Betrayer

 While sitting in a dermatology office filling out a lengthy questionnaire, I was distracted by a boy band on the television at the end of the reception area. Obviously brothers by their strong resemblance to one another and that perfect blend that comes easily to a group of family singers, their choreography was lively and entertaining. The audience was appreciative and the host gushing with praise as he questioned them afterwards. “Is there one of you who is difficult to work with?” he probed.

As if cued, they pivoted and all four older brothers pointed to the youngest brother who shrugged his shoulders and agreed sheepishly. “I can be a real pain in the butt sometimes!”

Once again I was reminded  - that is not what happened when Jesus told them at that last Passover dinner shared that one of them would betray Him. No one pointed to Judas Iscariot. Rather, they each pointed to themselves in dismay and asked if they were the betrayer. 

If they could have known what their actions and reactions would be in the next 12 hours, they would have been convinced that they indeed were all betrayers.

Jesus clearly indicated before He handed the dipped bread to Judas Iscariot that He knew which of them was the betrayer. Even then the other disciples could not comprehend but assumed as treasurer Judas was being sent on some Passover errand as he left.

I realized I had never thought through what it actually meant that Judas betrayed Jesus. My conclusion? Judas betrayed the location of Jesus after dark in a private place with His disciples. The religious leaders had tried every maneuver to get Jesus previously but couldn’t risk inciting the crowd during daylight hours. Many  people loved and adored Jesus. Because it was not yet His time to be trapped, He continually evaded and eluded them. 

The betrayer would also need to suspect that Jesus would not fight back. Only a member of His  intimate circle could be aware of His mindset. Someone invited to share that last supper with Jesus and hear Him say again, as He had many times before, that He would soon die. He even gave them a new covenant and how to celebrate it in remembrance of Him.

Still wondering years later,  I came across a copy of Fulton Oursler’s 1949 book, The Greatest Story Ever Told. Subtitled “a tale of the greatest life ever lived - a reverent and faithful retelling of the ever-new, ever-lasting story of Jesus, written with powerful simplicity.” Oursler used words to flesh out the events in the Bible as filmmakers today do with productions such as The Chosen.

His narration around these events finally made me see an alternative explanation that also made sense. The Bible is very transparent when it explains that people act as people always have and always will. Maybe Judas went to the religious leaders as an act of protecting Jesus.  How could He think dying was what the Messiah must do? Thousands of years of religious reinforcement had instructed the Hebrew people that the Messiah would be an overcoming, triumphant, overthrower of those who oppressed His people. Maybe Jesus needed some remedial instruction, private counseling from the chief priests. 

Wouldn’t you go to your religious leaders if you thought someone you loved was willing to die for a wrong belief?

All this wondering happened over the decades since I read the book. An avid reader, I couldn’t remember the title. I own hundreds of books and have read and passed on thousands of others. Yet it still remained the most plausible explanation that didn’t contradict Scripture. What was the title? I didn’t want to not credit the author. All of these thoughts were not original thoughts to me. How could I write about it?

Wednesday we treated ourselves to a trip to a favorite farmer’s market/flea market in DeLand. It was a welcome respite from abundant yard trimming, a result of our recent record freeze.  The strawberries were ripe, fragrant,  and hawked as last of the season, fresh from Plant City. Also found showstopper begonias in an array of vibrant colors to decorate tables for Easter. One young man had a folding table covered in books from the 40s and 50s. There it was. Could it be the book I read so long ago? There was another lens to look at Judas through.

I hesitated to buy it even though it was only five dollars and had a dust jacket in good condition. What if it wasn’t the book I had been seeking? God is a frequent user of “coincidence” in my life. I knew He was helping me obey Him by writing about what I have been pondering for a very long time.

Oursler’s version has Judas getting assurance from the elders that Jesus would not come to any harm but would be put under protective arrest.The information would be paid for with thirty pieces of silver because the religious elite were very transactional and didn’t want Judas returning for compensation later.

How could Judas have known how it would turn out? 

