In Which I Lock the Baby in the Truck

I thought the keys were in my pocket.

The morning started smoothly enough. It was a perfect, clear, sunny day--the kind that you wish were the norm every day of the year: chilly in the morning, and dazzlingly bright and warm by lunch time.

On a mission to find size 2T long sleeved shirts, I packed up Lizzie, the stroller, and a cup of Cheerios to hit one of the local thrift stores, where they have all clothes half off on Wednesday. Half off? Why don't I go there more often? I collected a handful of toddler shirts, pants, and a velveteen dress, plus a couple of kitchen accessories, paid for them with a $5 and two $1's, dropped the shopping bag in the truck, then walked to the big pet store chain in the same parking lot. The Guinea pigs were a hit, and we made friends with the kittens for adoption.

It was getting to be close to lunchtime, so we made our way back to the truck. I loaded Liz into the car seat, and hit the clicker, so all the peripheral doors would lock. Because it's safer that way. She was settled, was chowing down on her Cheerios, and I shut the door to throw the stroller in the back.

And then I froze.

There were the keys.

On the seat.

Inside the truck.

With my baby.

Who was happily chewing, smiling, and kicking her sneaker-clad feet. She held out the cup of Cheerios, offering them to me.

I smiled, waved, and pulled my cell phone out of my jeans' back pocket. Thank God I at least had the phone on my person. "It's OK, baby. Hi, honey!" I say, listening to the phone ring on the other end of the line. "Eat your Cheerios. Don't drop them!"

Maybe one of the doors wasn't all the way closed. I walked around the vehicle. Nope, they're all soundly latched.

Still no answer. I wave to Lizzie from the other side of the truck. "Pick up, pick up! Oh, please, Jesus! Make Sam pick up his phone!" Sam doesn't always hear or acknowledge his phone ringing.

Voicemail.

I hung up and dialed a second time, and he answered. "Sorry, my mom was talking to me--" I cut him off.

"I need you to come. I locked Lizzie in the truck."

"You lost Lizzie?!" Oh, thank God I didn't lose her!

"No, she's here, I locked her in the Suburban. I need you to come with a key."

"I'll be right there."

We live only about 5 minutes away from the shopping center where I was stuck, so I knew if we could all just avoid tears, everything will be OK.

Looking back, I'm glad no one called the authorities; I could have looked suspicious the way I was hovering outside a huge SUV, peering in the passenger window, and then nervously panning the parking lot and passing traffic. I think I freaked out the Hispanic girls getting back to their Beetle parked next to me. They loaded up their goods as quickly as they could, avoiding eye contact (not that I was trying to draw attention to myself in this embarrassing situation), and keeping a good distance from me.

L was completely oblivious. She was having a grand time. As long as she did not spill her entire open cup of Cheerios before her daddy showed up with a spare key, she would continue to be fine. But I worried, because I didn't want to have to try to console her from the other side of the locked door.

We played peek-a-boo. We blew kisses. We pointed at each other and laughed. She picked up individual Cheerios and held them out to me, as though I could bite them out of her fingers through the window. I commanded her to not drop them. We signed "I love you" (our version, anyway).

And then Lizzie signed "Jesus loves me" with the biggest pleased grin on her face. My heart stopped.

Little ones to Him belong, they are weak but He is strong. Over the past few days I had begun teaching her the song, but I didn't get a lot of feedback from her. "Strong" is Lizzie's favorite part of the song, because she flexes her arms and grunts, then laughs.

"That's right, baby, Jesus loves you. He's right there with you, even if Mama isn't in the truck with you." She was so happy, so content. So assured that she was safe. From that moment, our waiting was full of the peace of God.

Another few minutes passed before Sam pulled up, in full running gear, and we unlocked the truck. Rejoicing, I got in the car. I am thankful because though it was inconvenient, frustrating, and one of those really embarrassingly dumb moments, nothing traumatic happened; and I am also thankful because Sam had not left for his 3 mile run while I was out, which would have made his prompt assistance impossible. The rest of the day was uneventful; we drove home, had lunch, read stories, kept the laundry going.

And all afternoon, dwelling in my mind were the words, Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you. Hebrews 13:5