Things happen. Even more so in our neighborhood. Even more so in the summer time. I remember hearing an ER nurse tell my dad that he new what the weather was like just by the victims brought in to his trauma unit. He works in a big downtown hospital. "When we're over burdened with car accident victims, we know its the rainy season. When there's an abundance of shootings, we know its summertime!" (yes, we only have two seasons here)
Something about low-income neighborhoods not having AC which puts more people on the streets, staying up later, staying out to catch a cool breath of air. Anyways, this theory has been confirmed by a couple of police officers we've talked to, and somehow it seems like every time we've had an incident it happened in the heat of summer.
Last night was a very summery night. All these thoughts and memories and theories were running through my head when dad sent me to help clean up for church tomorrow. There was a pile of electronics that I had to deal with, and I figured sticking them in the new house was the best idea... until I saw that the door to the new house was cracked open. Its not a big deal, cause that happens all the time, but somehow I've got this mental picture of someone looking for a place to bed down or hide out. Its not irrational, because it's happened before, even recently.
I sort of cautiously open the door the rest of the way, and flip on the kitchen light. BUMP Bump bump. OKAY! There's no way I'm walking into that 3500 sq ft empty (I hoped) house by myself, AND there's no way I'm blocking the only exit.
For all my bravado about being able to take care of myself, I was all to quick to ask my older brother to check it out. I felt a little bit silly, but hey. "Um. I heard something."
Apparently he was on the same wave length as me about things happening, because he didn't question or mock me, he just turned right around and found a hockey stick to keep him company while he checked it out. After a minute or so of me telling myself it was a rodent or my imagination, I went to find him. He stood in the doorway, tense, listening. Turning around, he mouthed the words, "There's something upstairs."
Again, my commendable bravery came into play. I ran and got dad. He too never questioned me, just jumped up and went to check it out. Two are better than one when confronting a drunk vagrant or a desperate fugitive. Especially when one is armed with a hockey stick. And my dad has jiu jitsu dvd's.
As it turns out, the wind was blowing a door around upstairs. But I learned a couple things, one of them being, I'm not as brave as I think I am.
I resumed cleaning, feeling a little sheepish for running to dad about nothing, and he came in and thanked me for having him check it out. That's when I learned a second thing. My brother and dad are completely trustworthy, and they really feel honored getting to be the protectors. I may have felt like a little child, but that's kinda what it's all about. Jesus said, "Unless you receive the kingdom of God like a little child, you will never enter it." Just like my dad wanted me to run to him, God wants us to take everything to Him, like little children.
I leave you with this. Stop trying to be so grown up about everything. You can't handle life on your own, and whats even better, you don't have to! I read in Isaiah this week that in quietness and trust is our strength. Which means that I was as strong as my brother with his hockey stick and my dad with his mixed martial arts training when I trusted them to take care of the things that went "bump". How much more when we trust our heavenly Father to fight our battles and carry our burdens?