My youngest has a solution to his Dad’s snorning. While he’s sleeping, dress him up as a racoon, and carry him outside. What a solution! I can’t stop visualizing that.
However, most problems that need solving cannot be done with such cute, creative fixes. Some problems take years to resolve. Why? For some reason, we have to walk down that path, study the problem, try varying solutions, search for clues.
A dog-with a bone, never-give-up, always-reaching-for-resolution attitude. When I took this job as “Hey, Mama,” I had no idea of the high-level problem solving skills that would be required. I probably wouldn’t have applied if I had known. How many of you would have run screaming? No, don’t raise your hands.
However, on the day my first son was born, something inside me was born, too. God’s pretty amazing. He doesn’t let us realize all the abilities He stuffed inside us all at one time. It is almost as though there are boxes and boxes of amazing gifts, like on Christmas, all wrapped up. Except, we don’t unwrap them until we need them.
It’s almost like on the Wizard of Oz when the Great Oz presents the scarecrow with a sheet of paper:
“Wizard of Oz:: Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitartus Committiartum E Pluribus Unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of ThD.
Scarecrow: ThD?
Wizard of Oz: That’s… Doctor of Thinkology”(Wizard of Oz).
Problem Solving? Unraveling mysteries, deciphering handwriting, solving a riddle. Sherlock Holmes, watch out, Ms. Marple, step aside. Rumpole, it’s not your turn.. The Great Mommy Detective – that’s me.
I’ve solved the following mysteries:
The Case of the Missing Turtle Head
The Case of the Missing Homeschool Work,
The Case of the Missing Ice Cream,
The Mystery of the Missing Words
The Case of the Missing Cell Phone,
The Case of the Missing Fire in the Belly for Life,
The Case of Not Being Able to Pass an Open Book Test,
The Mystery of the Big Kitchen Mess
The Case of Not Following Directions,
The Case of Sitting on the Bench,
The Mystery of the Door Knock
The Case of the Stalking Stomach Ache,
The Case of the Missing Passing Grade,
The Case of the Sore Knees and Feet,
The Missing Thin Mint Mystery
The Return of the Stalking Stomach Ache,
The Case of the Son who Would not LISTEN to Lectures,
The Case of the Missing Child
The Case of the Problem Logic Couldn’t Solve,
The Case of the Missing Facial Cleanser,
The Missing Sub Sandwich Mystery
The Case of the Empty Laundry Detergent Bottle,
The Case of the Stinky Feet
The Great Christmas Present Mystery
The Case of the Missing Dr. Pepper Inside the Bottle
The Case of the Blown Transmission
The Case of the Mysteriously Appearing Tinkle on the Toilet
However, I cannot take credit for the trickiest mysteries. In the most difficult cases-I was just the ghost writer for God. After I had collected all the information, stacked up all the clues, consulted with specialists, I found myself missing the key information that would solve the mystery. I had followed all the leads, logically approached the problem from every angle.
No, I didn’t pick up the phone. I dropped to my knees, bowed my head, and through my tears, gave the case to God.
He has people. When He sends His people, problems get solved.
From 1st to 6th grade, one son had a stomach ache that grew and grEW and GREW. In 3rd grade, we sent him to one children’s hospital for tests. “Just give him more fiber,” they said. So I did, and chocked it full of chocolate, so he’d eat more.
We spent 3 hours a night just to help this son who had once been an top student make Cs. He ran more and more like his great-granny ran, this one son who had run like a gazelle. The 6-pack he had been born with disappeared. A haunted look appeared on his face.
In 6th grade, his pediatrician did an x-ray and ultra-sound. Nothing. “It must be in his head,” I was told. I was angry, angry at my son because he was either lying to me and at the pain, because if it were real that meant there was a problem.
I literally wanted to punch a hole in a wall. How emasculating to be a woman and not be able to do that!
Instead, at 4 p.m. in the afternoon one late Spring day, I dropped to my knees. I prayed, “You know what is in him God. You put it there. You planned his days before he was born. YOU know what is going on. YOU know what he needs. YOU know the solution.” And I cried.
Three days later, I was talking to someone at his school about the pain. Sometimes, when God is moving, you end up telling people your need story. While you’re telling it, you wonder, “Why am I doing this? Why can’t I stop this?” Because, for that day, that person is one of God’s people He sends to give the key to unlock the mystery. She gave me the name of a doctor her daughter used.
Sitting in his office 2 weeks later, the nurse asked, “On a level of one to 10, what would you say your pain level was?”
“Nine,” he answered.
When she left the room, I said, “Really? You’re a nine. One more and you’d want to go to the hospital?”
“Yes,” he said. His answer humbled me.
When the doctor came in, he pushed around his stomach. At one point, my son about came off the table.
The doctor informed us that where the pain was located was not an area where “in the head” pain occurred. I hadn’t even said anything about that. He scheduled a scope.
He had esophagitus. Where some people have really bad acid reflux, others have pain that resembles pain from a heart attack, which is what he was having. Imagine, you ladies out there, having severe menstrual cramps 7 days a week. It would wear you down, be difficult to concentrate at school, interfere with you athletic ability, and give you a haunted look.
They put him on Nexium. He cannot have chocolate, caffein, or mint. The pain went away, but the real work was ahead. The re-emergence of my son began. He had to rebuild his strength, re-learn how to run, and re-build his grades. His teachers were amazed at the difference in the boy who came to class. He greeted them with a smile, participated, led.
This was one of my biggest mystery cases. However, I cannot take credit for resolution. I have to give that credit to The Master Detective, God. Thank you, God!
Blue Cotton Memory 