2-15-18 SORROWS & SAFETY

Tessa Jane Merrill, daughter of our Annie.

My newest little human treasure is Tessa Jane, our youngest’s youngest, who floated down to us last Spring. I am old enough now, and far enough removed from the panic phase of parenthood, to be able to hold my new Littles in my arms and gaze into their eyes for very long chunks of time: relatively long periods at least, until their charcoal-colored eyes flutter closed in slumber or squint in distress. I have always cherished those sacred private moments of holding my children’s children, fresh from the womb, and wondering as I held them what their lives had in store: What joy awaits them, and what talents would sprout from the tiny seedlings planted in there. Last spring, when I walked the floor of the hospital in Spokane, bouncing like a Shoshone Rain Dancer in my attempts to calm Tess, I caught myself stunned when this question popped into my brain:

What will be your sorrows, Little One?

Seriously, what kind of grandmother asks such a question? Nonetheless, there it was. The more I pondered it, the more apparent it became that this was a divine truth unveiled for me when I was ready to receive it.

At first I worried that there was something tragic in the future, and this was a forewarning, but, after specific questioning I came to see this as simply a distillation of deeper understanding dripping onto my graying head, and nothing more.

The truth is, for Tessa and for all of us, there will be plenty of small sorrows, and more than a comfortable portion of great ones as well. The shape and size of them are relatively inconsequential. I do not say this flippantly, as if our sorrows and our joys are simply happenstance, because I personally don’t believe anything is happenstance. I really don’t know if God is a micro-manager, a helicopter parent, or if He chooses to parent in a more hands-off style, knowing that regardless of what happens to us we are going to learn something. I think all of our spirits are a little distressed being in the dark about this. But I keep telling myself He is the parent, and I am the child; the same way I had to keep telling myself that I was the parent and my kids were the children when they were small (it sometimes felt backwards to me until I repeated this to myself. You know how kids can mess with your brain sometimes). I trust that God knows what He is doing. That trust is a gift to me. It’s a spiritual gift, under the category of faith, and I am grateful for it.

Today I began my personal prayer with this sentence: “Maker of me and all that I love; I am grateful that I believe in you, and that I trust you.” What parent wouldn’t want to hear that honest statement from their child: I believe in you and I trust you.

I love this quote from Victor Hugo:

“Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.”  

Victor Hugo
author of Les Miserables

Courage - Patience - These are nourished by sorrow. Most of the big noble character traits are not fed by joy and ease. What I love most about Hugo's words are the phrases that follow: when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.

When baby Tessa became old enough to realize she did not want to be alone in the dark, all it took was picking her up to make her tense little body relax and her weary head plant itself on the shoulder of someone bigger than her, whom she trusted. There is peace in safety.

But I also believe there is safety in peace.

Yesterday, in Florida, a teenage boy who is not yet old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to purchase an assault rifle, walked into his former high school and shot dozens of people, killing seventeen of them. We Americans are shocked and angry and anxious about this problem that involves guns, and intolerance, and mental illness, and all sorts of other major issues too big for the average attention span to cover in one sitting. There are a bunch of people in Florida and elsewhere who are having to muster courage for their great sorrows today.

Almost every day, when I hear us pray for ourselves and each other, I hear us ask for safety. Perhaps it’s the prevalence of easily available information, and our propensity to pay attention to sensational things. We are an anxious people. The kids in Sunday primary sharing time fold their arms and bow their heads and ask God to help them have a safe walk or ride home. We pause in the car before a trip and ask for safe travels. And for sure, I said mighty prayers each time my sixteen-year-old kids pulled out of our driveway behind the wheel of a car. But lately I have been feeling an emotional rub every time I hear myself or others pray for safety, more specifically for physical safety. Sure, I don't want the people I love to get hurt. But even more, I feel a need for spiritual safety. That's the safety I need most. I need His peace. With His peace I can have the courage I need when physical safety isn’t there. With His peace I can move about my day knowing I am in His hands, night and day, because He never sleeps. 
Because He is God, I can lay my head on His shoulder and let him carry the big worries for me. I need His peace every second of every minute of every day in order to counteract the anxiety that our social awareness invokes.

While I like to think Tessa, and all my Littles, are safe in my Mama-Bear arms, I cannot guarantee safety. But I can promise there is Safety in Him, the kind of safety that goes beyond the flesh. Truth is, this flesh of ours is temporary anyway.

I remember sitting in my pajamas all the day long on September 11th, 2001. Before I had been able to dress that day, my sister called and told me to turn on the television. It flickered on just as a jetliner crashed into the second of the Twin Towers in New York. It was a surreal, soul shaking day for everyone, and I could not leave the TV long enough to shower and dress. I just sat there on the side of my bed, pausing only to lower my head and send up heavenly supplication. As the day progressed news reporters began to interview people standing in line at hospitals who were desperate to see if their missing loved-ones had survived and were being treated. I vividly recall one tall, slender woman who was standing quietly alone in line. When the reporter asked her if she was looking for someone, she answered, "Yes, my husband. I just need to know if he's OK. If he's dead, then I know he's OK, but if he's not, then I need to be with him." The tone of her voice was so calm, and matter of fact, and she answered with a reassuring smile that seemed almost out of place in that panicked setting.

"If he's dead, I know he's OK." Those words still reverberate for me.

Alive or not, whole or not, comfortable or not, joyful or sorrowful; we, by divine birthright, are entitled to rest in His peace - the only real rest - because He is awake.
My prayers are shifting. I pray for safety, yes, but the safety is for my soul. There is a sort of emotional liberation in not being consumed about what will happen to my body. What will be will be; God is awake.