Vulnerable

I like things safe and predictable. Jon likes things dangerous and loud.
The boys love to do things like light fireworks and jump over them while they are going off and I spend the whole time worrying and getting really grouchy. I don't like 'living on the edge' and I am surrounded by four boys who think there is nothing greater in life than shooting bb guns and bows and arrows and skating off the tops of cars. It can be a constant source of gut-turning.

Sometimes, I turn away and just pretend it's not happening. I stick my head in the sand and imagine that they are all outside doing something perfectly safe like making daisy-chains or some other lovely adventure. It can even be boy-friendly. Count bugs or worms or something, but for mom's sake, can't it ever be safe?

I ran out of gas the other morning on the highway - at 4:00 in the morning. Talk about dangerous. I felt so vulnerable. Fortunately, I had gone back home earlier in my trip to get my cell phone. Thank you, God. But Jon didn't answer when I called our phone. Our phones are downstairs and our bedroom is upstairs had had two fans running. He wasn't going to hear the phone. BUT, the next morning he was going to have a staff meeting, which meant he would have his cell phone by his bed set as an alarm clock.

I called. No answer. I felt sick. I wasn't near an exit, and even if I was, nobody was open for gas at that hour, and besides, I didn't know I was just out of gas. I thought the truck had died because of all the water (it was during Monday night's storm). I felt so alone. I prayed and prayed, but that truck wouldn't start up again. I was torn against wishing someone would stop to help and praying that no one would approach me. I would turn on my hazards and promptly turn them back off, afraid that they would summon the wrong kind of help. I called Jon again. The phone rang three times. Just as it was about to kick into voicemail. I heard the most amazing sound: His voice.

Immediately I felt better. I felt safer. I felt that the end was in sight. I blurted out my woeful tale and he told me he'd call me back in a few minutes. Wha? Did he need a few more winks? Potty break? Coffee time?

Long story short, he called, he came, he rescued. Again. I was back on the road in less than 45 minutes. I was so thankful. Thankful that I went home for my phone and thankful that Jon had a staff meeting so that he had his cell phone with him. Thankful that he knew what to do.

But later, I wondered if I should feel bad that I so desperately wanted to get in touch with Jon. Maybe I should have been holier and been more sure that GOD would come through for me, not Jon. Hey, I prayed, but really I knew I had to just get a hold of Jon. So, I felt thankful, but I sort of felt bad too. Should I? I don't know.

One way or another, I'm more confident now than ever that I like things safe, not dangerous. That God made me like that. It's not a glich in my makeup, it's how God made me. And God made Jon to love to do that sort of rescue. To love to sidle up next to the truck at 4:30 a.m., in the thick of a storm, and be able to say, "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."

And that, my friends, is how we roll with four boys and one girl.