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I spoke recently with a friend who’s packing up her family’s life to move to a developing country–a path of utter excitement, surrender, and loss. She described a terrifying kidnapping epidemic in the country to which she’s moving.

In her story, I heard my own. I remember in searing color the fears tearing through me: My kids dying from a tropical illness. The (not always) death-defying traffic.

I recall the exact location overlooking the Nile in which I stood when I told God yes, He could have my kids’ lives if I really wanted them. (If you don’t know God and think this is foolish–this life does look insane to outsiders. It seems madness to value something unseen even more than your children. At present, I will allow you to wonder what could compel me like this.)

So the after-story. My husband and I calculated nine accidents we were in during our five-and-a-half years in Uganda. After a few repairs, we were still able to sell our high-clearance minivan in great condition when we left.

But there was this: Before we left America the first time–while we were deep in the weeds of our own packing phase–that minivan was totaled twice. (I didn’t even know that was a thing.) The final time was with my mom in the car, after some falafel for her birthday. Someone ran a red and T-boned us. In my peripheral vision, I saw him coming and braked. As in, if I hadn’t braked, it wouldn’t have been my front wheel crushed.

It would have been me. (Read that story here.)

My friend, too, explained that their U.S.-neighborhood Facebook page is also discussing a number of break-ins.

I say that to tell you that with all the layers of padding in the developing world, I think it’s easy for me to forget grace is the air we breathe.

Chariots and Horses

At the dinner table last night, my son reminded me Yellowstone National Park sits atop a supervolcano. In the event of an eruption, the consequences would be dire for the entire United States and ecosystems around the world: our very own sword of Damocles.

I–we–depend on undeserved kindness every nanosecond. I sleep deeply and safely. My children arrive safely home from school. Their “credible threat” this year in school was thankfully discovered. My family enjoys wonderful health. I bought a trunkful of groceries yesterday. I had four safe deliveries of my children. The level of grace here in my country has led to death, sickness, and danger as anomaly rather than a normal part of life.

While I was in Thailand, my sister attempted to explain that her perspective of death has changed while in the developing world. As Americans, we tend to be quite fearful of death; to look upon it as odd, to be fought against at all costs. After living in Africa, witnessing the frequency of death, I get it.

Sometimes, it’s as if God pulls back the curtain a bit, shows us our utter dependence:  Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God (Psalm 20:7). 

Is it possible the developed world simply has a few more chariots and horses to trust in?

The Blanket

A few years ago, a verse in Revelation changed out the glasses with which I look at the world. John writes of what will happen in the last days of this planet:

And out came another horse, bright red. Its rider was permitted to take peace from the earth, so that people should slay one another, and he was given a great sword. (Revelation 6:4)

As in, there’s a thick blanket of peace that covers this third rock. I’ve seen what humans do in the midst of poverty and desperation. I’ve witnessed my own country’s lack of civility, even violence, toward others who disagree with them. I cannot overestimate what any of us would do in situations where law and resources and civility have vanished.

We are not a moral exception.

The Options

This probably isn’t the feel-good post you were hoping for in your feed this morning. But I’ll allow that there are two ways to take this.

Our fear could sink deeper like a stone into each of our respective guts. It could hover over us like this black, amassing cloud of school shootings. We could clutch at safety and control: more horses. More chariots.

Or, we could trust. Honestly, God’s grace is everywhere. Everywhere.  Grace, undeserved kindness, is not the exception; it’s the water we swim in. God proves over and over again, everywhere we look, how much he loves us–and how much he’s worthy of our trust, even in gravest danger. Our fear flouts how kind he is at every. Moment.

We could overflow with gratitude for our quiet, methodical streets, for the ability to pick up something we wanted but didn’t need at the store. We could open our hands since what do you have that you did not receive (I Corinthians 4:7)?

Andree Seu writes,

I am keeping two separate piles from now on, based on Deuteronomy 29:29: the things I can do something about, and the things I can’t; those that belong to me, and those that belong to God. Responsibility; sovereignty.

One pile is considerably bigger than the other.

 

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