Rollercoasters. I think you either love them or you don’t. Jack was one who did.
Favorites included the ride that twirls like a corkscrew, the one that goes straight up and straight down, and even the one suspended over water that swings back and forth two or three times until it flips over entirely, slows a bit and starts again.
And though I have never liked rollercoasters, nor their cousin experiences of skating, skiing, bungee jumping, and sky-diving, I nevertheless heard myself agree in an unguarded moment to join Jack on a coaster at Dorney Park.
“C’mon”, he said, “you haven’t gone on any all day. This one is pretty smooth, really.”
Only after I consented and was locked into place with a heavy-duty seatbelt, did I learn I would need to relinquish both my glasses and my flip-flops. My heart sank, but it was too late to back out. “You got through childbirth. You can get through this,” I told myself, steeling for the worst.
True to Jack’s word, it did start smoothly. Not that I could see much with my eyes closed. And later on, after it climbed to a peak and the bottom dropped out and we’d all screamed our heads off for a while, it did smooth out again. But it did not last, and before long, we were screaming again.
Up…up…up…DOWN. Around….around… AROUND. Disorienting, unsettling, tense! Until eventually, thank goodness, we eased to a stop and I could unclamp my eyes. I located my glasses, put my shoes on, unclenched my fists. Then I turned to glare at my gleeful husband, demanding to know why he said it was a smooth ride.
“Well, it really is, compared to some,” he said.
It occurs to me all the people around us are at different places on this ride of Life. Some are in line, innocently unaware, but about to find out for themselves what others before them have experienced. Some are enjoying the wind in their hair and the sun on their faces climbing a smooth stretch, while yet others are hanging on for dear life, with sweaty palms and knots in their stomachs, screaming at the sudden drop their lives have taken. But wherever we are, through it all, it helps the ups and downs to have a trusted traveling companion by your side.
Jack sat right next to me during that ride, and it steadied me. His solid, familiar presence steadied me.
The verse I read this morning from Psalm 46 said that God is a very present help in trouble, too. Not just present, but very present.
Charles Spurgeon writes, “A help that is not present when we need it is of small value. ..but as for the Lord, our God, He is present when we seek Him, present when we need Him, and present when we have already enjoyed His aid…
He is more than ‘present’. He is very present. More present than the nearest friend can be, for He is in us in our trouble; more present than we are to ourselves, for sometimes we lack presence of mind. He is always present, effectually present, sympathetically present, altogether present. He is present now if this is a gloomy season. Let us rest ourselves on Him. He is our refuge, let us hide in Him; He is our strength, let us array ourselves with Him; He is our help. Let us lean on Him; He is our very present help, let us repose in Him now. We need not have a moment’s care, or an instant’s fear. ‘The Lord of hosts is with us: the God of Jacob is our refuge.’
Charles Spurgeon
“As for me,” the psalmist writes, “the nearness of God is my good” ( Psalm 73:28.) He’s Emmanuel, God WITH us. We can put our weight on that.
Additionally, God uses ordinary, willing people of all ages and stages to come close, to be a comfort by their very proximity. No degrees or special training required, more a paying attention and willingness to enter in. My granddaughter once left me this sticky note: “If you need anything, I’m close by.”
In this fresh new day, let’s tighten our grip on God’s declaration that he is close by, our very present help in times of trouble. And then look around, with fresh eyes for those we might sit with when they find they need to scream their heads off.