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Sunday, March 18, 2012

Hazards


Today's guest devotion is by Cynthia Ruchti, from: His Grace is Sufficient…Decaf is Not © 2011 Summerside Press

Hazards

“Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life.” Psalm 138:7           

With the agility of a woman half my age—okay, a third. Let’s give that woman a true advantage—I nimbly stepped over the trip wire, then pivoted to avoid the camouflaged danger designed to maim. I pulled out my Lamaze breathing to slow my heart rate. Stay calm. Stay…calm.

Balancing on one foot, I leaned forward, my arms a tightrope walker’s pole. Adjusting here. Steady. Safely over another obstacle. But there was no relaxing yet. Metal and ball bearings—a dangerous combination—lay between me and an oasis of relative safety.

What was that? Quicksand? Great. Resist the urge to struggle. Slow movements. Muscles taut, I grabbed the arm of the couch with one hand and the end table with the other. Yes! Free from the gauntlet of dangers, I scraped PlayDoh off the bottom of my Nikes and headed for the kitchen to make lunch for the grandkids.

I’d successfully dodged Matchbox cars, marbles, Legos, and Mr. Potato Head parts. But the kitchen wasn’t the safe haven for which I’d hoped. And hopped. One grandson knelt on all fours on the floor, eating Cheerios from a bowl he pretended was a dog dish.

Another grandson found the ice cream pail of birdseed. The gallon size. He’s grown so clever, that boy. I didn’t know he’d learned how to pop the lid off an ice cream pail, or that he was so skilled at pouring.
In some cultures, the pattern of birdseed piles on the hardwood floor would count as art. But birdseed is slippery piled up like that. One more obstacle to navigate. Distracted from the danger, I briefly wondered if the blue jays and goldfinches at the birdfeeder would mind if their dinner had been swept off the floor.
The sound of the river swelled to a roar. What a minute. There’s no river in the bathroom. My mistake. 

There is now.

Some days, life’s obstacles are no more threatening than hidden Legos and PlayDoh landmines. Other times, the ring of the telephone is the emotional equivalent of a tornado warning or tsunami alert. The tests don’t look good. We’ll have to schedule a biopsy. This is the last resort. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more. It’s time to gather the family. Time for some tough decisions. All we can do now is try to keep her comfortable.

Those calls have come, with varying outcomes, too many times in the last few years. Always, they were accompanied by a miracle. We either skirted the danger or were carried through it. What a rush it is to feel the grip of Grace around us as God dodges threats we can’t even see. We may be dizzied by His maneuvers, but we’re held.  

Today’s Prayer: Lord God, I can’t imagine what’s hiding in the carpet of this day, this week, this year. All I know is that You know, and that’s enough. Together, we’ve crossed some frightening territory, haven’t we? You’ve proved your faithfulness in every episode. I was healed or held. Or both. Thank You, Lord. Make me as agile as You are, light on my feet and light in my heart while we run this gauntlet called life. 

Cynthia Ruchti writes and produces the drama/devotional radio broadcast, The Heartbeat of the Home. She is editor of the ministry's Backyard Friends magazine, the author of a novel and novella recognized with nominations for Reviewers' Choice, Retailers' Choice, and Readers' Choice awards, and speaks for women's groups and writers' events. Visit her Website at www.CynthiaRuchti.com

3 comments:

Marianne said...

Thank you, Cynthia for sharing this. You have a unique way of drawing in the reader (i loved it) and as i read, i was trying to miss the Lego as well cause they hurt! Funny thing is it's been years since i had to find my way through a literal hazard course of toys. Thanks! i loved the analogy as well, and this spoke to my heart

Marcia Chadwick Moston said...

To feel the grip of grace as we dodge dangers unseen--indeed the hindsight glimpses are probably nothing compared to what will be revealed. Thanks Cynthia, things left unsaid resonate. PS I loved They Almost Always Come Home. You nailed the emotions every mother/wife/lover/friend goes through in a time of wait.

Cynthia Ruchti said...

Marianne and Marcia, thank you for your heartfelt and encouraging words. We're in this together.