Get Me Outta Here!

We bought a camper this summer. Both hubby and I grew up camping with our families, but we've never camped as a couple and the kids have never camped, period. Well, that's not entirely true. They've slept in a tent in the backyard a few times and since we brought the camper home there have been at least two nights of "roughing it" in the driveway.

Last weekend while I attended a conference, hubs took the kiddos camping for the first time. They spent three days and nights cooking over an open flame, boating, swimming in the reservoir, hiking, biking, and slapping mosquitoes. They rolled in Sunday morning just as I left to teach Sunday school, spilling from the truck, glazed expressions, tousled hair, dragging pillows and blankets. They made it to church for the second service, but Jot slept through the whole thing.

It reminded me of another experience involving a tent, but it not camping. An experience God used to teach me that just because I think I'm aware and vigilant, my kids may still find themselves in trouble. Let me explain...

A few years ago, on a cold winter morning, I packed the kids, and my contribution to a pitch-in lunch, in the van and headed out to a playdate. After arriving, the kids descended the stairs to the finished basement, joining the group already playing in a pop-up tent in the middle of the room. I settled in at the dining room table, joining the other five or six moms already deep in conversation. Every so often, a cheer would rise up from the depths of the basement, and we would look at one another and smile or someone would comment, "They sure are having a good time down there!"

Our friend Dee arrived late, her three kids racing to the basement, drawn by the raised voices of their playmates. As Dee found her place at the table, the hordes from the basement emerged, sweaty and red-faced. "Thank goodness! Luke let us out of the tent!"

"Huh?"

"We were stuck in the tent and we've been calling you forever. Finally when Luke got here, he let us out!"

"Yeah, we kept yelling and you didn't hear us. So we'd count 1-2-3 then we'd all yell 'Mom!' together."

It seems the zipper on the tent stuck, capturing the kids packed inside like sardines. What we thought were shouts of glee were actually pleas for someone to come and free them. Hot, sweaty, hoarse, and some near tears, they were finally freed by their late-coming friend. All the while I thought my kids were happy, content, and free, they were enslaved just below me in a faulty pup tent.

God taught me a lesson once again. Now matter how vigilant I am, danger and bondage lurk around every corner. I can never know without a doubt that my children are safe and secure. I can do everything in my power and they might be within shouting distance and still in trouble. That's why it's so important for my kids and I to have a Savior. Just like Luke saved the day for my kids and their locked-in friends, we need someone capable of coming to our rescue.

Unlike Luke, we don't have to wait on our Savior to make an appearance. Our Savior is just a prayer away. He stands ready to save us as soon as the plea leaves our lips.

So also, when we were children, we were in slavery under the basic principles of the world. But when the time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under law, to redeem those under law, that we might receive the full rights of sons (Galatians 4:3-5).