Not too long ago I was babysitting one of our three, 3-year-old grandchildren. As I waved good bye to his parents, he looked perfectly all right. We had a little story out of his favorite book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I put him to bed and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night, I felt a little hand, and I turned on the light. I looked at Drew: chicken pox from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. "Nana," he said, "Me's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Why should some things like this happen to I?"
I thought how like Drew we all are. Why should something like this happen to me? We cannot believe it. We cannot believe that God would allow something to happen to such nice people like us.
I gave Drew a bath in porridge–oatmeal. It's a wonderful remedy. It takes away the itch. He swam around in this porridge bath, and then I took him out and wrapped his bumpy, little body in a great, big white towel. As I held him against my heart, he just kept saying, "Hold me, Nana. Hold me, Nana. Hold me, Nana." I thought of Job as I held my little Job to my heart.