I remember quite vividly as a young child going to Disneyland for the very first time with my family. It was the year my Dad was serving and flying missions in Vietnam. I was either seven (7) or eight (8) years old, so my sister was probably about four (4), and my brother Rick about twelve (12) or so. We went with my relatives who lived in Southern California at the time (actually most of them still live there now). I was always a bit cautious, so the more intimidating rides were ones I had a love-hate relationship with; I wanted so badly to go on them and be brave like all of the other kids, but they frightened me to death. The ride I wanted to go more than any other was Dumbo. So, while all of my relatives and my older brother ventured off to get their thrills on roller coasters that induced positive G's on their bodies, I asked my Mom if I could go on Dumbo. She naturally acquiesced, but the line was so extraordinarily long (actually, now that I think about it, it's not that extraordinary to see a long line at Disneyland) she asked me to stand in it and wait while they went to check out the line at the Tiki Room. (I couldn't understand why then they wanted to go to the Tiki Room when they had Dumbo right there, but now I do).
Well, believe it or not, the line actually moved relatively quickly and before I knew it I was ready to give the attendant a ticket for the ride, but the only problem was that I had no one to ride with. So I sheepishly handed him my ticket and climbed aboard with a stranger approximately my age and embarked upon what I was hoping to be the thrill of my life. Problem was, I missed my Mom and I didn't know where she was. The whole while, going up and down inside that gray sculpted elephant with the controls maneuvered by my strange bedfellow because I was too shy to ask for them myself, I couldn't enjoy the ride because I was so concerned that I had lost my Mom for life. Now all I wanted to do was get off that stinking merry-go-round and find my Mother. The ride couldn't end quick enough, and as soon as it was over I casually sauntered over to the exit gate so that no one would think I was worried, and then scanned from left to right looking for that woman where all my security rode. After gazing into the crowds for what seemed like an eternity, but I'm sure was only a minute or two, I spotted her, that familiar face that brought such peace and comfort to my soul. When we reunited she had a big smile on her face and asked me how I enjoyed the ride. I worked real hard at keeping the tears inside, but they just couldn't be contained. I began to cry and tell my Mother that I thought she left without me and that I didn't think I would find her again. She knelt down to my level and said, "Tommy, I'd never leave you. You know that, right?" I shook my head in the affirmative, pressed my face into her leg, wiped my tears, and realized that all was well in the world of Tommy Kruggel once again.
I was instantaneously reminded this evening of that moment in my bubbled history when I took the girls to their AWANA (Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed) class. (Victoria is in Denver visiting with Austin and Meagan.) Victoria and I recently enrolled them knowing that they'd thoroughly enjoy it, as did our other older children, and expectantly hoping they'd get even more immersion into the Bible than they already have. One of the things they enjoy doing most is playing on the church playground when they first arrive. It's complete with jungle-jim, slides, ropes courses and the like. I decided I would run in and get the girls registered for the evening by grabbing their name-tags and signing them in. The whole process takes about two to three minutes. When I returned to the playground I found Poppy solemnly walking around the play structures with a confused look on her face. When she spotted me she appeared very forlorn. I immediately flashed back to my Disneyland experience and asked her what the matter was while I also knelt down and looked into her eyes. She didn't say anything, and I then queried, "Did you not know where I was?" She shook her head back and forth and tried to hold back her tears, and then said with a soft voice, "I thought you left without us. Willow and I were looking for you." Of course, Willow was running around the yard without a care in the world and I'm sure didn't even notice that I was gone. I gently stroked Poppy's face and said, "Sweetheart, I'd never leave you, ever. You know that now, right?" She said she did and then tried to regain her energy level to play for a few minutes before the evening's events formally commenced.
I then began to ponder in my mind how I never, ever feel that way about my Father. You know, there's not a worse feeling in the world than to think that you've been somehow forgotten, left behind and to your own devices. But with God, everywhere I turn He's there, and I you what? I know it. Eternal security. There's not a better gift in the whole wide world. Even when I'm lost, He's there. Even when I've dishonored Him, He's still there. Even when I ignore Him, He's still there. And even when I wander away, He's still there.
Whether it's the Disneyland of this world, or the playground of my life, I will confidently look over my shoulder and see Him standing there.
In peace,
Tom
1 comment:
What a sweet/sad story! I remember one evening at church, when I ran to the restroom with Henry. I came back, to find Gus searching for me, with a very worried look on his face. When he saw me, he burst into tears and said, 'where WERE you? I thought you left me?' I felt terrible - and had a very similiar conversation about never ever leaving him. I guess it's a universal experience - both as a parent, as well as a child.
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