Dang! I Forgot the Side-mirrors!

          There are times in my life that I feel dry in my prayer life. I feel like I am not connecting, as if I am half-hearted, and perhaps God doesn’t listen to half-hearted prayers. My best prayers, I believe, are simply when I lose myself in honest conversation with God…no flowery words, no great depths, just honesty and a desire to communicate with Him.

            I felt off-kilter in my prayer life during the spring and early summer of this year. So I grabbed a few books on prayer and started reading. I must confess that I still haven’t completely figured this prayer thing out. But I did learn something at this time. I remember reading about prayer and persistence. The book(s) got a bit deep, but I picked up a few things that made sense to me.

            It was at this point in my reading that my youngest daughter came home and announced that she and some friends wanted to go to the beach for the day. The beach is about 3 hours from our home. Young people, you know, do these sorts of things. They have that kind of energy. In fact, I remember doing these things myself: get up, drive, lie in the sun allllllll day, and drive home long after sunset. This works for youth. She asked me this question about a week in advance of the planned day. As she is in college and was home for the summer, we had no problem with these plans. She is a responsible young woman, with Godly values and Godly friends. But perhaps I should correct myself. As she was in college and was home for the summer, I had no problem with her plans. But I did have a problem with the plans of the other umpteen thousand people that would be on the road at the same time as she and her friends. I particularly had a problem with the thousands of people that would be on the road at the same time after dark. On a Saturday night. Late, on a Saturday night. Especially the drunk ones.

            So, being in a bit of a praying mode, I began to pray. I prayed the entire week, leading up to this trip. I prayed all over that car. I prayed left-side, right-side, front, back, above, underneath, and within….not to mention each and every tire.

            And so the day arrived. They went. They had fun – sun, shrimp, and sea.  Eventually, the sun set. We had set a determined time for them to start home. I believe it was somewhere around 8:30pm or 9:00pm. Our thought was that this would get them home sometime around mid-night and we could at least sleep more soundly from mid-night onward. She did contact us and ask to extend our deadline by 30 minutes. Beach-town crowds, we reasoned, and dinner time, make for long lines, and thus we agreed to her decision.

            I gamely watched a movie for the evening, with my husband. But I must be honest. I love to sleep. It is one of my gifts. I’m not sure what purpose it serves, but it is a God-given talent. My husband, on the other hand, has the blessing of needing less sleep. So, at movie’s end, despite the parental concerns rumbling inside of me, I went to sleep; I left my trustworthy husband to stand guard for our daughter’s return.

            One must know that, being a Godly mother, I had calculated, down to the minute, the approximate time our daughter and her friends should be arriving at our house. One must also know that I did go to sleep. One must further know that as I went to sleep, I drifted off praying vehemently for their safety. I saturated that car in prayer. Then I went to sleep.     

            I would like to say that in that motherly type of knowing mode, I awoke mysteriously about the time they were due home. In retrospect, however, I suppose it was the dogs barking at their arrival that awoke me. But, the second I heard the dogs bark, I knew they were home, right on time.

            I ventured forth to give my best sleepy, motherly hug to my daughter. She hugged me back and then looked me dead in the eye and said, “I got hit by a drunk driver.”

            I was aghast. I asked her to repeat herself, which she did. I looked her up and down to check for signs of injury and found….none. Now I was acutely awake and thus asked for an explanation, to which she obliged.

            Fifteen minutes from home, as she got on the by-pass for our town, she noticed a car rapidly approaching from behind. She momentarily thought it was going to rear-end her car, but at the last second, it veered into the other lane, missing her bumper by inches. Before she could breathe, however, the SUV came alongside her and she and her friend heard and felt a loud THWACK and the SUV sped onward. In that instant, they realized what had happened: the two cars had essentially high-fived each other with their side-mirrors. It was a glancing blow at high speed, which resulted in a high release of adrenaline for both my daughter and her friend. The offending SUV did not stop and my daughter, realizing there was no real damage, wisely did not stop either.

            So she came home, shaken, but safe. I went back to bed, wide-eyed, but tired. Eventually, I fell back asleep. Sometime during the night, however, I popped into consciousness. The words “First Thessalonians” came into my mind. What? “First Thessalonians 5.”  If I’m lying, I’m dying. While I did not hear these words, they were impressed upon me in my mind. As I leaned over to reach my Bible came, “First Thessalonians 5:7.” So there I am at , I don’t know, 2:30am, with my reading light, oddly flipping through my Bible to find First Thessalonians 5:7, which reads clearly and unmistakably, “ For those who sleep, sleep at night, and those who get drunk, get drunk at night.”

            I stared at the page. Really? Are you laughing, God? Really. You had to throw that verse to me. You had to wake me up for this, it was so good. Stop it, You’re making me laugh. What? Have you got a verse appropriate for everything? Seriously?

            Later, I pondered the verse. Oh, I think God was winking and smiling and laughing right there in the pages, right there between the lines. But I also think He had a point to make, several points, really.

            First, trust in Him. For anyone out there, but especially for parents, it comes down to simply: trust in Him. Do you or don’t you? If you’re going to trust in Him, you sleep at night. You either do trust or you don’t. If you trust, you trust, and sleep. Yes, there are drunks out there. God acknowledges this. They especially like to get drunk at night. And drive. Which leads me back to trust. Trust like a child, and sleep.        

