I was in the emergency room not too long ago, holding my thumb together while the attending physician prepared to stitch my wound (watch out for jackknives and fourth-grade science projects). He was making conversation.
“So, how are you with pain?”
“Well,” I said, glancing at my friend Bonnie who was cradling my infant, “I’ve had six children without medication and one C-section. I think I can handle five stitches.”
“You have seven kids?” he asked, incredulously. “Why would anyone have seven kids?”
Another glance at Bonnie tells me she is shocked and appalled at his rudeness. Bonnie has three children and clearly hasn’t witnessed this line of questioning before. However, Bonnie does know exactly why I have seven kids and I could tell she was waiting to see if this doctor was going to get the whole speech.
As he approached with a very long needle to numb my thumb, he continued, “I mean, I have three kids, and kids are great but what in the world do you do with seven?” In goes the needle.
“I had one and then I had cancer. The doctors told me I’d never have another.”
“Oh, so you wanted to prove them wrong, huh?” Another needle, deeper this time, and I’m beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to have it stitched without anesthesia.
“No, actually …” I catch my breath and try to finish the story on the exhale. “I recognized God’s mercy and generosity when the second child was conceived and born and I decided He was bigger than me and bigger than medicine and He had a plan. He wanted to give me seven gifts. Who was I to refuse them?” Two more needles. The doctor asked me the names and ages of my children. Mercifully, Bonnie jumped in and provides information and a little treatise on how great my kids are and how much fun my household is. The doctor said he’d be back in a few minutes to stitch.
“How few?” I asked. “I really need to nurse the baby. Do I have time?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. But how will you do that? Your thumb is dripping and if you let go, it will gush.”
“That’s what I’m for,” replied Bonnie pertly. “We’ll manage.” What the doctor didn’t know is that I nursed the baby before we left for the hospital and again in the waiting room. We’re old pros.
“Seven kids,” he repeated, shaking his head as he left, “why would anyone have seven kids?”
Bonnie grinned. “You should have told him you home school too. Then he’d really think you were nuts.”
The conversation in the emergency room was one I have, in one form or another, almost every time I go anywhere with all my children. I try to be gracious and to be sure that my answers glorify my Lord. Often I wish I could really tell people just how rich a Catholic, home schooling lifestyle with a large family is. It would take me hours to properly convey the tapestry of my life.
Yesterday, I took everybody grocery shopping. As I opened the van door, a lady walked up beside me. One by one, my children tumbled out. In astonishment, she uttered, “They’re not all yours, are they?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I replied. “Every single one of them belongs to me.” Standing there in the cold rain, I decided to just cut to the chase. “And we home school, too. And no, I’m not sure if we’re finished having children yet. It’s really up to the Lord.”
“Oh my! Oh my!” said the stranger. “You should write a book.”
I laughed. Just behind Patrick, the last child out of the van, was a brand new box of books, hot off the press. “She has!” said Patrick, my gregarious salesman, “would you like to buy one?”
We left the lady speechless.
Elizabeth Foss is a freelance writer from Northern Virginia. Real Learning: Education in the Heart of the Home by Elizabeth Foss can be purchased at www.4reallearning.com.
(This article courtesy of the Arlington Catholic Herald.)
