I had a recent experience-turned-metaphor that hit home on an issue I have struggled with for some time. I love to be in control, or at least have a firm, false sensation that I am in control. I like to think I will be able to protect and preserve the ones I love by my own powerful self. Anyone laughing yet? By sheer stubbornness I clench my hands around my stuff to protect it and keep it from God. He might take it away or do something differently than I would, you know. Clenched hands can damage what they hold and have no room to receive anything new. Daily I struggle to let go, give God what is His to begin with, and try to remember I must loose my life to truly find it and live it.
So, here is the aforementioned metaphor. I took the kids to the zoo during our second to last week in Nashville before we moved. We had a lot of playdates that week to see our friends one last time, and that day happened to be the only day we could go. I didn’t even bother looking at the weather. After being there for less than an hour I see dark clouds heading our way. I called Chris to see how bad things would get and after a small discussion I felt it would be safe to stay. It sprinkled a bit and cleared out, which is what I thought would happen after Chris told me about the radar. My dear husband is no meteorologist. About an hour later after we have had lunch I realize we are going to get round two of some precipitation. I plan in my head we will go to a certain point and then be able to get back around to some shelter. Silly girl! The heavens open up and I realize we have one shot at shelter before we are totally and thoroughly soaked. I use the word “shelter” here loosely. It comprised of a small bench under a roof about the size of one piece of tin. It is open on all sides and sits in front of the porcupine exhibit. Being the Nashville zoo there are trees all around. Several people are running away up the path as we approach (but none with four kids) including a zoo staff member. We are alone. We run up and plop down on the bench and pull our knees up to our chest and watch the deluge begin. I pulled the stroller under as far as I could and snuggled Claire on my lap. Lightening is coming closer our way.
“Mom, how do you find out how close the lightening is again?”
“Start counting when you see it, then divide that number by four when you hear the thunder. It is one mile for every four seconds. But you need to count one-one-thousand so you don’t count too fast.”
“Oh, OK.”
Flash of lightening.
“One one-thou-BOOM!!!!!!!!”
“Mom?”
“Yes, well that is pretty close guys. Um, well, we could pray now.”
So we sat and prayed under our little tin roof as it “protected” us from the storm. I prayed for my tiny flock, asking God to take pity on our situation and help the storm move through quickly. God, with His wonderful sense of ironic humor, brought to my mind how well equipped I was to protect these young lives. I fell a little short. When it comes down to it everyday is a storm under a tiny tin roof. I can protect them only as well as God gives me the ability to. But I tell you, as I sat there I also was gifted an amazing peace; I knew He saw us there and I knew it would be OK. He was even more gracious and gave the kids that same peace. I was so impressed at their bravery; even when it improved once the storm moved on. Noah, always the goof and able to make me laugh, said, “Mom! I wasn’t just praying, I was singing praise songs too!!!”
Yes, what a great time to sing praise. So here I am, clicking open the selfish, human fists I have made. Some days just resolving to not clench them tighter; some days actually opening them up a notch. I do know God will always need to be sending me a bit of lightening here and there for motivation.
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