Skip to main content

Sheltered

It was nice to have a “normal” thunderstorm last night.  It wasn’t the kind where it seemed like lightning was crashing upon the roof and the trees were bent over in half.  We have severe storms way too often over here on the western side of Missouri.  Apparently, there’s nothing in Kansas to stop the wind from running us over like a freight train.  It has taken some getting used to.  I grew up in a suburb of the so-called “Windy City.”  But I really don’t remember the Chicago area being so windy all the time.  Not like it is here.

But last night was a normal (non-severe) thunderstorm, and I enjoyed its sound as I lay peacefully in my bed, drifting off to sleep to the sound of the rushing water and rolling kettle drums.

Throughout the night my roof kept me dry, my walls kept me warm, and the sump pump ensured a waterless basement.  I was sheltered well.

Sheltered.  It’s a good word, except for when it’s a criticism.  “Oh, that boy… he was sheltered.”  Look that boy up in the yearbook, and you’ll see a picture of me.

I learned a lot when I went to High School.  I mean, A LOT.  Even though it was a very small, private high school, the world suddenly became a lot bigger to me.  I realized that I didn’t really know much about how other people lived, or even much about the culture.  Still to this day I have almost zero appreciation for music and movies from the 80’s and early 90’s.  I missed it when I was growing up.  And now if I try to take any of it in, there are no childhood memories to help me cope with how bad it is.  Everyone else has the anesthesia of nostalgia.  I didn’t see Top Gun until I was in college. Thought it was terrible.  And I haven’t even seen the original Ghost Busters.  And I can’t sing along with 80’s playlists.  Yeah, I know.  You just lost some respect for me.

Sheltered.  That’s me.  Were my parents too strict?  Oh, probably on some things.  But you know, some people who were sheltered feel like they missed out on a lot.  But I don’t feel that way.  I feel protected.  It’s not that everything I missed would have been bad for me, but what was substituted was very good.  Board games, books, playing outside, homework, time to be bored and therefore creative, family devotions and time together, and Church.  I had a full and rich childhood.  And I really don’t think that Ghostbusters would have helped it much.

My wife and I try to strike a balance.  We don’t want our kids to be ignorant, naïve, or completely unprepared for their world to expand in college, high school, or (let’s be honest) middle school.  At the same time, we limit their intake of entertainment and all sorts of “cultural expressions” that are just garbage.  Their time on screens is limited far more than most of their peers.  We carefully read up on movies we don’t know before the kids see them.  We make sure they have all the good things (board games, books, outside time, faith instruction, etc.) that we had too.  We want them to experience this big, full, rich world, and at the same time we want them to be protected from people or temptations that would prey on them, mistakes that will follow them, and garbage that will stink up their lives.  We pray for them always.

Do we have the perfect balance?  I’m sure we don’t.  And when they grow up, will they grumble that they were sheltered?  Maybe.  And then Nicole and I can smile and shout “success!”

Think about it.  Right now, people across our nation (even our world!) are on “lockdown” as the pandemic is spreading.  Some places call it “lockdown,” but others call it a “stay-at-home order” or a “shelter-in-place”order.  Shelter in place—against the oncoming wave of the pandemic.  When this is past, the declaration “I was sheltered” won’t be a complaint but a prayer of thanks and sigh of relief.

Come what may in this life, you too can be sheltered, protected, kept safe.  Jesus tells you how:

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”  - Matthew 7:24-27

It’s time to build on the Rock.  Agreed?

Here’s a song I made a few months ago.  Like it or not, hopefully it will help point you to Jesus.  Don’t judge my singing; I’m not a performer.  I just like making music.  And many thanks to my sister, Anna, for supplying the guitar track.  Enjoy.



truth + love

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Songwriting Journey

So, in August I did a thing.  A thing I’ve never done before.  A thing I never expected to do.  I want to tell you what that thing is.   But first you should know something about me.  I love music. I’ve played the piano for as long as I can remember.  I took lessons from my mom who was the church organist and taught piano on the side.  I started learning the trombone in fourth grade.  In college, our Symphonic Wind Ensemble needed a tuba player, so I learned that.  Turns out that if you can play a trombone and a tuba, you can also play a baritone.  So I played that too in some church brass ensembles.  I wouldn’t say that I own a ton of instruments, but I do have a few: a piano, digital keyboard, harmonica, kalimba, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, trumpet, trombone, and bells (not handbells, but bells that look like separate pieces of a xylophone in a case).  Some of those I don’t even know how to play.  Yet.   As much as I love music, I’ve never been a good performer.  I can preach a

God Who Bleeds

It was a beautiful May day in gorgeous Irvine, California, and four of us songwriters were sharing a sunny and lighthearted conversation as we walked.  This retreat had three scheduled songwriting sessions, and the forty-two attendees would find out before each session what the assigned groups and writing locations were.   Benji, Cara, Matt, and I began our gentle uphill walk to the chapel for the final cowrite.  We chatted and laughed as we walked. Good Shepherd Chapel, Concordia University Irvine. Photo by Anna Gruen. I don’t remember everything we talked about, but I’m pretty sure that at some point someone joked about the zoom meetings, commenting how you could wear some comfy shorts below the nice shirt and no one would know.  And about how there was no way anyone could tell what was really in your mug or water bottle.   The conversation took a serious turn when the observation was made that covid  (stupid covid!)  made substance dependency and addiction worse for many people.  No

Our Place in the Stars

We saw the blindingly bright light first as the shuttle began to lift.  Then we heard, no,  felt  the earth-shaking rumble and roar of the engines.  We weren’t allowed to be near the pad, but we were as close as civilians could get about a mile away (that’s just a guess).  A marsh lay in between us and the shuttle, giving us an unobstructed view of launchpad 39A. It was July 8, 1994.  I was 15 years old when I saw one of the most incredible sights of my life.  The space shuttle Columbia embarked on a two-week mission to conduct numerous science experiments for teams of hundreds of scientists from several nations.  They carried plants, newts, jellyfish, and more in an effort to better understand space biology, especially the effects of microgravity and cosmic radiation on living things.  Its research was one of many missions that helped prepare humans to collaborate on the building and occupying of the International Space Station (ISS), a low orbit station that has now been oc