For that matter, how could the elders be sure  that Jesus would die? The Romans were in charge.

The ultimate rule keeping,  rule making men broke so many laws during the night trial of Jesus. Trials for capital offenses were never on a Sabbath, at night, in the High Priest’s palace. The unanimous guilty vote was suspicious and was cause for dismissal of the case. The witnesses were inconsistent and a 24-hour delay should have been given to evaluate the evidence. Jesus’ proclamation that He was the Messiah could not be grounds for conviction, it was self-incriminating.

And yet, it all unfolded as Jesus and His Father planned that it would, as Jesus  had been preparing them beforehand. But they could not see beyond centuries of traditions, religious traditions, even when confronted with The Truth.

It is overwhelming to be loved with such an outrageous love as Jesus shows. It is hard to look closely at traditions that I cling to that are wrong in the light of The Truth. There is much we all have to still learn. 

Tonight when you are remembering the events that took place on that first Maundy Thursday, think  of Judas who got so much wrong despite seeing with his own eyes the things we can only read about. Judas whose remorse was so great at helping the death of an innocent man. that he returned the silver and ended his own life. He trusted the wrong men.

The betrayer was also betrayed.

Author’s Note 

Recently while preparing for a children’s lesson I read Mark 14:3-10 in The New English Bible. It says:

Jesus was at Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper. As he sat at table, a woman came in carrying a small bottle of very costly perfume, pure oil of nard. She broke it open and poured the oil over his head. Some of those present said to one another angrily, ‘Why this waste? The perfume might have been sold for thirty pounds and the money given to the poor’; and they turned upon her with fury. But Jesus said, ‘Let her alone. Why must you make trouble for her? It is a fine thing she has done for me.You have the poor among you always, and you can help them whenever you like; but you will not always have me. She has done what lay in her power; she is beforehand anointing my body for burial. I tell you this: wherever in all the world the Gospel is proclaimed, what she has done will be told as her memorial.’

Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray him to them.

* * * * *

I believe this is the moment Judas felt he must intervene. Jesus believed He was about to die. The woman believed Jesus was about to die. He could not handle what he could not understand.

It comforts me to think the fragrance from the perfume lingered on His bloodied head as He hung on the cross. Someone heard and understood.

Christmas in July

The  road we were on was jagged and uphill, filled with obstacles we couldn’t see. In truth,  the biggest obstacles were us. The past several weeks had broken us and those around us into so many pieces that we forgot what the picture looked like on the cover of this puzzle box that we were trying to put back together. We forgot how big and powerful and all-knowing God is. We needed to see Him show up in helping us weekly. Together.

So we did something drastic. We threw away the Sunday School curriculum in the children’s ministry.

Our Bibles would be the curriculum. They would be open, present and necessary for the teachers and the students. We met weekly to pray, discuss, plead for insight into how to make the Bible relevant to children from five to fifth grade. In the same room. Together.

We all had loved Jesus for a long time and studied our Bibles regularly. Some had experience teaching children, others teaching adults. But this was going to be a new thing. We needed creativity to come up with activities to reinforce the main idea of the lesson. We needed creativity to develop a structure for the morning that would feel safe to the children but freedom to make every week different. Each week we would evaluate what had happened the week before to discuss what worked and what didn’t. No one could get comfortable always doing the same aspect of the morning’s plan. Everyone would be stretched and pulled out of their comfort zone.

No wonder so much of our meeting time was spent praying, often with tears! 

We needed God to show up with us first so we could truly minister to the children. Their needs and our needs were both so many, so great. As promised, He was there. We inched forward very slowly, never alone, together.

The church calendar was in Lent so we started with those events in the book of Mark. Each scene was taken separately and discussed, asking why this passage mattered to a child, and what was the lesson to focus on for their lives. An activity was planned to reinforce the main idea and everywhere the Bible as primary document was open.

It was a powerful time as we weekly saw God going before. Eventually laughter and wonderment were part of the weekly planning gathering as we marveled at the changes in the children, at the changes in us.

