John Fischer The Catch

The traffic would not move fast enough. The red lights were longer than I ever remember, and more of them. The normally 25-minute drive to my daughter’s apartment took two hours in my head. I tried the phone three more times as I moved along in seemingly slow motion. Same result; no answer.

Is it normal for any parent to expect the worst?

I had been with her the night before as an extremely high fever broke and some of the pain in her muscles subsided after an onslaught of the most debilitating attack of something nasty in her blood stream. It’s been two months since Anne’s surfing accident fractured her jaw in four places. (One of the doctors said it was the worst he’d ever seen in 40 years of practice on a patient who lived to tell about it, including those who didn’t.)

“Annie is one tough cookie,” he said. And because I knew she was, I had left her and returned home since she seemed to be stable again. Who knows that it could be her body catching up to the trauma she’d been through in the last two months. And now added to that is the depressing news that the fractures have not been healing properly and she is going to have to have another surgery. It’s going to be a while before Anne gets on the other side of this ordeal.

Coupled with the pain of the night before is her knowledge, as a doctor herself, of all the possible ramifications of her symptoms. Of course she had to share with me the worst case scenarios of her self-diagnosis. Septic shock … Spinal meningitis … All of them potentially fatal. So is it any wonder what I’m thinking yesterday morning as I drive to check up on her because she’s not answering her phone?

I had no choice. Once the awful thought was in my mind, it took hold so tightly that I was emotionally incapable of doing anything else but check up on her.

So it was that I was in an anxious state of mind when I finally got to her apartment, opened the door, called out her name, and heard the sweetest sound coming back at me: “Papa!”

Did you know that we cry the same thing to our Father God. “…but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Romans 8:15). And did you also know that your voice calling “Abba! Father!” is the sweetest sound in the universe to His ears? It is. And I know what that’s like now.

Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.

We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love. (Romans 5:1-5)

[I want you to read this lovely piece, written by Marti, as if God had written it about you. Since every parent I know does this, God must have originated it.]

Why do I have so many photographs of my children sleeping? You too? Let’s take a look at this phenomenon.

When sleeping, their faces are relaxed with lips parted just a bit, their lashes as still as the midnight sky, and their hands so sweetly posed that I think they are impersonating angels. When each of my children finally give in to the day, a blanket of peace surrounds our home. It is given by God as a taste of heaven.

It’s true what they say, I could stare at Christopher, Anne, or Chandler endlessly and never get bored … that is … while they are sleeping.

Chandler is more physical then his verbal sister and brother when expressing himself, always looking for every possible opportunity to be active. Chandler has only two speeds: Fast and Sleep. Everything for Chandler is rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still for him – until he is asleep.

“Chandler keeps me grounded,” writes someone who knows what it is like when nothing will stand still. As a retired soldier (and Catch citizen), she continues, “I love his spunk, innocence, and love for his family. I like the way he believes. I really love that he knows he is loved — not just by his family, but by his friends, and the Catch community. I first felt this way when John told us about his skateboarding down the hill of your street. In total abandon, he let go of what fears he may have been experiencing, and had total faith that he could do this! Even though he was hurt, I don’t think he will ever forget that felling of utter joy skating down that hill. I also love his child logic. He says it like it is without all the hoopla. I feel a connectedness to him. Is there a better hero than Chandler?”

With all respect, Lieutenant, living with a hero who provides breaking news and feature stories every moment of every day, can be exhausting. Yet the moment he falls asleep, as though fatigue-worn from battle, I am spellbound. Feelings of deep affection overtake me and I find him inexplicably and overwhelmingly adorable (a word I would be hard pressed to use when he is awake). I just want to fold him in my arms and keep him warm. It is so incredibly tempting when I see him sleeping to want to wake him, and sometimes I do when whispering, “I love you” — a heartfelt truthful response that wasn’t on the tip of my tongue when sending him off to bed. His half-awake smile in response is so sweet as if to say, “I know Mama,” or could I be mistaken? Is his sweet mocking mouth, curled conspicuously in the right-hand corner, really saying, “Now, I really have you.”

When putting his survival instincts on the chair by his bed, as he allows his guard to retire for the evening, everything begins to be a little darker and threatening with black shadows moving. The roar of the beasts is quite different when it is dark, and above all, you tend to lose the certainty that you will win. You are quite glad that you remembered to tell the Keeper of the night to keep the night-lights turned on. Only then can you lay out flat on a strong wind that is going your way, and after a time, hear gentle breathing. As the mother, I am the trusted keeper of Chandler’s night and as with the stars, he falls asleep as the night light burns on.

That’s when I rummage through Chandler’s mind, putting things straight for the next morning. On my knees, I linger over some of its contents, wondering where on earth did he pick this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to my heart with smiles, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. As with Christopher and Anne, when Chandler awakens in the morning, the confusing and alarming thoughts that he went to bed with have been tossed out the window. On the top of his mind, beautifully aired and spread out, are his kinder thoughts, ready for him to put on.

Why do our photograph albums seem to contain more pictures of my children sleeping than when they are awake?

Maybe, after all, it’s a little like getting up close to angels.