Time

Time.
There is a story. The Native Americans had a tradition. When someone was bit by a poison snake, they started applying medicine and treating it but they also called for someone who had survived the same kind of bite. The survivor would sit beside the person in pain and tell them “this will pass”.
Who else could tell you “this will pass” when you are writhing in pain? Who would you listen to? The survivor is sitting there beside you. You can see the scar on their leg where they were bit. If you can see outside of your own pain for a moment, you can see that the survivor is reliving his pain. You can also see that he is only reliving a memory. It is in the past. He is alive. He knows this will pass.
Time is a tricky beast. When you are the one writhing in pain, the minutes stretch into unbearable eternity. Seconds burn through your veins. Trying to see beyond the next minute requires more strength than moving a mountain. On the other side of the pain, time is easier. You don’t feel each second. You reach down and feel the smooth skin that formed the scar. The memory is close but in time, as measured by the calendar, the event is years in the past.
There is another story about Native Americans and snakes. I tell it to my girls often. There was a young girl walking through the forest on a cold winter day. A snake slid out in front of her and called “little girl help me. I’m about to die from the cold.” She looks skeptical and says “But you’re a snake”. He says “Trust me. I won’t bite you. Hold me”. She, being kind, picks him up. They walk a little way and he says “Little girl, put me next to your breast. The cold is killing me.” She says “But you’re a snake. You will bite me and I will die.” He says “I have not bitten you yet. You can trust me. I don’t want to die”. So she puts him against her chest under her dress. He rests there against her heart and warms up. They walk a little while further. Then, he bites her. She screams and falls to the ground. She says “You said you wouldn’t bite me. I took care of you.” He looks at her as he crawls away. He says “I’m a snake.”
So in time, she learns that snakes are snakes. It hurts to be bitten. If you survive, then it is your duty to walk with others. Some journeys are easier than others. All journeys though begin and end in time.

The Tower

I didn’t want to go down 3211. So many times I’ve driven down that road and encountered our God. Today I didn’t want to take a chance of encountering God. I’m mad at God. I’m mad and I don’t understand and part of me wants to run so far away that…oh wait, I can’t run away from God. So the next best thing would be to avoid His touch.
I have the defense built up. This ugly tower that is insulating me from that particular pain. It is thrown together pieces of scrap metal with nails jutting out of the corners and I’m huddled in the middle like a little girl with two skinned knees from the race she lost because she let the other girl push her down. I know all it would take to knock down the tower would be a hand outstretched in love. But I also know that if that tower comes down, the pain that has been seeping in through the cracks will come in a flood and there is a good chance it will wash me away. Oh wait, I can’t be swept away from God. His touch will hold me until the flood is over.
The first event, x, was supposed to lead to the next event, y, and together they would equal z. “Z” would be the best thing ever. X to Y =Z. I never was very good with Algebra though. Once letters got into the equations, I would always get confused. Apparently God wanted X to Y to W to M to whatever before we get to Z. I’m not even sure there is a Z now. Oh wait, I know there is a Z because there is a God and He loves us.
Now I’m back to the little girl with two skinned knees crying on the sidewalk. I don’t know how to get up because when I do the thin scabs that have barely formed will rip open and the nerves will scream. I’m crying and I’m mad and embarrassed and I don’t understand. I don’t know what to do next. If I call for help someone will know …Oh wait, God already knows and I’m not hiding from Him. I’m not hiding from Him or anyone else. I’m trying to hold together a tower that isn’t even really there. It’s just an imaginary defense.
So I turn down 3211 at the very last minute. God is not standing there resplendent. There are no angels. There aren’t even any birds. There is nothing but the road. New song starts to play “Every little that I believed would be just slips away like water…” I can feel His hand on my shoulder and the pieces of scrap metal start slipping down. X was supposed to lead to Y which should have led to Z but this is God’s equation. My job was X and I may never know what comes next. I do know that God is God and I can trust Him. That will be enough.

The Balance

She cannot resist the impulse. Walking on the edge of the curb is so easy, so innocuous. Just a quick little step and she is up. Feet bare for the summer carefully step heel to toe and instinctively the arms fly out to help hold the position. Of course, a song starts to well up and bubble out through her lips. The sky and trees and little bits of grass all reach out to hold the ballerina dancing on the curb.
Curbs are attached to streets though and this creates a problem. Streets are used by cars. Cars that are driven by people who are distracted. People too distracted perhaps to see the ballerina singing on the top of the curb carried away in the moment of sky and trees and little bits of grass.
Curbs are also attached to sidewalks. Sidewalks are innocent except for the things that are on them. Things like ant piles that house a million stinging insects. Things like the broken glass from the bottle chunked out the window. Things like the dog charged with guarding his territory. Things that cannot or will not hear the bubbling song sung to the trees.
What is at once delightful is at the same time fraught with danger. Freedom and risk mingle in the balance. The edge is the beginning and the end but mainly it is the middle. It is in the middle where balance must occur.
She does not know this. She is lost in a moment in time and space. She is balanced in a moment of joy. For this moment there is no more world around her. There is only the world of her imagination. There is only the freedom. She can feel the blue of sky on her cheek. A leap and she is the star dancer.
Danger comes now. The car driven by the woman as lost in her thoughts as the girl is lost in her music. Neither is aware of the other. The woman is speeding and the girl is swirling. The Father though is orchestrating the dance. He holds the balance. His hand grabs the girl and guides her spin to the grass. His hand gently turns the steering wheel. Neither of them are even aware that the balance has been maintained.
The girl throws her arms up and over her head. She sings one more brilliant line. A quick hop and she is on the sidewalk running home before dark falls. The woman sees the stop sign and awakes from her thoughts. She drives home.
The balance is maintained.