            Secondly, there’s this: I forgot the side-mirrors. In all my praying and in all my covering that car with prayer, I never once asked God to protect the side-mirrors. Is that why the side-mirror got whacked? One can study prayer and read about prayer and even pray about prayer. One can ask questions about prayer, endless questions. Do I actually affect God’s actions by prayer? Should I be persistently repetitive in prayer? Or does God hear me the first time and that’s good enough? If I miss a detail, does that leave a gap in the prayer, in the cosmos? I have no idea. I have no theological training. I don’t know. But here is what I do know: I prayed. I talked with God and I had faith. That’s it.

            I know there is a lot I could learn about prayer. And I welcome learning. But intellectual knowledge aside, I just know that when I bow my head in respect for the Maker of the universe and thank Him for His Wondrousness, He listens. I know He listens. And He so very much cares. His answers aren’t always what we want or expect. I’m not so naïve as to think that. I know otherwise. I know people who well know otherwise. But He cares. And I trust that He cares. Even if the side-mirrors get whacked. Or worse. He cares. And I trust. And sleep.

Jake & The Whitewater

Jake and The Whitewater

This blog post is dedicated to Jake Malone, a double black diamond ski dude, who well knew Jesus trumped the highest of mountains and the roughest of rapids.

            About thirty two years ago, John and I went on one of our first “dates” together, on a whitewater rafting trip. This trip was through my church at the time. Jake Malone organized the trip. I don’t really remember when I first met Jake. I just knew him – a big man with a big voice and a big heart- knowledge about God’s love. Jake ultimately went on to get his PhD in seminary. John and I ultimately went on to get married.

            So it’s fitting that I write this post today, because at approximately 12:30am today, Jake went Home. And my post today is about whitewater. Of course it’s about whitewater. Our middle daughter is engaged to a wonderful young man, who, in his spare time, river guides down the Chatooga. Suddently, whitewater returns to our lives. (Hey Jake, are you listening?!)

            On a beautiful Sunday in July, we ventured down Section III of the Chatooga River, with three daughters, one son-in-law, one future son-in-law, and one friend. As we were a crowd, my husband and I split off from our group and joined another raft. In addition to us and the guide, our raft group consisted of a father-son team and a young couple. The father-son team manned the front of our raft. The son had earned this trip as his 14^th birthday present. It was his first experience of this kind. The couple was young, and immediately indicated this outing was somewhat of a venture beyond their comfort zone. When she paddled forward as the raft guide yelled “paddle backward”, this was somewhat confirmed. John and I brought up the rear of the crew, with the guide behind us. The team looked dubious to me.

            As we approached the first or second rapid, enthusiasm ran high. That is, until the raft guide pitched forward and an uncontrolled domino effect followed. The entire maneuver is somewhat murky as I was the second domino to fall. As my head popped back above water, my mind screamed about 6 things at once, “Point your feet downstream! Keep your feet up! On your back! Move toward the raft! You’re drowning!” and maybe “It was a good life!” Eventually those of us that took in the drink were hauled back aboard, invigorated.

            On the next rapid, we were instructed by our trusty guide to follow his instructions carefully. Very carefully. I’m sure the words “Very Important” came out of his mouth. As in “do what I say.” I was pumped to comply. The paddle forward/backward girl was somewhat pumped to comply. The father-son duo were shaken, but game. The guide patiently explained that on the next rapid, there would come a moment  when we would want to stop paddling out of fear, but it was at that precise moment when he would screamingly ask us to paddle. Ignore the fear, he said. It is important to paddle at that moment, he said. You are safe, if you paddle, he said.

            And so that moment came. I do not know what happened. I paddled. When he bellowed, I put my back into it and paddled. That’s what I did. However, something didn’t go quite right. While we did not again drink the water, we did bump and rebound off a rock. During the rebound, I caught a distinct vibe that perhaps we were not meant to hit that rock. As the water calmed down, our ever-so-patient guide said ever so patiently to Paddle Forward/Backward Girl: “Sweetheart, when I say paddle backward, you must paddle backward, not forward.” To the shaky duo in the front, he proffered, “There is a time to drop inside the boat for safety. And there is a time to paddle. And when I say paddle, it’s time to paddle, not drop inside the boat for safety.” For the record, the guide said this, beautifully walking the line between guidance and correction, a feat much admired by me at the moment.

            Later, on the river, I saw what you may have already seen. Forgive me if I didn’t see it then, because I was too busy paddling. But while I am no expert, I am aware of certain things on rivers. I know there are currents, and there are currents beneath the currents. I don’t know all the cool lingo that these things are called, but I know they are there. And I know that people have died on this river. I know that there are rocks that will whap you, breaking your neck, even, and currents that will take you down and hold you under, pinned for eternity. And I know that the guide knows all of this information. That’s why I paddled when he said paddle. The others? I think they saw white water and they freaked. Paddling to them did not appear to be the smart, safe, expedient thing to do. Except it was. It was the smart, safe, expedient thing to do: to listen to the guide and follow him.

            And there’s the analogy that I couldn’t see until I relaxed a bit. Sometimes, with our Guide, we don’t want to listen. Everything in us screams one thing, while He’s saying another. But we don’t know what’s underneath those rocks. We don’t know those currents. We don’t have the first clue as to how close we are to death, figuratively or otherwise. We just have to trust that He knows; and that when He says “Paddle,” we paddle with our utmost. We put our back into it, and we paddle in whatever direction He tells us. He knows the currents. He knows the dangers, and He knows we are shaking and want to drop back in the boat. But the boat is not the true safety. He is. We don’t go off and do our own thing and we don’t quit. We keep on paddling…whichever dang way He tells us to paddle. Listen and follow The Guide.

            Isaiah 43:2 – “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”