Lying down in peace

When I was mother to little ones sometimes Cal had to travel. We lived in a neighborhood that bordered on the worst one in town. Our neighborhood itself had seen rougher days, but as the neighborhood had been fancy at the turn-of-the-(20th)-century, slowly it was being renovated by young families like ours who could not afford more to get into a house. Then sweat equity, or the affordable help of those who knew what they were doing, fixed up those 0ld homes until they were desirable. (But I am wandering from the purpose of my story.)

Perhaps because I watched too many grace-less television in my youth (crime happens to God's people, but it is never depicted from the standpoint of God's providential, gracious, peace-giving care), or perhaps because I have an anticipatory imagination, I found myself wakeful and fearful the nights that Cal would be away. Indeed, one such night, about nine o'clock after the kids had been put to bed, I heard clanking of an extension ladder at the back of the house. Forcing myself out of the frozen nature of terror, I called my across-the-street neighbor and told them. Michael and a friend at his kitchen table ran right over to confront the baddie at the back. Knowing he was on his way, I had courage to go and peek out the window at what would ensue. It turned out that the owner of the extension ladder, who had loaned it to our friend the carpenter, had come back to fetch the ladder. No mischief whatsoever. Later the laddder-owner, also a friend, apologized to me for not calling in advance.

And then there was the night I could not sleep. We had come home on a Lord's Day morning from a conference in Orlando in time to meet our children at the worship. They had been farmed out to families in the church, and after the service we were hosted for dinner by our pastor's family. Arriving at home mid-afternoon we found the house had been burgled in our absence. The basement door had been broken down, the children's computer was missing and a few items of value. Drawers all over the house had been opened. Candle wax was dripped across Susan's report lying on her desk. A selection of valuable things were on the basement floor as if someone had been intending to return for stuff. Even though Cal was sound asleep, I could not rest for thinking the burglar would return in the night.

I knew my fearfulness was sinful, not trusting God. But practice as I did, I could not shake my apprehensions. Well, like getting over my cringing fear of lightening and thunder, leftover from my childhood, marriage to my dear husband, who drilled me on God's kindness and goodness and sovereignty, helped me focus on the character of God, and putting my face in His Word trained me over time to sleep in peace. I came to a point in those days in St. Elmo that Psalm 4:8 became my mantra: I will both lie down in peace, and sleep; For You alone, O LORD, make me dwell in safety. It was not Cal who kept me safe (though he can be God's means). The scripture says it is the LORD alone who makes us dwell in safety. It took much practice for this to so take hold of my mind in a way that translated into active peace. Guess those days Cal was away were sanctified for that purpose. Bless the Lord.