Saturday in the park

But now thus says the Lord,

He who created you, O Jacob,

He who formed you, O Israel:

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are Mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the Lord your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. Isaiah 43:1-3

It is a beautiful morning in Washington DC.  Straight up above a half moon rests.  Quietly after its glorious bouts a week ago. The hurried head-down marching into battle black suits are not here.  It is Saturday morning.  Sill too early for even the joggers under the oak trees and past the heaped-up berms of blooms.  The subway rattles and squeaks in the distance. The man dressed in brown unload five-gallon buckets of HaaganDaz ice cream through the front door of Ted’s Montana Grill with real buffalo burgers. That’s where I ate a few nights ago, long tables pushed together with lots of laughter or grave conversations, depending which end of the table one was at.  I was in the middle, sort of tracking with both sides.  

We all pass through waters, with the waves splashing our very nostrils as we wade tippy-toe, trying not to lose our balance and be swept away.  We all pass through the flames that burn away the dross, leaving us a bit singed around the edges but clean.  Sean said yesterday that it is a big fat lie that God will not take us through any test or trial too big for us, and if we hear some preacher dude lay that one on us, we should pack up our hymnals, grasp each child by the wrist and head for the door.  What is true is that God will not take me through any test or trial that is too big for Him. Him at my side, a shielding wall of protection, a healing balm of restoration.  

And as I led the closing prayer last night, praising God for each and every one of those bright-eyed but absolutely individual middle school spellers I was struck that it is His joy to redeem us, to redeem me, to be my high tower, to protect me under that shadow of His wing, to be my refuge in time of trouble.  

May His name be praised. 

Suddenly the number of dog-walkers, and lightly shod runners, and people with phones pressed to the ear, and airplane pilots dragging small wheeled suitcases, and guys after the workout at the gym have multiplied.  

Time to head back to the chandeliered ballroom and the nervous man running the show, simply praying that there will be no disasters.  No disasters too big for Him.