We moved to Atlanta from So Cal when my boy was 2 years old. I had a huge opportunity and if the market had gone differently we would have been set financially. God had other plans, and we eventually moved back to So Cal. But this story is about the move to ATL.
When we move from LA, I was flabbergasted by the tremendous difference in what your money could buy. That difference and a new promotion resulted in a pretty nice house - big yard, an Atlanta address, and a pool in the back.
Moving across the country was hectic with all of the details, plus the emotions involved with leaving family. Well, we and the movers were finally at the house. The movers had all of the doors open moving stuff in through both the front and back of the house. We set the kids down to play and told them to stay put, especially when the back door was open. We kept a careful eye out while the doors were open, not wanting any lost or injured kids.
The movers were just about done, bringing in the last few things. We were starting the task of opening boxes. The girl was coloring at the table, and the boy was playing - at least that is what we thought.
My daughter dropped a marker, and she moved to pick it up. As she bent down, she saw my son flailing about in the deep end of the pool well away from the edge. She shouted that he was in the pool. The urge to panic instantly welled up within me, but I acted immediately. I ran out the door, jumped into the dirty water with clothes, shoes, cell phones and all. As I was coming up, I had him in my arms and on the side of the pool with one motion.
The thought of the incident still brings up emotions. What could have happened? What if my daughter had not dropped her marker? What if she had looked right instead of left? What if both of us had been upstairs?
I know God was watching, and I am so grateful that I still have my son. Thank you, Lord.