Continuing forward in the scriptures, we eventually completed the book of Mark. The book of Luke is next in the Gospels which is how we ended up talking about Christmas in the summer. What a gift it was to focus on the events leading up to the birth of Jesus without a full calendar of holiday events competing for our attention!

Knowing that the narratives happened to real people like us, we imagined what it must have been like to be them. We were learning so much as we focused on one event at a time. Our enthusiasm was contagious and the children seemed to flourish in the new format, enjoying that every week was different within a repeated structure.

Early into the book of Luke we came to a roadblock of sorts. Elizabeth’s astonishing surprise of being pregnant as a very old lady was something we weren’t sure how to convey to the children. “We could tell them it was like their grandparents suddenly expecting a new baby.” “That won’t work. They’re kids, they think everyone is old!”

Debate and discussion could not bring about a resolution and the meeting was almost over. ‘I’ll take it on,” volunteered one of the teachers. No idea how she would do it, we knew that she would.

The morning began with an opening activity, then the Bible lesson after one of the children read the passage from the scriptures. A simple snack was served then the children were gathered in a semi-circle for a special surprise. Their teacher had written a children’s story just for them! 

A masterful storyteller, she had the children’s rapt attention about a happy bird family. The clutch of eggs produced several babies including one with the most unexpected characteristic - she had no wings! 

Loved and cared for by all her family, the story shared how they adapted and lived with her, adjusting to the complications of being a bird that couldn’t fly. Until one extraordinary day when suddenly she could fly, still without wings! Astonishing! Incredible! Supernatural! The children practically cheered.

From my vantage point off to the side, I got to watch the connection come across all their faces, like a wave sweeping the crowd at a sporting event. Elizabeth having a baby at a very old age was like a bird flying without wings! They got it. They understood the miracle of it. They understood that the God who did that was powerful and paying attention. He could do anything!

Thirty years later, the memories of that time are still a treasure to me. So much good came after we thought we would never recover from the individual and corporate wounding that happened to set us onto our recovery journey. But God. 

Near and dear, He helped us as we limped forward. After a couple years, we were able to fly again.

Please do yourself a favor and read, dwell, marvel over the Christmas story yourself sometime this summer. You will be very glad you did. 

Maybe you will find new ways and places to fly even if you already have wings!

Preparation

”Why are there clusters of balloons on most of the mailboxes that are on the entrance road to the cemetery? Do you know?”

Our longtime neighbor was having a garage sale and we talked between customers buying treasures from her always wonderfully unique selection. “I heard that a family who lives on the street is burying their baby this afternoon. There are three other children and the mother asked the neighbors to help the street to somehow look different on this day since they have to travel it every day that they live here.”

I have balloons! As a children’s entertainer I keep a large stash of round balloons from the dollar store and as a regular garage sale shopper I have lots of spools of curling ribbon. I didn’t know the family but my heart ached for them at their great loss and my balloon stash could definitely help the trees in the median look different.

Already late morning, there was no time to lose. Soon colorful latex orbs tethered on leashes of shiny ribbon floated from branches up and down the center of the street leading to the cemetery. A couple of our daughters dropped by and joined in the balloon decorating when they heard the story. Passersby asked about the festive decoration and became reflective when hearing the rest of the story. We worked quickly until our balloon supply was exhausted not knowing when the family was coming.

It really did look like a celebration as the balloons bobbed in the gentle breezes, darting up and down in a playful dance. Please, dear Lord, may it bring them comfort on this most difficult of days. May they know they are loved and that You will be with them.

Surprisingly, the display looked cheerful for a couple days. Then it was quietly cut down and the street returned to normal as a young family nearby struggled to find its new normal.

Several weeks later a knock at our door revealed a beautiful young mother  that we did not know. Littles scurried nearby as she introduced herself and her children as part of the family whose infant son was buried recently. “We hear your family is responsible for the festive decorations in the median near our home. Our daughter squealed with delight when she saw the colorful display. We told them we would see their baby brother again because he was in heaven with our Heavenly Father. You helped them see that as something joyful to know. Thank you.”

