicine and headed for home.

I took another nap that afternoon, but we were all still ready for bed early that night. It had been a very long – and itchy – day.

If you think about my girls this week, your prayers for protection (and healing) would be appreciated.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.