To Keep Us Free

To Keep Us Free

March, 2003 - It was the day of the Ultimatum. President Bush had announced to Saddam Hussein, “Get out or we’ll take you out.” The world collectively held its breath. History balanced on a cusp of what was and what could be.

I needed to grocery shop. Seems mundane in the face of such world-changing events, but the small things in life are often unaware of history-in-the-making. I headed to the store, a bit uneasy about being out in a suddenly unfamiliar universe.

The grocery store was oddly quiet. I expected the typical “pre-storm” crowd we get here in the north whenever there is an Event, people “stocking up” on chips and soda and other essentials they might need in the few extra hours it would take to get the snowplows out on the roads. The store, though, was nearly empty, and those who were there were not laughing and talking. I guess I was not the only one who felt strange.

Outside again, I wheeled my loaded cart out to the car. It was a soft night; soft breeze, soft sounds of cars in distance, the soft wail of a train crossing a road somewhere. I popped the trunk, and as the trunk lid raised I lifted my eyes. I saw the sky above; dark blue sky pierced by bright stars, wispy clouds lower to the horizon. Then I noticed what was not there. There were no warplanes screaming through the sky. There were no bombs whistling death as they plummeted toward houses and farms. There were no ambulances flying toward someone’s death.

I saw the woman first. From the sky she looked down. It was a Vietnam nurse, her eyes were deep and shaded with pain and exhaustion. Her stethoscope was draped around her neck, her scrubs wet and filthy with sweat and who knows what else. Next to her stood a World War 1 soldier, weary and grimy. Rank upon rank they appeared, Korean War vets, Gulf war soldiers in sand-colored gear, World War 2 in olive drab, Civil War blue and gray standing arm in arm. It was the Revolutionary soldier who spoke.

“Look around.” was all he said. I looked around, at the clear, quiet skies, down then at my full grocery cart. I had all the food I needed, all I wanted. I realized, except for the soldiers in the sky, that I was alone. I, a small woman, was totally alone in a dark parking lot, and I was safe. All the freedoms I ever needed or wanted surrounded me. Freedom from fear, from want, from pain, from cruel dictators who would steal my soul. It was all mine, and I had never acknowledged it.

I looked up again. The rough frontiersman-soldier smiled. “This it why we did it”, he said, “for you, and your children.” I looked down again at all I had. When I looked back they were all gone. But, I could feel them there, the years of bravery and sacrifice surrounding and protecting me.

“Thank you.” I whispered, then drove home, aware, at least for now, of all I’d been given.

The Sacred and the Mundane

Why do we assign value to the parts of our lives, creating lists of Really Good Things, below that Stuff That Just Happens, and way at the bottom Junk We Get Through? There is a mindset that says that we work hard to get to the Good Things, and put up with all the other in order to get there. What happened to the value of everyday things?

For instance, as a homeschool mom, I find I have to “get through” those tedious days of memorizing the multiplication tables, or the screaming, hair-pulling days of complete rebellion (mine and my son's!). I stand it because there are those moments of crystal clarity, the times where you hold your breath and absorb the moment – that moment when he “gets it” or sees life in a new way, or melts your heart with thankfulness.

But what about the ordinary? Are there any rewards in Heaven for those of us that don't climb mountains or write novels or sing arias? Do we get credit for just doing our calling? Is the ordinary sacred?

I know we do, and it is. Think about the Levites, that special group of Hebrews who were set apart to keep the Tabernacle in the wilderness. They had different rules, were supported by the rest of the tribe – they were special! But think more about it. Besides caring for all the gold stuff, and doing the daily offerings, they had to maintain the Tabernacle. Let's really think about this. It was a goat hair tent, set up in the middle of the desert, where lots of people walked in and out and lots of butchering went on. They had to be janitors! In a really dirty environment! Do you think this was Junk To Get Through in order to be important Levities? No! This was as sacred to God as the rest of it.

So where do we go with this? I believe to to live life abundantly, we must live it fully. We should be as present in the mundane as in the amazing. Washing dishes can be a sacrament. Tucking in your children at night with love is an act of worship to their Creator. Simply being aware of what we are doing and why we are doing it can be as satisfying as the highest praise from someone else. Take time today to find the sacred. It's all around you, filling your life, but you must look for it.

And Then You Die - A Cautionary Tale

When my son was in the Toddlers in church, he had a contemporary, also a strong-willed child. I came up to the door of the Sunday School room to hear this conversation between the little boy and his mother.
“Why can’t I climb on the railings?”
“Because you’ll fall.”
“And then what?”
“Then you’ll get hurt.”
“Then what?”
“You’ll have to go to the hospital.”
“Then what?” he asked again.
“You’ll have to have shots and stitches and casts.”
“And then what?”
His mother sighed. “And then you die.”
She must have caught my quizzical look, for she turned to me and explained. No explanation of the possible consequences of any behavior seemed to be dire enough for her son. As long as it fell short of terminal, it could possibly be alright to try. Only the phrase “And then you die,” seemed to be final and dire enough.

Strong-willed kids are risk takers. It is not enough for them to be told something is dangerous or ill-advised. Oh, no, they really must find out for themselves. After all, you couldn’t possibly be telling them the truth. There are more ways to get hurt than you have outlined for them. That is more than half the appeal, anyway! As James Dobson so aptly put it in his book Bringing Up Boys, “Boys…are slower to learn from calamities. They tend to think their injuries were caused by “bad luck”. Maybe their luck will be better next time. Besides, scars are cool.” (p.4)

My suggestion is this; tell them they’ll die. No, not really. But a strong-willed kid really is calculating the cost into the “try it” equation, and most likely will try it. You as a parent can be a ready source of information about just how costly it will be. Give them the worst case scenario. When it happens, they can’t blame you for not warning them!