If you’re a parent, you can easily think of a time when your kids have been sick. You know the non-stop activity of taking care of them: helping them and then stripping the bed, carrying icky sheets to the washer and remaking the bed, only to have them soiled again an hour later. Although you are happy to take care of them, it is exhausting. By the time your child is well, you never want to wash another set of sheets in your life.
Imagine now, if your child had a bed wetting problem. That sheet-washing nightmare would be your reality every single morning!
Well, I had a bed wetting problem…and my poor mom was that bedding washer.
I never seemed to grow out of it, like we were all hoping I would. My parents tried to tweak my water intake before bed or even buy gadgets that would buzz me awake the moment “moisture” hit the sheets. But my deep sleep always won out and my enduring mom always had to wash my bedding… again.
When I was old enough to go to church camp and stay in the dorm with my friends, this terrible curse threatened to keep me home. My private struggle would surely become public now. Because of our family’s long time involvement with Maranatha Bible Camp, I had been waiting patiently for my turn to go. I had watched my parents and older siblings leave with anticipation and return with stories of new friendships, amazing teachers, and lives transformed around them. I wanted a week of that for myself. But I couldn’t even imagine it without the shadow of my humiliating problem. I could go, but not without paying a heavy price.
Like a super hero flying in for the rescue, my mom later informed me know that she would be going to camp that week with me. Undercover as a kitchen helper, she would be able to help me take care of my situation. She had helped me in our home time and time again without getting mad about her added work. She never embarrassed me or made fun of me. In fact, she had comforted my own frustration with stories of other family members who had struggled in the same way when they were young. So, I do not recall if we discussed the details of how everything would take place at camp, but I trusted I would be okay. Her consistently loving actions told me that I would be safe.
We went to camp that summer. I went to camp that summer. I do not remember who led my family group, what scripture we studied, or what boy I liked that week. But can tell you exactly how preciously I was treated by my sweet mom. Like a cherished, family heirloom that one would take out and wear to a special party, she let me shine, but carefully protected me from scratches all the while.
Early each morning before the sun was out of bed, my mom was up. She quietly came to my bunk and gently woke me. She had dry pajamas in one hand and clean bedding in the other. I would go in the bathroom, clean up and change my clothes. She would take all the wet bedding away and replace it with soft, dry ones. Then she would tuck me in and l would go back to sleep while she washed my bedding, BY HAND this time and put them on a clothes line behind the dorm. I would later wake up with the other girls ready to start the day.
My mom’s patience, kindness, gentleness, and selflessness showed me how precious I was and am to her. Because she made a decision to handle me with care, the bed-wetting and sheet-changing years became the source of this very special memory. I am forever touched by being loved like that!
Heidi Corona
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