Monday, August 29, 2011
Today I'm going to share with you my deepest fear. No, I'm not afraid of rabid albino rodents, as most of you are thinking. I actually owned one for awhile and I miss Pablo's sweet red eyes.
No, my deep fear, the one that bubbles up from the depths in the middle of dark nights, is for my children. I fear for them in so many ways. It's part of being a parent. But my deepest fears is that they'll be taken from me, or taken from God.
I can't guarantee that my children will walk with God. That I'll be with them forever. And for me, this reality haunts even my waking waking world.
All I know is that the God I know wants me to call him father. Perhaps he knows my ache.
A couple of nights a go I woke up to David screaming "Dadda! DAAAAADDAAAA!" For a few minutes I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes and hoping he'd just go back to sleep. But I was also confused, why was he calling for me? He always calls for Mom.
But tonight he was calling out for me. Finally, when it looked like he was awake for good, I went in to him picked him up and asked him what was wrong. Like usual he spluttered something to me totally incoherent in the inexplicable New York accent of his. (We hear the accent most clearly when he says, "Hey you, yous get out of here-ya!")
Eventually I was able to untangle what he was saying: "The cars were taking me away and I was all alone!" Poor guy! I'm familiar with that terror. The terror of truely being alone.
So I took him to our bed, layed him down and boy did he snuggle close. He was intent on our heads being pressed together and he asked me hold his hand "really tight". I did so for about half an hour, lulling around in that half-sleep dream world that characterizes these times.
Finally, I thought he was out and I gently released my hand, and a stern David told me to "hold tight". His dream must have been something.
For the next hour or so he managed to head-but, slap and perhaps kick me in the face. I characterize him as not so much a restless sleeper, but as a highly trained martial artist sleeper. Who knows what demons he was beating, and why he thought they were on my face.
I've been reading someone who deeply loves his children. In one part of his book he says, "I would go to hell for them." I believe I would to. There's a bond there that runs deeper than even I know.
So there you go. That's my deepest fear. God who made each and every one of us calls us his children, his creation. He went to hell for us. He loves us like a Dad. And when my deep fear hits, not to be too simplistic, but I've got to just ask this great Daddy to hold my hand, and hold it tight.