Tag Archives: trust

Thanksgiving Memory

On Law Enforcement, , , , , ,

“Are you ready?” He smiled at me as I climbed in and he shut the door.

“Uh-huh!” I glanced at him so that he wouldn’t see the terror in my eyes. Calm down! He’s not taking you to jail.

And he pulled the patrol car out of the driveway.

“I’m probably not going to write any tickets today. It’s Thanksgiving.”

My terror turned to disappointment. Reinforcing an underlying belief that I thought myself crazy. Apparently, I felt someone should go to jail. Just not me. A shining humanitarian moment.

“Oh. Okay.” Attempting to mask my neurosis.

He pointed the car toward his beat. That stretch of road that he was assigned to cover for the day. He parked on the shoulder of the freeway. Giving himself a view. And then he started a conversation.

It was challenging to follow. An unfamiliar female voice kept chanting all manner of numbers and letters and random words. She vied for attention but he continued to talk. Zebra and Mary and King. What is she trying to say?

“Um, feel free to stop and listen.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m listening.”

To who? Her or me?

But the conversation continued. My senses were a bit maxed but I tried to hang in there. Nodding where appropriate and still trying to act natural. The profuse sweating of my hands distracted me from the issue of what position to put them in.

“Darn it.” And the conversation stopped. He started the car and pulled out.

Remember Clark Kent? He would duck into a phone booth? (Remember phone booths?) Anyway, he would rip the front of his shirt and in seconds be transformed from journalist to superhero. I’ve seen something similar. David went from normal conversation to police officer in a fraction of a second.

I sat rigid in the passenger seat as he pursued an SUV barreling down the freeway. Lights flashing. An electricity charged the air. The conversation was gone. He was focused. Alert. And I was no longer a companion. I was a spectator.

I watched in amazement at this man I thought I knew. His composure and calm was mind boggling as he confronted the unknown. I became acutely aware of my lack. My lack of knowledge. My lack of authority. My lack of courage.

What would I do if the driver shot him right in front of me? Could I ever marry a man whose job required him to put himself in such a precarious position?

And then an amazing thing happened. I saw it. The razor sharp edge of the thin blue line. Sending him off to work meant endangering a part of my soul. He had my heart.

There would always be a part of him that I could not follow. I could give him my heart but I could never control where he took it. Or the possible dangerous positions he would put it in. That was just going to be part of the deal.

That was over fourteen years ago. (Difficult to believe based on the above photo. That’s not really me by the way and that’s not the really the car. Just in case there is any confusion.) My first and I think only ride along. A lot has changed since then. Children, moving, and now retirement. Oh, and moving out of state. That’s a rather big change. But one thing is the same.

He still has my heart. And on this Thanksgiving, I’m truly thankful.

What are you thankful for?

 

 

 

Tiny Bubbles

On Faith, On Life, ,

 

Have you ever seen a toddler play with bubbles for the first time? Their fascination is captivating. They follow and chase the free-floating orbs with euphoria. A small round ball, a tiny bubble drops and every ounce of attention focuses. With arm outstretched, they waddle hurriedly to capture and claim the treasure. The bubble continues to fall and explodes, sending small droplets of soapy goo to the adjacent blades of grass.

The toddler stops suddenly. Frozen. Staring at what was. And then, the lower lip juts out and their brows furrow. Liquid disappointment falls down their cheeks.

Shattered bubbles are painful regardless of age. Dallas Willard says, “Reality is what we learn when we find out we are wrong.” When the bubble pops, reality is there to stare us in the face. The world is brimming with tragedy and pain. Suffering and destruction. Our rainbow like, soapy clean bubbles cannot shelter us. Our illusions of safety are fleeting. But security, that is an altogether different matter.

Death’s shadow passed by again last night. My husband missed the first two innings of another baseball game tending to a “clean up” effort of another demonstration of man and car vs. tree. Tree won. A few days prior, he was called away from an award dinner to an officer involved shooting. All officers are fine. Suspect died in the gun battle he started.

The world is a dangerous place. Death and pain run rampant and try as we might, our small, gossamer, self-constructed bubbles are no match. Fragile and translucent. They don’t stand a chance against the razor-sharp shrapnel of everyday life.

Not everyone lives with such demonstrative examples of this. But no one is exempt. No one can walk through this life unscathed. And yet, we put forth great effort to try. For many years, especially with small children under foot, our motto had been, “Safety first.” Often spoken tongue-in-cheek, none-the-less it was applied with vigor and vigilance.

But what is left when the bubbles burst?

We are not safe from pain and trouble. We are not immune to suffering or tragedy. Our hope cannot reside in the residue of tiny bubbles. But who needs bubbles anyway? Our eternity is secure and sheltered in the capable hands of the Almighty God.

“These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

 

 

 

What am I doing here?

On Faith, , ,

Prison cell

Did Joseph ever forsake the dreams and visions of his youth? There he sits, in a jail cell in Egypt. Being sold into slavery was bad enough but to then be thrown into prison unjustly? I wonder if there were any conversations like this…

“OK God. Just checking to see if you got my new address? I’m pretty sure you knew I was no longer in my father’s house. Thanks for sparing my life by the way. Trying to keep perspective. But the most recent event is the transfer from Potifer’s house to prison. Just making sure you have my current info.”

“Joseph, I’m right here.”

“Right. Well, since we don’t have anywhere to be can I ask you something?”

“Yup.”

Joseph sits on the hard dirt floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. His focus stays on the ant scurrying past. He smirks. Even the lowly ant may come and go as he pleases.

“Remember those dreams I used to have? The sheaves of wheat bow down. Those ones. Remember?”

“Of course.”

Joseph waits for the Creator of the Universe to say more. The ant changes direction and God remains silent.

“Uh, can we talk about those?”

“What about them?”

“Well, I just mean this is about as far away from those as possible.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Really?” Joseph tries to keep his voice in check. The frustration mingles with anger but he cannot forget to whom he is speaking. “All right.” He sighs. “Could you at least let me know what to expect next?”

“I already have. That’s what the dreams are about.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” He bounds to his feet.

“I get that it doesn’t make sense to you. But it makes perfect sense to me.”

“Wait a sec.” Joseph stops pacing and faces the stone wall. “Are you telling me those dreams are going to be fulfilled?”

“Yeah. Why not? Yes, Joseph you are in prison. Do you think I looked away for one minute and the plan got away from me? Let me ask you something.” Joseph braces himself for a question from the mouth whose very spoken word hung the stars in the sky. “Did I go too far?”, he wonders.

“Do you think I would give you a dream and not prepare you for it? Do you think you were ready to see those dreams fulfilled while you were still a teenager and a daddy’s boy?”

The force of God’s questions puts Joseph back on the dirt. He cradles his head in his hands and tears stain the red packed earth. He braces himself for the lecture from the Almighty.

But God is silent. In the void of conversation, a warmth falls over Joseph’s shoulders. His breathing evens and the chisled lines of the cell walls blur. A weightless sensation envelopes him as the presence of God surrounds and supports him. Comforting. Sustaining. Solid.

Are you someplace you thought you’d never be wondering how you got there?

And then the Great I Am speaks.

“I am with you always. Do not worry about the dreams or how they will come to pass. Focus on Me. The One who will never leave you. And trust Me that I am still at work.”