We got to know each other better in the months and years that followed. Rarely have I seen the inner strength and peaceful confidence that she displayed in facing her tragedy. Though saddened deeply, deeper still was her trust in her dear Heavenly Father, who she spoke of frequently. Certainly, she had been prepared by trusting through other difficulties over the years to see with faith beyond the facts that others saw.

I wish you could hear her say, “If dear Heavenly Father wanted him to get better, he would have.” Dear Heavenly Father was said with such tenderness, affection, and intimacy that it would take your breath away. She was not repeating something she had merely heard or read but something she knew and had known and would continue to rely on as real and true with all her being.

This happened almost a decade ago. Now we are in the beginnings of a national whirlwind as our leaders scramble to head off the worst of a global pandemic. So much is unknown. So much is changing. So much is being exposed. Who we are and who we trust is being squeezed out of us like toothpaste  from a tube. Or if we have done the work of preparation, what is being squeezed out can be an ointment bringing healing, bringing hope, bringing dear Heavenly Father into our tragedy.

Truly this time together can be a gift. A fresh beginning without  the distraction of hurry blurring what and who is important. We can see others and ourselves more clearly. If what we see is not what we hoped, there is time for renewal, repair, restoration.

Unbalanced Scales

I could never work behind a deli counter. Too much uncertainty.

Too much uncertainty?

Sure. Four slices of muenster cheese make a quarter pound but it takes five slices of lemon-pepper chicken to equal the same. Virginia baked ham? You can never get it to equal exactly a quarter pound. Factor in the fact that several people are sharing the same equipment. What if one of them should change the thickness of the slice? No, too many chances to get it wrong for people who expect you to get it right. Precisely right. Every time.

The people, their expectations, are the biggest uncertainty. How can you tell if that kind faced older woman or that distracted young man are going to suddenly erupt because you didn't give them the exact amount they requested? You can tell by the way any extra is hastily removed that the usual reaction is not good. No one is being robbed here or asked to pay for something they don't need. Guess that's why it is unusual to see the same deli workers for very many weeks in a row, even if you shop on the same day of the week.

Too much uncertainty.

Yet, that is the state of the souls of most who follow the majority of the world's religions. They never know, for sure, if what they are doing is enough. Until it's too late to change the outcome, anyway.

That's a terrible way to spend a lifetime, to choose an eternity.

Which is why God the Father sent God the Son to earth. To be the Son of Man so he could be seen with human eyes showing the heart and mind of the Father for mankind. Not so we would quit trying, but so we could quit striving. So we could rest in what He accomplished for us because He knows, has always known, that we could never do it on our own. No matter how many times we got it right, there would be times when we got it wrong.

 Christmas evening, while explaining why Jesus had to come, I asked our grandchildren how many days they would have to get it right to make up for a really bad day where they did something terribly wrong.

"Forever." they answered.

They understand the problem. They also understand the solution to the problem. This is good news that is welcomed news. But it is not new news. God has been telling the same story throughout the Old Testament, preparing our understanding to recognize the solution when it was provided.

The prophet Isaiah reminded the people of his day and the people of all days that, "All our righteousness is as filthy rags;" Yes, we can agree that compared to an eternally holy God our sin is pretty rotten stuff. But wait a minute. It says our RIGHTEOUSNESS - the good days, the unselfish acts, the kind words, the generous gifts - those are as filthy (beyond dirty) rags. We are without hope if it depends on us.

Except for The Plan, set in place before that first great Fall from all the perfect good God wanted for us. God's Son would be The Price to pay the debt of our trespasses.

Because of Jesus we can be forgiven, set free to choose differently, live a life in line with what God had wanted for us all along.

And we can be certain.

Accidentally, On Purpose

‘What a great guy,’ Sam remarked, slowly putting down the yellow legal sized paper with the unfamiliar handwriting. The letter had arrived earlier that day, the return address not known to us. From an early age, all our girls recognized the delight, and today the intrigue, of a handwritten envelope.

