Wherever I am . . .

As a child, I was terrified of death. I would often sneak into my parents' room in the middle of the night (because apparently, I never slept) and hold my finger under my their noses to make sure they were still breathing (nothing creepy at all about that). The habit was a compulsion, born of the fear that while I was sleeping, my mom or dad would pass away and I wouldn't be able to save them.

Strange how, as children, we think we have so much control over things completely beyond us. In hindsight, of course, I realize how little I could have done if one of my late-night trips had not turned out the way I expected. I was seven, didn't know CPR, and probably would have forgotten the number to 911 in my panic.

Unfortunately, things haven't changed that much, I suppose. I don't drive across town every night to check on my parents. But I do try to call them regularly, and if too long goes by without them returning my message, I start calling my sister and fleshing out a plan to see who will go check on them. I check my daughter every night before I go to sleep. On the slight chance I wake up in the middle of the night, I'm by her bed, just "making sure" she's still okay.

As an adult, I'd like to think I've moved past irrational fears, that I understand God's timing is perfect and He will give me the strength to endure even life's darkest moments.

But thinking so and really embracing the concept are two totally different things.

Which was why, when I got a call at 1 am Thursday morning from my sister, telling me she'd called an ambulance to take my dad to the hospital, I prepared myself for a nervous breakdown.

It didn't happen.

I drove calmly to the hospital, sat in the waiting room until the ambulance arrived (yes, I beat it by about 20 minutes), and prayed. Really, really hard.

I'd always thought a moment like the one where I got "a call" would devastate me. I wouldn't even be able to hear how serious the situation was because I'd be curled up in a ball on the floor. But I handled my dad's attack with a calmness and maturity I know wasn't from me. (Dad's doing great now, by the way!)

My lack of a dramatic, throw-myself-on-the-floor moment wasn't because I care less about my dad or love him less than I used to. Absolutely not. Looking back now, I'm horrified thinking about how things could have easily been much different. In the moment, though, I was at peace.

God never ceases to amaze me. He knew exactly what I would need before I did. He knew I would need strength to face one of my biggest fears. That I would need the presence and love of the Ultimate Comforter. And He knew everything was going to be fine.

I write this so I can look back as a reminder. As frustrated as I've been with life lately, things not working in my time, etc., it's reassuring to know that God's got everything mapped out. I just need follow directions (preferably without complaining . . . which will be pretty difficult for me).

He knows where this crazy ride will take me just as much as He knew where I'd be Thursday morning at 1 am.

--Mandy