For the Love of Safety Wire . . .

Sparkling, shining, dazzling – rays of sun joyously bounced and danced on them. The keys glistened in the afternoon light. Instead of reflecting on the seat of my car however, I was wishing they were doing so in my hand. For, you see, the slightly opened window in the blue driver’s side door of my car was creating a locked and teasingly impenetrable barrier between me and the toothed objects which I so dearly needed at that moment.

The day had begun a little chaotic. I had awoken later than I should have – sleeping through alarms is not a normal habit of mine, nor do I intend to make it one. I then had to rush to get done in the morning what I needed to before heading to work. Work went alright, except we had quite the unexpected lunch rush for a Monday. That evening, I had a three hour long substitute teacher conference to attend. When I finally left work, I realized that if I wanted anything to eat before I had to be at my conference, I would have to stop somewhere along the way and demand that the employees make me a sandwich faster than the speed of light . . . ok, maybe that’s a bit extreme, but now you understand how little time I had before I had to be checked in, papers in my hand and nametag on my chest.

Quickly, I chose Panera as my victim and bolted my way there in my trusty blue Lumina. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and set them on the seat to search through my purse for my debit card. Unwise decision. My mind was focused on getting food and getting back in my car in the quickest manner possible.  I opened the door, naturally locked my car, and literally ran myself to that restaurant. I had just finished ordering and was filling up a cup of water when it occurred to me that my keys were nowhere near me. My heart picked up pace a little bit. My eyes scoured each counter to which I had been – no luck. As if it were on a trampoline, my heart was now leaping into my throat and then sinking into my stomach with each fast-paced rhythmic beat. The question loomed ominously in my head like a dark storm cloud, but I already knew the answer. As I walked to my car, my strides lengthened, my gait quickened, my stomach twisted.

There, on my seat, lay my keys where I had forgotten them in my rush, peacefully oblivious to the trouble they were now causing me. I frantically ran around my car, trying each door, looking like a crazed idiot while doing so, I’m sure. Then I had a bright idea – my window was rolled down a bit, so why not try and pull it down farther to stick my hand in and attempt to unlock my doors?! Perfect! Or, maybe not so perfect . . . all that came of that was a thick smattering of fingerprints at the top of my window, each mark mocking my fruitless efforts. I then got on the phone with my father. After telling him the whole story, he started making suggestions, suggestions which were not helpful because my AAA card was at my apartment and my apartment keys were on the now imprisoned lanyard. He finally said, in the disheartened tone only a father can have, “Ash, I really can’t do anything to help you at all, short of getting in the car and driving all the way down there (a nine hour drive that really would be of no use to me at all).”

And then, HE walked up. I don’t know his name. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know why he walked over. What I DO know is that this was the most overjoyed I had ever been that someone had safety wire in their truck! When he came back with the wire, he said he was a mechanic and did this all the time for people. He expertly made a hook on the end of the wire, carefully and gently worked at fishing for my keys in the blue sea of my car, and then slowly pulled them out through my cracked window. I couldn’t have been more ecstatic if he had pulled out a clump of hundred dollar bills. I literally did a couple of embarrassing hops, clapped my hands together, and thanked him over and over. I eagerly offered to pay him but he, of course, did not accept – either he was just a good-hearted man or he thought I was a bit crazy and wanted to leave as soon as possible. I went to unlock my car and looked back up to see there was no one in sight. Maybe he was a fast walker. Or maybe he didn’t need to WALK away. Either way, I know that God knew the trouble I’d get myself into and was already finding a solution to a problem I did not imagine I would have.

I was only ten minutes late to my conference. It ended up not being a big deal anyway - others showed up at even later times than I. Later, I started to think about this situation. I called my dad almost instantly when I couldn’t fix the problem on my own. It was an automatic response, a reflex, if you will – I didn’t even have to think twice about whose number I would dial. My heart and head know that Daddy can fix almost everything. But logically, Daddy can’t fix ALL things – he is still merely a human, even if a child’s mind sees him as unstoppable. When my dad said he could do nothing for me, my heart sank and my mind began to whirl. Even though I am an independent capable twenty-three year old woman, when dad says he can’t do anything to help, even though I know he wants to with everything in him, the world can seem as though it’s liable to crash at any given moment, if just for a split-second before I get my wits about me again.

When we have a problem, an addiction, a disaster, a conundrum, we always try to fix things on our own. We use every idea in our brain, every possible resource at our own disposal, anything we can think of without asking for help – but often times, our solutions are not the best path we could take. Then, when we’ve tried everything in our power, that is when we remember we have a Father who will never say he cannot do anything to help us. It is not always an automatic response to call our heavenly Father. Even so, He is always at the ready, waiting to answer our cry, often times before we even think to utter a word. He’s always got our back, no matter what sort of trouble we get ourselves into. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me . . .

Breath to Bones

Demise.

           Destruction.

                                          Death.

