A Fragile Thing

Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. 
Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 
Ephesians 3:17 (NLT)

Fragile: 

• (of an object) easily broken or damaged, flimsy or insubstantial, easily destroyed
• (of a person) not strong or sturdy, delicate or vulnerable

-Web definition from Google search

We are at chapel. My daughter is wearing her favorite blue dress, the one I bought her for a homecoming dance four years ago. She is excited this morning, and has been telling me about her 'friends' on the short ride over, the chaplains and their wives whose names she has learned in the past few months of attending. She tells me that Cody will be out of town, but his wife, Jenn will be there. She tells me she is a leader; she has a job. She tells me she is a good usher. 

We walk through the door into the back of the sanctuary together. We are early. I watch her look around at the people who have arrived before the service, like us. I see her eyes light up as she spots those she knows. We find a seat. Her friends are spread out, mingling and talking. They are all engaged. I sense her impatience; she wants to say 'hi.' She wants to say 'Happy Father's day'. She wants to mingle and talk.

I tell her that she can't interrupt. She needs to wait. So she sits next to me; she's smiling in anticipation. I'm proud of her; this is social maturity. She is learning. 

I see her favorite chaplain break away from his conversation. She sees him, too. I nod my ok and she jumps up to greet him. She says all the things I expect and more. She asks him if he likes her dress. She tells him her father has a cold. She tells him where we had lunch yesterday. He smiles and nods; I can see he tries very hard to understand her. From my seat, I tell him that yes, we had a great day with lunch out, and no, unfortunately my husband has a cold so will not be at chapel...I want to translate without making her think she's spoken wrong, and without him feeling like a frustrated listener.

This is a fragile thing.

The ushers are called to the front and the plates passed out. My daughter doesn't get a plate. She doesn't understand. I anticipate her confusion even before her arms raise and lower in question. Her friend of the do-you-like-my-dress conversation rescues two more offering plates from behind the pews in the front. He hands one to my daughter. I see her breath of relief. I hear her voice in my head: I am an usher. 

This is a fragile thing.

I think about the responsibility of holding someone's esteem. I think about how it must feel to realize someone has gone out of their way to see you, to speak with you, to listen to you. To be with you. How do you handle the attention? Do you watch what you say, realizing that your words are an influence? Do you want to make sure you listen well? Do you want to rescue them? Teach them? Build a relationship with them? Respect them? 

This is a fragile thing.

It is humbling. It is heavy. I think of depending on, living for, trusting. I think of parents and teachers. I think of friendships. I think of outside influences and pressure. I think of self esteem and confidence.

These are fragile things.

I think of Jesus.  I think of God.  I think of love. 

Love through Christ is not a fragile thing.

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for your mighty love. 

Help us to recognize our fragile things and to cover them with your strength, 
your kindness, your compassion, your righteousness.

Thank you for placing people in our lives who demonstrate how this is done.

You are amazing. 

Linking with Sunday Stillness, and Spiritual Sundays

Something to See

The LORD your God is in your midst, A victorious warrior. He will exult over you with joy, He will be quiet in His love, He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy.

Zephaniah 3:17  New American Standard Bible

Her visit to the base was going to be short.

"Post," she reminded herself.

Her son had told her again just that morning - "Base is Air Force, Post is Army."

She pushed the smile down.  He was being such a show off.  All those acronyms and specialty words.  Military words.  Like a code; he was in a secret-code brotherhood.  This time, the smile stayed for a second.  Imagine, her big, old football-hero, should-have-been-in-college, got-the-girlfriend-pregnant son, was graduating from his AIT school - Advanced Individual Training.  He'd scored pretty well on the test thingy the Army had given, and now he was graduating.  Then he was moving.

Now, he wanted her to go to chapel with him.  With them.  He'd married the girlfriend...she was as big as a house, due any day now.  Church?  They hadn't gone as a family when her son was at home.  Sure, she believed in God and all...  But church had always just succeeded in interfering with their weekends.  And the endless sermons on giving and tithing, fire and brimstone....Ugh!  Sometimes the music was ok, though.  Well, she figured it was the least she could do before he left for his first duty station.

He said she didn't need to dress up.  The chapel on post was pretty casual.

"Ok", she thought, stepping into her boots, "here goes."

So now she was sitting in the pews.  She had been surprised at the amount of cars in the parking lot - surprised by the size of the building.  Chapel?  This was a full-grown church.  Her son had proudly explained about the Spiritual Fitness Complex - a craft building, a gym, classrooms, kitchen, and last but not least, the sanctuary.

"Of course, we share it with the Catholics," he said, his eyes twinkling.

She looked around.  There were lots of people.  Young, mostly.  Lots of families with kids.  There were a few older people - dressed up.  The young ones - she guessed they were soldiers - some tattoos, short hair, high and tight, she remembered - shaking her head - all those code words...  The young ones were mostly in t-shirts with rock bands emblazoned.  There were a couple of pews with soldiers in uniform.  Women, too - not just men.  Warriors.  The old-fashioned word came to her mind.  Yes, they were trained in warfare. Warriors.   Her son and his wife fit right into the crowd.  He wasn't even the biggest guy there, with his football muscles and height.

The praise band was pretty good.  The big screens were down and the words and pictures were marching along.  She was standing with everyone, singing.  The lights were dimmed.  It was such a new place; she kept noticing goofy details.  A typo on the screen -

"Really," she thought, "we can't use spellcheck.."

She looked at her son to see if he'd noticed.  No, he was standing with arms stretched up and tears.  Tears.  Streaming down his face.  She looked farther - the soldiers in uniform, the tattoos, - they were standing with faces upturned, palms raised.  It was like a brotherhood.

"My chains are gone.  I've been set free.  My God, My Savior, has ransomed me... "

Now she was listening to the words.  To the meaning.

"And like a flood, His mercy rains.  Unending love, amazing grace."

Imagine that, she thought.  Imagine unending love.  Her divorce had been nasty; her ex-husband had done everything in his power to discredit and break her.  But she had managed.  Unending love - what a comfort that would be.  And grace...she had not always been perfect.  Understatement.  She knew chains.

"But God who called me here below, will be forever mine..."

The music had ended.  She heard the rustling of the congregation, sitting, adjusting.  She could feel their attention, their focus.  The message was about God's love - in the midst of battle, overseas, on post - about God's everlasting, ever-present love.  There was something about seeing those tough-looking, muscles-showing, tattooed kids worship, that had pulled her into this service.   Drawn her next to this brotherhood - like she could look in, but couldn't quite join.  It was something to see those big men pray.  Humbling.

More music.  She looked again at her son, with new eyes.  He was the believer.  Not her.  She looked at her daughter-in-law.  A believer.  Joy apparent on her face.  She had heard about the Spirit being present in a service.  Now she had seen it.  She wanted that.  She wanted that joy; she wanted that grace; she wanted that unending love.

He smiled down at her.   They walked together to the altar rail.  Wouldn't you know it would be a warrior - her soldier - her son - leading her to peace...

Thank you, God, for our soldiers.  Our warriors.  Keep them and their families safe.

Linking with Beth at Three-Word Wednesday