The letter was one of gratitude. Months earlier Sam had stopped to act as a witness to an accident at a busy intersection on his way home from work. He knew it would be hard to determine who was at fault without an unbiased observer. If he had been involved, he hoped someone would wait for an officer to arrive; do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Because Sam was willing to be inconvenienced, the letter writer was not charged with the accident and he was spared the five hundred dollar deductible to repair the damage to his vehicle. The letter continued by offering if there was anything he could do to be of help, please let him know.

                                          ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

A small group of ladies met in the secondary kitchen/meeting room of the large church where our whole family was very involved. A new lady arrived and joined in the discussion readily, confidently, and delightfully. ‘Please don’t let her be someone who is just visiting,’ I whispered as a silent, sincere prayer. ‘Please let her be someone who will stay.’

Afterward, after introductions, we quickly discovered we had many friends in common through a non-denominational Bible study I had been involved in and where she was acting as a substitute teaching leader. Small world, big God! What a wonderful gift to meet Leah, then later her husband Steve and their two children.

As hoped, their whole family quickly became involved and integral to the church, using their many and varied gifts to the glory of God and the joy of the people.

Months later, our associate pastor announced the move of his family to a camp ministry for the denomination. His wife and I had been praying by phone together weekly for over a year for the needs of family, neighbors, and church. The Sunday that the move was announced, Leah came to me hurriedly after the service and said she’d like to be my next prayer partner.

‘All my prayer partners always move, eventually. (But not before our hearts are lovingly entwined, I neglected to add.) Are you prepared to move in the next couple years?’

 ‘My extended family is all here. We’ve been here for many years.  I’m not going anywhere,’ she boasted.

Hmmm. We’ll see.

When, how, where should we meet to pray together?  Our children had youth and children ministry meetings on Wednesday evenings, so we decided that would be most practical. The only available space was a small copy room in the church office, so that’s where we knelt and prayed on the behalf of many and ourselves.  We marveled at God’s blessing and goodness. We also discussed openly our befuddlement at the many inexplicable circumstances of life where we found ourselves and loved ones. Determined, we held each other accountable to be hopeful and watchful for a way to be opened for resolution.

Praying for someone is a way to care for and love them, even if you never meet in person. Praying with someone is a way to cement a friendship for a lifetime, no matter how many miles separate you or how many years pass between conversations. That is the friendship we began forging, week after week, not knowing then the quality of what was being built.

Steve used his wonderful music skills to help with worship in the youth ministry and acted as a wise counselor. Soon he was either bringing our older daughters home after youth group, or we would meet him at a designated place near their home, which was on the same north end of town but still ten minutes or more from our home. To our delight, our whole families became friends with one another.

One Sunday, when their family was at our house after church for lunch, everyone scattered into various pairings for conversation as the final preparations for eating were accomplished. The men, who both traveled in their jobs, shared tales of traffic and traveling woes with one another.

Steve began sharing about an accident he had been involved in at a local busy intersection. ‘It was with an orange Mercedes, wasn’t it?’ Sam exclaimed. Steve shook his head slowly in astonishment as Sam finished the story. ‘I was the one in the car behind you who waited to give the cop my card as a witness. You even wrote me a thank you letter later! We still have it!’

Small world, big God, indeed.

I’m not a mathematician, but I know the odds for this meeting again so many years later are astronomical. And providential. And not coincidental.

Seeing God, the Arranger, at work so up close and personal in our lives made it slightly easier to say good-bye to them a couple years later when they moved to the west coast of Florida, despite Leah’s earlier adamant predictions to the contrary. Once she met me halfway, in Lakeland, when the burden I was bearing was so great that only a face to face conversation with a dear friend who would not only tell me the truth but also remind me of the Truth would suffice.

We remain friends though they are now in the northeast and we have only seen one another twice in the last five years. We don’t talk on the phone or e-mail regularly. But I’ll rearrange my life if I can visit with her for a few minutes on a layover in an Orlando airport or if she has a few spare hours when she is in town visiting family.

