the umbrella

A few days ago I barely miss slamming into a van on a busy Savannah thoroughfare.  As it crosses nonchalantly inches from the hood of our car, I double check: yes, the light is green. He ran the red. I glance at Gray, my nine-year-old son, peacefully riding shotgun. We exchange a wide-eyed glance. "It was green, right?" He nods. We pray: Thank you, Jesus! The episode is over before it began. As we continue safely on our way we realize, this is our second near miss in traffic, in a span of about ten months.

This morning I wake in darkness. A storm has knocked out the power. As the sun rises, we see the extent of the debris: downed trees block roads; a neighbor's new Beemer is crushed by an ancient live oak. (Bad luck, that.) I slept peacefully through the whole thing, blissfully unaware.

The umbrella of God's protection is like a solid house: it keeps us so safe that, at times, we're not even aware of the storm raging all around. At other times, it's like an invisible force-field through which we can see the battle unfolding. Of course, for his own good reasons, God lifts the shield now and then. Bad things do happen to good people. Today, however, I am overwhelmed, wondering how often God prevents that stuff from happening. Thank you, God, for protecting us... from the dangers we see, and those we don't.

You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance. ~ Psalm 32:7




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