Son, You Are Safe

The night before last, I heard my little boy scampering around his room long after we put him to bed. I walked across the hall, opened his door and light flooded into the hallway. He is not supposed to turn on the lights at night, but something seemed different at this late hour. Usually, when he is being naughty after going to bed, he races back to his bed and hides under the covers as soon as he hears us coming.

Not this time. He was lying on top of his covers, staring blankly across the room, almost shivering. Considering the late hour, I told my wife that I thought he had a bad dream. I turned out the lights, curled up with him, and whispered "Buddy, God loves you. Do you know what that means? It means you are safe."

We prayed "God keep [my boy] safe in the love of Jesus so that he won't be scared and help him to get a good night's sleep." I heard him whisper "Amen" after me. I kissed his head, got up, and went to bed.

The next morning, my wife found him sleeping with the lights on.

Disobedience? I don't think so. It takes an entire lifetime of being scared to learn about what it means to be safe in the love of God. That powerful lesson is just starting for him.

After my wife found our boy asleep with the lights on, I left for a conference and sat under two convicting seminars on remembering the past and repentance. In remembering the past, I am to reflect upon God's sovereign work in biblical history, church history, my denomination, my church, and my own life. In the process, I will naturally celebrate His goodness. Then comes repentance, and the need to honestly assess the health of my church and my own heart.

I was convicted that most every flaw I saw in the church is also in my own heart. I cannot ask those I help shepherd to grow and move forward if I am not willing to do so as well. For the first time in a long time, I felt the sting and sorrow of my own sin--that I have been demanding health from others when I have not been healthy. I equate busyness with holiness and have neglected the Great Physician and self-medicated with invigorating conversations. Lord, test my thoughts, see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way!

My wife and I enjoyed a good conversation with a female friend last night while her husband labored in the NICU as a nurse. She told us about a baby girl who was born with a genetic defect and would die within the week. The baby's mother couldn't bear the pain, so left the baby under the care of the nurses in the NICU. Our male friend held this precious baby an entire night, feeding her when she cried, and holding her while she slept. That precious baby died days later, but she had someone to hold her in the name of Jesus.

There is a difference between physical and spiritual safety. God does not promise His people the former, though Christ promises that not a hair will fall from our heads apart from His appointment. He also promises that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing can snatch us from the Good Shepherd's hand--on a deployment, in the NICU, under the weight of sin, or shuddering in the night from a nightmare.

This morning, as I was preparing to leave for the last part of the conference, my wife heard my boy in his room crying "My daddy, my daddy, my daddy." She grabbed him and brought him downstairs and I held him for a few minutes before I left, his head resting on my shoulder. He was safe. May I follow my son's example and heart-cry as I bring my sin and weakness to the safety of our true Daddy.

There is no unsafe place within the fold of God's grace.

What is your hope?

I saw an old, familiar friend at Sal's Pub last night.

Unlike our last encounter, my highly-medicated friend was not tight lipped about his life or his lifestyle. He was relaxed and willing to talk. In hindsight, I'm really glad the Lord guided me back to the bar late in the night to counsel him on that prior occasion. A rapport was established.

As we were initially joined randomly from an old friend at the Legion Bar, I opened with a fun question--"Are you what you do?" Neither of them really had an answer. The other guy stumbled around with our identities being the product of our choices, then concluded "You are whatever you want yourself to be." I tried to convey to them that we all have an intrinsic worth that transcends our circumstances. I even used raw, painful examples--when we saw footage of the bodies of Rwandan men, women, and children choking rivers, we weren't grieving because of what they did, but because of who they are. Both friends caught on...a bit.

The other guy left and I was left with my initial friend. We chatted casually for a few--he mentioned that he missed not having "official" gatherings of our group the past couple of months--and then he summed up his life since I last saw him in four words: My mom has cancer.

After expressing my initial grief at what he just told me, I started asking the "What?" questions: What type of cancer does she have? What comes next? Basic info. Next, the "Who?" questions: Who is still living with her? Who is going with her to her appointments? (I offered.) Who is supporting her? Who is supporting you? Finally, the "How?" questions: How is she doing? How are you doing?

Throughout this, I am trying to focus on listening to his answers and allowing to express himself fully. When I contribute, I try to do so by asking questions and affirming his grief. I use my prior knowledge of him--medications, disorders, etc.--to convey additional sympathy--"I know your life already seemed a bit out of control. I bet it feels like chaos to see one of your few pillars in life shaken like this..."

 At times like this, one has to choose what it is really important to say. The person next to you likely has very little bandwidth to comprehend anything you say, especially if it sounds trite. "So what is your hope in all of this?" I ask. "That the prognosis would be good and my mother would recover," he responded, matter-of-fact.

I realize my question is too vague and that assumes a religious conception of hope, which is increasingly rare to come by. "I hope she does as well, but with all due respect (and I switch to generalizations to keep from getting to personal), we all will die someday. In a since, we are each dying a bit every day. With your struggles, you know this as well as anybody. You know that I am a Christian and what my hope is when dealing with death. What is your hope is dealing with death?"

"My hope is that I will have friends to support me." At that point, I didn't press any further. These conversations are like relationships leading toward marriage--you don't push to quickly nor drag your feet. By God's grace, you try to use wisdom to discern the person and the situation.

I did find his response depressing. He as few loving relationships in his life, and love has been a pretty brutal concept for him over the course of his life. To invest his hopes concerning death in temporal friendships speaks more to his loneliness than his hope. My hope is that this unsettling topic drives to despair--not of life, but of himself. The questions now lay before him as a testimony: Will he take death seriously and seek out genuine hope where it may be found?

This question should never be treated lightly, for your life hinges upon it: What is your hope?

"Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." (Romans 5:1-5)