I live in a world of Bubble Guppies and Dora and sidewalk chalk and crayons and blowing bubbles in the front yard. And most days I'm perfectly content wandering about in this safe, little corner of existence that is the world of raising a toddler. But then there are days like Monday.
An ordinary day where I am completely oblivious to world or national news until the still of night when my people are cocooned snug in beds, wrapped up with sweet memories of the day gone by. It is then I get a chance to connect with reality and see what is happening all around me. Some nights I giggle. Other nights I tremble. Monday was a night of the later.
Much of the details and images were too much for this mama bear's heart to endure. Words like evil and gruesome and tragic pierced my heart with pain so fresh I gasped for air. I stopped reading and scrolling and wondering. Instead, I stared my angel in the face and prayed. Prayed for this world she is growing up in. Prayed for the lost and the hurting and the grieving. Prayed for the brave and the cowardly. Prayed for the hearts that are beckons of Truth and Light. And for the hearts that know nothing but darkness.
As I was tidying up the house this morning, my finger awkwardly fingered my husband's visor. Absent-mindly, really. I was urging a tiny girl, who had a dance party to attend, to leave Dora to her quest to find whatever it is she was looking for and turn the TV off. It wasn't until I placed the visor back in its rightful spot that I caught a glimpse of what my finger had been tracing.
A big red 'B'. For the Redsox. The Boston Redsox. My husband's favorite team.
Tears welled up and chills consumed me. We paused for a moment to lift up Boston. And every single heart rocked by the terror of such evil.
My girl, this Grace-gift entrusted to my care, doesn't understand the evil that lurks around every corner of her world. She knows a world of Jesus loves me, this I know. She knows that hands are made to be gentle. She knows safety and security. She knows Light and love.
But this mama's heart is full aware that she will soon know the other side. The side that fights as if it still has a chance at victory. The side that seeks to lure her into darkness and despair. The side that will stop at nothing to make everyone feel as if all hope is lost. The side that is already trying to win her soul, whispering lies to her heart quicker than I can tell her 'I love you.'
So I dig in deeper. I roll up sleeves and bear down hard to fight this battle for her, for as long as I can. Because this mama will stop at nothing--no power of Hell or scheme of man--to show her that nothing {NOTHING} can separate her from the love Jesus. I will keep telling her that there isn't a single thing that takes our Maker by surprise. I whisper to her through the fear and doubt that He, the One that came just for her, knows nothing about confusion. I will rock her and stroke her hair and tell her, in a confident voice that believes Truth despite what the world shouts to us, that it is finished. Indeed, it is finished. The battle is over. The victory is ours.
No, this mama bear will stop at nothing to protect her tiny cub from this dark world in which we reside.
If that means we turn up the Bubble Guppies a little louder and blow a few more bubbles into the setting sun, so be it. And when she's older and wiser, it will mean that we will go hand in hand to the front line of the battle and declare loudly to the opposing side 'YOU CAN NOT PLUCK ME FROM HIS HAND!'
No matter where the battle is fought---in the deep recesses of your soul or in front of the whole world's eyes---the result is still the same. It is finished. Jesus wins.
Jesus wins.
Jesus wins.
Jesus wins!
May you follow in our foot steps today. Throw on your party dress and dance. Victory is always worth celebrating!
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