How wise is Leah? She once quipped that she is skeptical of reading the writing of authors who haven’t been dead for at least a hundred years! Yet, she introduced me to wise women writers as varied as Amy Carmichael, Carolyn James, and Anne Lamott.

How flexible is Leah? On the cusp of letting her nursing license lapse, she instead went back to school, eventually getting her doctorate in palliative care and teaching at a northern university. Living in Pennsylvania makes seeing the families of her beloved children and grandchildren infrequent. She longs to be nearer and to be a more ready presence in their lives.

How faithful is Leah? She has a list of ‘prodigals’ that she prays for regularly, even though only one of them has returned home to faith and family in many years. Still, she prays. Still, she hopes. Her continued regular prayers for me have mattered more than she will ever know as she trusts Him to help me avoid the sins ‘such are common to man’ and to make a difference in the sphere of influence where I live.

'You are constantly in my heart, frequently in my thoughts, and regularly in my prayers,’ was the closing of  a recent correspondence. How truly rich I am to have a friend like her.

And it all started accidently.

On purpose.

 

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Mother's Happy Day

We stopped counting after the twentieth outpatient visit to our mother’s local hospital. The staff nodded, waved, or smiled their greetings of recognition as we walked the same path each time through the lobby, admissions, and various levels until we reached our therapy destination. As predictable as the coming of a full moon, we came every four to six weeks, sometimes sooner, but never later.

The week of our first daughter’s wedding, she had an open heart surgery, made more tenuous because of a history of several ongoing health issues. Thankfully, she made it through surgery and had recovered just enough to sit quietly at the back of the church to observe her granddaughter’s wedding. Unfortunately, what had been good for her heart was bad for her lungs. A painful, slow buildup of fluid now had to be drained for release and relief.

We would learn what a pulmonologist was for and wonder why so few of them were practicing in our large urban sprawl. Timely appointments were hard to get. Fortunately, a doctor’s orders were not necessary for each procedure after he confirmed this would become part of her health routine.

A strong, feisty woman who had been turned gentler and submissive by the loss of her husband and her better health, she now went quietly to doctors to be told what would happen next. Still, as an intelligent and widely self-educated woman, she could still muster a clear, ‘no’, to medicines that made her hurt and diminished, or to diets and regimens she knew she would not stick with for long.

Today we carried x-rays from the previous week’s pulmonology visit showing the lungs were half full, the pressure building and the deep breathing capacity diminishing. We walked slowly from the parking lot, carrying the confirmation of her self-diagnosis in a large labeled envelope, acknowledging as we went the friendly welcome of the many staff that recognized us as familiar strangers.

I handed the technician the films of my mother’s lungs and watched her gentle care as she guided her to the room where the procedure would take place. A large needle would be inserted between her ribs on her back. As much as a liter of fluid would be withdrawn. Just thinking about it made me squeamish. Wisely, I was never given the option of accompanying her into the treatment room. She rarely revealed the pain she was in, her growing stillness, gathering her resolve to be brave.

I settled into a chair and pulled out a magazine from a book bag I kept packed ready for waiting rooms in doctors’ offices.

After five minutes, the technician returned. “I’m sorry. We won’t be able to drain your mother’s lungs today.”

“But we have an appointment,” I responded, walking towards her, confused.

“She doesn’t have any fluid in her lungs.”

“B-B-But… the x-ray. The doctor said…” I stammered.

“There is nothing to drain today,” was the emphatic response.
 

Arm in arm, happy tears streaming down our faces, we slowly retraced our steps back to the car, stopping to inform the staff and anyone who looked like they wondered what had happened to us that Jesus had healed my mother! The answer to a multitude of prayers had been “YES!” today.
 

Our voices were incredulous and full of the shock of an unexpected generous gift as we could not keep quiet about the miracle of divine restoration we had witnessed that morning. We walked as in a dream, periodically shaking our heads, and laughing with joy, marveling together at God’s goodness towards us.
 

