It was a cold, windy, and dreary
night. I was anxious to get in the car and get warm. I jumped in
the passenger side and cranked up the heater. Tim was driving, and
Ashley started to get in the back, but as we will see, she apparently
decided to talk to one of her friends and closed the door as she
walked off to say something. We left the church, on the way to get
gas, and I started telling the kids about choir practice. “We're
singing the song you like Ashley, the one we listened to all week on
the new CD.” Silence from the backseat. I sigh, thinking she's
pretending to be asleep. I continue a conversation with Tim as we
get to the main highway. I finally ask Ashley about some clothes she
was supposed to get from a friend that night. Silence. I look back,
but can't see her because I think she is behind me. I see a lump,
and think she is curled up, still pretending to sleep. Aggravated, I
threaten to take her tablet away if she doesn't answer me. Silence.
And everything explodes in my head, because I KNOW something is not
right if she won't answer to that threat. I twist around and see
that the lump is actually a pile of jackets. Oh my goodness! Oh my
goodness! I scream at Tim to go back, he has left my baby at church.
By now we are at the 4-way stop of 10 and 5 and he's trying to
figure out how to turn around legally. Now he wants to drive
correctly??!! I make him spin the car around in the road and told
him if the cops see us, they can follow us to church and deal with
me, manic-mama. In my head, I see my baby, who in reality is ten and
not a baby at all except to me, crying in the parking lot, crushed
that we left her, thinking we won't come back, afraid, sobbing,
terrified. Yes, I know, she's at church, the safest place I know,
and there were people still there, and she'd be fine. I knew that in
my head, but in my heart? In my heart I feel the pain of my baby
girl, abandoned. Mama guilt is powerful.
When we finally make it back to
church, after what felt like endless hours, although I suspect it was
closer to two minutes, I find Ashley inside, along with several
church members. Safe. Warm. Cared for. Loved. Did I mention
safe? I could laugh at how ridiculous the situation was, and relieve
all that built up stress. I could laugh when Ricky told me to take
my phone off silent, he'd been trying to call me. Of course, the
good church member I am, I had turned it off during church and choir
practice. I never remember to turn it back on, they need to make a
timer app for that. (Note to self: invent timer app for that and get
rich, spend that money on tracking devices for my kids.) I could
laugh, because it all turned out OK. And I could joke that I deserve
the Mom-of-the-Year award. Hey, if Al Gore can win the Nobel Prize
for his global warming work and President Obama can win the Nobel
Peace Prize for.... um.....whatever it was, I should win an award of
great honor for forgetting my child, right?
On the way home, as I was “explaining”
to Tim that the driver is responsible for making sure everyone is in
and buckled up, and I was “explaining” to Ashley that you don't
start to get in, and then leave without telling anyone, and I was
thanking God profusely for taking care of all of us, I couldn't help
but think about how glad I am that He never misplaces us. He doesn't
forget us somewhere, though it does feel like it sometimes. Ask the
Israelites, stuck in slavery in Egypt for 400 years. Ask the man
who's lost his job, the childless wife, the couple that fights
constantly, the parent of the wayward child, the elderly person in
the nursing home who no one visits and they just want to go home to
Jesus. Sometimes it does feel like God has forgotten where we are and
what we are going through. But He hasn't. I won't give you some pat
answer for why people suffer. That's too deep for this devotion, but
I will tell you with all certainty that God has not forsaken you,
forgotten you, or overlooked you. I may have misplaced my Ashley for
a short time, but God has not left you.
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