When I was a boy of 8 or 9, my parents saw fit to give me a room of my very own far removed from the rest of the family, in a rather dark area at the south end of our house. I’m sure they thought they were doing me a big favour by putting me there. After all, a boy with some space of his own is a happy boy, a well-adjusted, confident child, ready to face the world. But parents can’t be right about everything.
For a boy of 8 or 9 there was much to be afraid of in those days, even outside that shadowy room. My older brother David told me to watch out for icicles. A 24-pounder with a razor-sharp point could do significant damage to a third-grader’s complexion if he slammed the door too hard and looked up on his way to school in the winter. It’s not a pretty sight, a child pinned to a snowdrift in that manner.
And then there were the bears. Grizzly bears. A whole tribe of them lived just beyond the trees out back of our house. “What do they eat?”
”Oh, they like nothing better than small boys…they start with the arms.”
Each morning on my way to school, I shut the door carefully and tiptoed through those trees like a soldier behind enemy lines.
At night, I lay in bed watching my wall for strange shadows and listening carefully for strange noises. Neither was hard to find. I could hear a man creeping down the hallway toward me, dragging an axe behind him.
Suddenly…the sound of footsteps. This was not my imagination.
My entire body froze stiff, every nerve ending on alert. The footsteps drew closer. Looming in the doorway was a shadow, one hand on its throat, the other thrashing wildly toward me. The shadow growled: “Aaaaahhh!”
I lay stiff, unable to move, clutching my tiny chest and gurgling.
My brother David stood in the doorway, laughing as if a heart attack was the funniest thing he could imagine me having.
I slumped and lay still, my eyes wide open. David’s smile began to wrinkle, and he reached down to shake me. “You OK?” He asked, genuinely concerned.
I didn’t move. It was the only revenge I could think of.
That day Mother hung a plaque neatly beside my bed. It was a Bible verse from Isaiah, one about fear. “Do not fear,” it said, “For I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you.” Though I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, I knew it wouldn’t hurt to study that verse, so I could hang on to it when the lights dimmed.
I would love to tell you that as I memorized that Scripture verse, thoughts of bears and axes and icicles melted into peace, and I began to snore…smiling. I would love to tell you that ever since then my life has been one long stretch of fearless living, marked by victory over the concerns that face us all.
The truth is, it would take three decades and a child of my own to teach me why we have every reason to trust and no need to fear.
“Daddy…”
It is midnight. A small girl in socked feet stands in our bedroom doorway silhouetted by the soft glow of a night light. “Daddy…I’m scared.”
It is the third time we’ve covered this territory tonight. I take her hand and pull back her covers. Beside her bed hangs the same verse that once framed mine.
“Rachael,” I say, “Did you go over your Bible verse?”
“Yup.”
“And you counted sheep?”
“Yup.”
“And you talked to the Shepherd?”
“Uh huh.”
“Hmmm…well, I want to tell you a secret. Something I hope you’ll never forget.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you see…some people seem to need more sleep than others. And I’m one of those who doesn’t sleep as much as you. Have you ever knocked on my door late at night and found me sleeping?”
“Um…Nope.”
“So if a burglar comes, I’ll be awake, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“And if a monster ever comes to visit, he can find me just around the corner, can’t he?”
“Uh huh.”
“Then go to sleep, Rachael…Daddy is awake.”
I kiss her forehead then. And her nose. And her dimpled chin. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
A few minutes later I tiptoe from her room and climb into my own bed, resting ice-cold feet on the back of my wife’s leg.
She sits straight up. “Italian dressing?” she says groggily, then lies back down. And I go to sleep with a very satisfied smile stuck to my face.
It’s easy to rest in peace when you know that your Father is awake.