These words dance on the hot breeze that blows through the valley as he looks out upon it. The sun mercilessly scorches, almost chuckling at the discomfort it can cause. Is this real, what lies before him in this valley, this steaming bowl of hot dry earth? Or is this the man's mind merely playing tricks on him?

Dense hard pieces outline the forms that were once living breathing humans, oh so long ago. An army of hundreds, strong and fierce, unwillingly laid to rest where vultures and jackals are kings over corpses. An army, full of brave young men, taken by surprise and ruthlessly obliterated, like the downpour defeats the drought. What a battle scene it must have been, not enough survivors to even bury fallen comrades. 

        Tell them they will come to life. 

                          I will breathe breath, I will breathe My Spirit into them 

                                                                           and they will live once more. 

What?! These bones have been lying here for ages, Lord. They are past the point of saving . . . aren't they? Alright, I will, I guess, speak to dead bones? That is what You've asked. 

The words begin to flow, up from his vocal cords, floating over his tongue, and finally burst from his mouth. As he speaks, a noise catches his attention. A rattling, a clicking . . . what is happening?! 

Like an anatomical jigsaw, these sun-bleached petrified marrow-less pieces are finding their places, guided by an unseen hand. Click. Click. Click. The first puzzle is finished, a full skeleton the product.

                But as soon as the last click of that first skeleton echoes, muscles and sinews and tendons and               ligaments, all varying shades of white and red and pink slither across the bones, constricting the possibility of life into, instead of out of, them. By now ten, twenty, thirty bodies have begun to be covered, all of it grotesque but at the same time, beautiful. 

Finally comes the skin, armor from the elements, and hair, eyes, fingernails. But these bodies are still corpses. They are bodies without life, without breath . . . without Spirit. 

           Speak to the breath, to the Spirit.
                               Call it from the north, the south, the east and west. 
                                                                                     Tell it to enter these slain men.
                                                   Tell it to enter, so they may once more live.

Without question this time, the words fly from the man's mouth. He expects power, strength, an overwhelming force. Something mighty to signify the astounding transformation he knows is about to occur.

Instead, a gentle and steady breeze begins to blow, teasing the ends of his robe, softly caressing his whole being. It twirls and skips and dances. Soon is heard a sigh; then two, three, eight, fifteen . . . too many to number so quickly. And now before the man, ancient limbs move, eyes see, hearts beat. That which was dead with no hope has been given a chance, has been given the Spirit so life might once again be theirs.

A girl, away from home. Her boyfriend, whose words promised forever but actions foretold never, left her high and dry with nothing but the coat on her back and the drugs in its pocket.
A boy, sitting in the driver's seat of a car whose owner he does not know, nor wishes to know. White knuckles grip the steering wheel, heavy foot presses the accelerator, speeding him away from the danger of capture by both the law and his fear.
A woman, the emptiness inside so heavy, as if its made of physical bricks and not abstract events. She's tried to fill it with everything, anything, nothing - each only weighs her down even more.

                  Tell them they can live again. Tell them I will breathe into them my Spirit.
                                                 Call upon the breath, the Spirit and tell it to enter these, whom
                                 you thought were beyond hope. Tell it to enter, so they may once more live.

No one is beyond saving. No one is past the point of no return. No one has gone too far that hope has disappeared.

One Breath can bring anyone back to life.

Decisions

                                 Have to . . . gasp . . . catch . . . gasp . . . breath.

Her lungs grasped at oxygen, trying to pull in as much as possible, each time failing to gather enough.
Her legs screamed in protest at the torture she was putting them through.
Her mind scurried in all directions at the same time, unsure of which path to follow.

Finally, her eyes took in the scene around her. Boulders, a tree, a ledge . . . water below, angrily rushing forward, hustling around branches and hurdling over rocks.She knew her pursuers must be close behind. Turning around, she could see their matted, gangly figures triumphantly sauntering toward her. Yellowed teeth glinted as lips raised tautly to bare them, while low growls and snarls escaped past them. Their eyes stared her down and she knew these deranged, hunger-driven dogs were in no mood to negotiate.

In front of her, a painful and unpleasant death approached, one step at a time. Behind her, lay the unforgiving embrace of a surging river.

All throughout life we have choices to make. Some choices may be life or death. Others may be chocolate or vanilla ice cream. But why do some decisions seem to stalk us, to snarl in our face? Why do the choices sometimes seem to have no good outcome? How do we get backed into situations from which we can see no escape?

How do we choose, how do we decide, when feel any option will lead to our demise? A raging river, deranged dogs, a perilous jump from a cliff - where is the good? Where is the hope? Where is that light shining at the end of the tunnel, promising a new day, a better day, a day with light devoid of snarling creatures?

Difficult questions. Even more difficult answers. Decisions overwhelm, choices abound, and answers are as clear as the Jordan River. In this moment, I wish I had the answer key to the test on this chapter of life . . .