Not long after landing back in Nairobi, I get a call. My son had suffered a head injury at school. The ambulance was taking him to hospital.
As I prayed in the car on the way there, still massively jet-lagged, I was surprised at how shaken I felt.
Fast-forward a couple of hours and my son was fine. A few stitches, a tetanus shot, and a good dose of energy healing, meant that the gash in his head was no longer at the forefront of his, or my, mind.
We enjoyed our dinner, and then sat in front of a roaring fire while playing Rummikub. Actually, he kicked all our butts!
It reminded of something Master Co once said, to accept the pain and then choose not to suffer.
He could have lain there, feeling sorry for himself. He did not.
He got on with life, as we all must.
No, he didn’t just get on with life, he embraced it, living it to the fullest. He stayed up late, but made sure he took his medicine before going to bed. And the compulsory cuddle from his mummy.
He looked after himself, stayed present and chose to be happy.
I do love the lessons that these little people teach us.
