When Daddy's Away

Shaun was away on a business trip last night, and I was here at our house, overnight, for the first time by myself. He has only been away one other time since we lived here, and I managed to work in a trip to Dad and Mom's. I realize that this makes me sound quite skittish. So be it. I lived alone for a couple of years while in college, and I only recall feeling frightened once or twice. Now, after living with a man in my house for over eight years, I sense my vulnerability more when he is away. The feeling intensifies one hundred fold with each child as I also am aware of my limited ability to defend or protect them on my own. We own a gun, but I could do more damage with a meat mallet. For that reason, I decided to keep the kids with me in my room last night. Well, that and the fact that I wanted other breathing bodies in the room with me. As I lay down in bed last night, after triple-checking doors and windows, I could hear Brady making his little baby sleep noises down in his pack 'n play and could see Seth within arm's reach below me on his little pallet on the floor. I felt a lot of peace having them there with me, behind a locked door, and in a room where I could easily carry them both out of a window without much trouble. I also recognized the deep comfort of life coming full circle. As I lay there falling asleep, I could easily drift off to times in my own childhood when my dad was gone at the Navy's bidding. I can recall bits and pieces from nights when Mom kept us close to her in the same way. I slept in the bed near to her, and my brother occupied a pallet on the floor, close enough for her to hear us breathing. I never felt afraid during those times, which is probably why I don't remember many of them, though I am sure there must have been extended periods of time when Dad was away. My parents' bedroom was a haven. As early as the age of three, I can recall an image of jumping up and down on my parents' bed, brimming with excitement. As an older child, I remember watching "Little House on the Prairie" and "Bonanza" with Mom on her bed on summer days when it was just too hot to venture out. As a teenager, my brother and I would pile onto Mom's bed each night for a story from a devotional book entitled A View from the Zoo. Those were times spent with Mom that shaped me into who I am today. One of my most cherished memories from my college years is the night I stayed up until 3 AM, in the dark, talking to Mom on her bed about my friend, Shaun, and the crush I had on him. We were both so sleepy, but I can recall, even then, realizing the weight of that conversation and that night as we plotted out how I should break off an engagement and pursue what seemed to be the Lord's leading. Of all things, I can remember giggling with my mom there in the dark. I could never have known then that on a random Tuesday night ten years later, I would fall asleep to the sounds of Shaun's two sons breathing in sweet life on each side of me.

Poor Rainbow Fish

Have you read the children's book Rainbow Fish? It's one of Seth's favorites. I personally couldn't care less for the story. The moral of the story is that you will be happier in life if you share. I agree wholeheartedly with that lesson. I think it's very commendable that the Rainbow Fish gave away all but one of its most prized possessions. However, my problem is with the other fish in the ocean. They were right to shun the Rainbow Fish when he (Is it a he? I'll have to go back and look.) was swimming haughtily through the ocean, feeling awfully proud of his beautiful scales. I'm always telling Seth that no one will want to be your friend if you are mean and selfish. Rainbow Fish proves this point nicely with his attitude at the beginning of the story. I am proud to report that he does reach a place in his life where he feels lonely and regretful about the way he has treated the other fish. I've often hoped as I turned my other cheek that someone would come to regret their actions towards me. Who hasn't? This is what makes our forgiveness so different from Christ's. I digress. So, at this turning point in the story, Rainbow Fish is given some sound advice from the "wise octopus" that he should give away some of his scales in order to be happy. All true. All wise. Shortly after that, Rainbow Fish is given the chance to act on this advice, and he reluctantly gives away the tiniest of his shimmery scales to the little blue fish that he turned away early in the story. When he sees the joy that he has brought the little fish, he recognizes the peace and warmth the octopus told him he would feel. It doesn't take long for word to spread that he gave away a scale to the little blue fish. What happens next? Every one of those fish come shooting through the water like sharks at a feeding frenzy to get one for themselves. "What's this? Rainbow Fish is sharing? Let's get ours!" Sure enough, Rainbow Fish is soon rid of all but one of his scales. He seems happy at the end to have gained friends, but I pity him somewhat. He gave all that he cared about to a bunch of greedy fish. Are these the sort of friends he was after? It reminds me of the times in school when I pulled out a stick of gum in the presence of others. Or, God forbid, a bag of some sort of hard candy. Suddenly, everyone was my friend. No good feeling comes from giving away to people who are not grateful, genuine, or in need. I realize that this makes me sound selfish, so let me clarify. I love to share with my friends. I love to share with people that are not my friends. I think Rainbow Fish had the right idea. I just wish he had been given the opportunity to volunteer the scales. That poor fish was taken advantage of, and I am left wondering just how long those fish were his friends once he no longer had anything to give them. I will have to find consolation in the hope that the wise octopus, seeing that he needed a true friend who might understand his position, referred him to the boy who gave a mouse a cookie.