Almost six weeks later, we were back for another lung draining procedure. Yet our confidence and trust remained high. We knew God could and had healed my mother, although only for a season. Because He had, we knew He might again. We were reminded  in an unforgettable way that He hears us and knows not only what is best for us but when is best for us. We could trust Him. And we did.
 

Months later, the pulmonologist would coat the inside of her lungs with a film of talc, a carcinogen. The powder would stop the painful procedures for a projected twenty years. The potential risks deemed less than the potent realities in her advancing years.
 

I try to remember the lessons learned that day when a situation in life is inexplicably difficult for an inexplicably long time. Always, if I will pay attention, there is some confirmation somewhere that there is reason for hope, that my pleas and prayers have been heard, that help is on the way, if only for a season.
 

For centuries the wise and devoted Julian of Norwich has been quoted by those who wait in difficulty, “All shall be well…”
 

For decades I have observed her words to be true - all shall be well - indeed; in due course, eventually, in the fullness of time…”all shall be well.”

 

 

 

Uncertain

“The terrorists are FROM that country. They don’t terrorize their own country!” she responded brightly.

This was supposed to be reassuring, a counterpoint to the enthusiastic announcement that she would be leaving for the Middle East in weeks. However, it was less than five years after the 9-11 tragedy and security alerts and tensions were still high.

Sigh. Deep breath. Adjust.

Her newlywed husband had seen the reasonableness of it. The baby nestled inside her was beginning to announce his presence in a new baby bump, barely visible, but setting a boundary on when she could be out of the country. “I would never travel there with a small child in tow. My dear friend is studying there and has fallen in love with the people, the culture, and the architecture. She’s so smitten, she may never return here. If I’m going to go, now is the time.”

Sigh. Think. Wonder.

“The LORD will watch over me. The Bible says all my days have been planned before the foundation of the earth. If I’m supposed to die there, I will. If I’m not supposed to die there, I won’t.” The words we had taught them about a biblical worldview being echoed back to us.

Sigh. Beg. Trust.

“When do you leave?”

Soon.

We prayed fervently for her adventure. Fortunately, her layover was in a familiar city, London. The next morning we woke to news from the BBC about several London bombings on public transportation. Not knowing how to contact her, we waited for news. Exhausted from traveling on to her final destination, it wasn’t until the next morning that we received an email informing us of her safety and the sobering news that she had been traveling on those same vehicles on those same routes only twelve hours before the explosions.

Now, colorful marketplaces, breathtaking scenery, new aromas and flavors, wove a vibrant memory on her audacious undertaking with her friend. The only real physical threat was the dehydration possibility as summer temperatures soared in the Arabian landscape. The time passed too quickly as places she had only read about were places she now was enjoying.

Then she was home. Full of excitement, stories, and pictures, she returned eagerly to her homemaking tasks. Rushing outdoors to sweep the front porch of their home before the arrival of an afternoon thunderstorm, she didn’t notice the film of moisture already covering the smooth concrete from a sprinkling earlier in the day. Her feet slipped out from under her and she landed hard on her back on its damp surface.  An emergency ultrasound confirmed that mother and baby were still doing well.

Sigh. Relief. Rejoicing.

These events were very instructive to me as a mother. Frankly, I wasn’t praying specifically for our daughter when she was in London, nor did it occur to me to pray for her safety in her own home. I thought those places were secure. My concerns for her were the uncertainties of traveling in a faraway country.

I was wrong. The very places I assumed predictable, proved most dangerous. The very place I assumed most dangerous, proved predictable.

Nevertheless, her Heavenly Father, always aware, always present, was paying attention. His purposes and His plans for her could not be thwarted.

Tomorrow is the beginning of a new year, 2014. Be glad that in the times where you have not read the situation correctly, when you are feeling vulnerable, unprotected, or exposed, your Heavenly Father is still watching. His plan for you may be protection and prevention. Or it may not.

His purposes and plans for you cannot be thwarted. Trust Him. He is trustworthy.