CHOCOLATE-FUELLED THOUGHTS
Siren Song
My son had to have emergency surgery recently. He’s fine now, but this isn’t really about that. When I got the call that he needed surgery and had to be transported to the only surgeon on call at 2 am, I made arrangements for my other children and jumped in the van to go meet up with my son and my husband.
I made my way cautiously down the main highway toward the hospital. I had praise and worship music playing, I was singing and reassuring myself that my son would be fine. This wasn’t that big of a deal. And then I crested the top of a hill close to the ER and I saw an ambulance pull out and onto the road, headed for another hospital. My son’s ambulance was four stoplights ahead of me, lights flashing, pace hurried.
I was undone.
It didn’t matter that I was 99% sure of the outcome of the evening, nothing prepares a mama for watching her baby’s ambulance careen down a highway. Or for being just far enough back that all she can do is watch and try not to run any red lights.
I sobbed, I cried out to Jesus. My prayers that had been calm and surface beforehand became short, choppy phrases yammered out in hiccups and broken wails. I talked to myself, I talked to God, I called out a few rejoinders to the ambulance driver I’d never met. And then… surrender. The tears stopped rolling down my face. I’d gone from clutching everything tightly in my hand to just leaning in and unclenching my fists. Whatever happened… I was resting in Him for strength. I drew a deep breath and whispered my thanks for a faithful God who held that ambulance and its contents more firmly than I ever could.
Later, when we were home and my boy was resting upstairs, I sat on my porch to breathe a prayer of thanks. I relived that vision of the ambulance flashing ahead, the parental terror it invoked. And I heard His voice: “I can relate. I see those I made in my image, who I love, are suffering… I see the emergency, I see the need. My desire is to restore, protect, and Be Beside.”
And in my tiny, human way, I had a moment of clarity. I absorbed that fierce parental love that will slay dragons and collect speeding tickets to save a child. I thought about the moments when my kids aren’t in physical danger, but their souls hang in the balance. I want to swoop in and save them then, too. But I’m about as good at saving souls as I would be with a scalpel. There’s nothing more terrifying, or more necessary than placing your kid in the hands of someone else, even if Someone Else loves them far more than you do.
And make no mistake, worried parent. His love is the lights flashing, sirens blaring, tearing down highway 280 with a total disregard for red lights kind of urgent. His pursuit is relentless.
Because God didn’t just watch helplessly from the hill behind, wringing his hands and wondering what to do. No. He came down the hill, he rescued us from the very worst emergency: sin and separation from Him. And then He called us daughter… son. And every time those sirens wail, the lights spin in frantic concern, He is with us. Not following behind at a safe distance, but with us, moving and acting according to His plan that is far greater than we can conceive of.
So on the days when the sirens wail or the scalpel cuts the soul rather than skin, I’ve no choice, no greater gift, than to rest us all in Him and surrender to the ferocity of Love that stops for no red light.
Glory to the One who hears our Siren Song and does not leave us alone in our emergency.
In the Caves
I keep thinking about these boys in the cave in Thailand. As news of their rescue filters through each day, I ponder the time they spent in darkness, hopeless and afraid. These boys are the age of my sons. They love to play ball, ride their bikes and have adventures. And yet they’ve just endured harrowing conditions, dividing their lives into two categories: Before The Cave and After The Cave.
I was talking to a wise teacher recently and he offered me some advice about preparing to teach my next class. He suggested that I think about my students being in some sort of “God forbid” situation: prisoners of war, alone in the wilderness, or, yes, trapped in a cave. He reminded me of all the stories of people in the same situations who recited little tidbits they remembered from school or church: Scripture, Shakespeare, nursery rhymes, anything to help them keep their sanity and stability in what were nerve-wracking, hopeless situations.
“What are the things they should remember about your class in ten years? What is so important in your curriculum that they still need to be able to know and recite it in utter darkness?”
This question has me staring at my syllabus in a new light, really trying to hone in on the “why” behind our studies and what the truths and virtues are I want my students to carry with them long into their adult lives. Whether their soccer team gets stranded in a cave, literally, or if they have a dark life moment so cavernous that they despair, I want their hours spent with me to contribute to their survival, to buoy them and offer hope.
The same question could be asked about my own mind, and the mind of my own children. At some point in life, we all go into a cave and the waters rise threateningly high. What are the truths my mind will cling to when I’ve lost connection, lost my deposit, lost my true north? What little tidbits will filter through my own kids’ mental catalog when they stare down the darkness?
My teacher friend suggested I write a “catechism” of sorts for my students, rather than a syllabus. Show them that the stuff that’s really important, we’re going to repeat over and over, until we know it in our bones and in our knowers, and until we can carry it with us over hill, over dale, and into the caves.
This is tricky enough to accomplish for a nine-month long single subject course, but even more difficult to articulate and condense as a parent for the 18 years we spend shepherding our children.
Our list includes some Shakespeare, lots of Scripture, the gospel threads, truths about God, why we’re all here, and, if I’m honest, my kids will probably be able to recite a litany of “momisms” like “clean your room, check your pits before you leave the house, brush your teeth, and don’t put your shoes on the counter.”
Not exactly life-giving, but certainly practical.
They’ve also got quite the list of comedy sketches, movie quotes, and other bits of pop culture that filter to them through their parents and their friends. This puts the 18 years they spend under our roof absorbing words, stories, verses, music, art – some of it good, some bad, into a much deeper perspective. As I plan our school, as we think through our family worship, as we ponder the affections, hobbies, and culture our children are absorbing, I keep asking myself: How will this serve them in the cave?
Now, look, their whole lives won’t be spent in a cave, literally or figuratively. We’re preparing them for happy moments, too. But when the darkness sets in, I want them to be ready.
So I wonder, then, What is in the “In Case of Darkness” litany of your family? What will your kids carry with them to the caves?