trusting God with my children

The crisp air of dusk fell over me like a blanket as I walked toward the parking lot of the campground at The Great Stone Door campground. I found Matt talking with a tall muscular man. The sun had begun to set and all around us creation invited us to rest and play. Matt and the stranger spoke as if they had known one another for years in the unhurried cadence of a campground. Brent, I came to know, is a fireman for Davidson County.

"He's invited us to go rappelling tomorrow with him," the corners of Matt's mouth turned upwards as he spoke to me. 

Rapelling. Hmmmm. I learned that Brent is an instructor in rescue using rappelling. He literally teaches other firemen how to rappel and how to save lives. He brought a few families with him, and he said they would all be rappelling the next day. All three of his kids were going, ages 15, 13 and 10.  

I spent the night excited and worried. Rappelling. 172 feet of sheer bluff. Only strapped in by a rope. A thin rope. Ok and a metal figure eight thingy and a harness. 

My boys, Sam (7) and Josh (13), wanted to do it. They lit up around their eyes when we mentioned it. Of course, Sam said first, "What's rappelling?" 

The next morning we ambled over to the site our slow pace belying what we felt inside: raw fear and excited energy. The ropes lay about us like so many snakes. People ran to and fro. Brent took charge like the President in the war room. Children ages 6 to 16 strutted about in harnesses. And the ledge loomed before me sapping strength from my knees.

The McMurrays are keenly familiar with this spot. Stone Door is one of our places. For the past 16 years, our family has explored, adored, and held as sacred this amazing state park. The story goes that Indians used it as passage to travel from the valleys up to the Cumberland Plateau. Stone cliffs overlook ravines vast and dotted with colorful trees. This spot only two hours from our home offers us perspective. We are reminded our place in God's story and in His creation. 

Eventually we made our way to the bottom of the ravine and watched the drama from below. "Well, boys, do you want to do it?" Matt asked with the same twinkle in his eye from the night before?

"YES!!!" they shouted in stereo.

They do not take after their mother. 

I reclined on a large boulder without budging and held tight to Skip, our dog. 

Joshua lead the way for the McMurrays. He backed over the ledge like a Navy Seal. As soon as he unhooked he wanted to go again. Samuel went next. I looked up to see him coming down using his right hand. My crackley weak voice called out, "Oh, he is a lefty!"  It was too late. He was over the edge. You wouldn't have known the way he handled that rope.

I am afraid I cannot explain to you how I felt sitting there 172 feet below them watching them go over the edge of a cliff. My thirteen-year-old hopped out on a ledge under the instruction of a stranger. My seven-year-old boy dangled above me, and I was helpless and powerless. 

I began to question my trust of the muscular stranger in the parking lot. We didn't check his ID. We didn't ask for a certificate. We didn't even ask him to demonstrate once we got to the site. 

I thought about how I have a hard time trusting God with the stories of my children. I compared that to the way I somewhat blindly trusted this man. My Heavenly Father has shown me time and time again His faithfulness to me. He has proven Himself over generations. And yet at the first sign of pain or difficulty, I tend to cop a stance and start with the questions.

This unveils my arrogance. Surely I know what is best for my, MY children. 

Each boy rappelled twice. Matt even went once. My clothing was just inappropriate for a rappel - saved by the Nike running shorts! Rappelling ended up on the "high" list of our fall break. And the deeper message about how I trust God or more accurately, how I often don't, will linger a while longer.