The night my Dad died I drove through town
- like I’d never a red light
- or stop sign before.
When I pulled up to the Emergency Room, I ran right past waiting area and into the trauma ward.
My dad’s swollen body lay on the gurney in the middle of the room. His mouth sagged open. His eyes shut. Bits of tubing, gauze and gloves lay scattered across the room.
Mom stepped away from the gurney. She gave me a hug.
Then, we did the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. We drove back home. Without my dad.
I cried but not too much. I felt more like I was watching a really sad TV show than grieving for my Dad. This ability to disconnect helped me function without falling apart.
Not always a good thing.
As an adult I sometimes find myself
- observing stressful circumstances
- instead of a participating.
If someone gets angry at me I just tuck my emotions away. That way I can nod my head, look the other person in the eye and not feel at thing.
“I’ll deal with this when I get home,” I tell myself, “in a safe place where I can be alone.”
It sounds like a great plan. But, it’s really no way to live.
- In the third person.
- Or past tense.
We need to engage with the present.
Problem is, life is a battle. On all levels. And I’m not just talking about the disapproval of other people. I’m talking about the ruler of the dark side.
He’d like to hit us all broadside. Pretending we don’t exist is not going to stop the damage from being done.
We need to take action. Put on the whole armor of God.
Take a tip from the book of Ephesians. Gear up with the
- shield of faith
- breastplate of righteousness
- gospel of peace.
Read chapter six. There’s even more. Get present. Get into the battle. We’re on the winning side.