Riding The Thin Line

Last night I took my 7-year old son Joshua to his first Sox game at Fenway. The look in his eyes when I told him that I had got him tickets was worth everything. When I told him we were taking the subway into the game, he got even more excited.

So . . . .we're riding the T last night and he's talking and taking it all in and having the time of his life. I can literally feel his joy. As we passed a stop in the middle of town, a thought suddenly occurred to me. I can make the best night of his life the worst, by stepping out the door of the subway car just before it closes, leaving him alone. I don't know why this thought came to me, I would never, ever do that to anyone, but for some reason I realized the tenuousness in life between absolute joy and abject horror - and it's a very thin line.

For Josh, the thin line was simple: my presence. As long as I was there, even in the middle of the chaos of a crowded subway car, it was the best night of his life. If I suddenly disappeared, it would immediately turn into the absolute worst moment he'd ever experience. My presence was the difference.

While thinking about this I almost started to cry for him, for what he would feel if that did happen. I would do anything to protect and stay with him, to keep him in his joy, to let him rest secure. I wrapped my arm around him, without saying anything, just to give him a physical reminder that I was there. He looked up at me and smiled . . . . All is well.

I thought of God - how He loves us and promises to never leave and forsake us. How He desires to wrap Himself around us, if we would only let Him. I thought of how horrific my life would be if He suddenly stepped away just before a door closed, leaving me alone in this chaos. My feeling for keeping Josh close must be exactly how He feels about us, knowing what our life is like without Him.

I thought of His feelings for the people of this world, His children. Just as I wanted to cry at even the thought of Josh going through a terrifying moment without me, He must feel the same about His children that reject Him. He knows what they will ultimately experience as a result of this rejection. If I felt a pang of sorrow over what Josh would possibly go through without me, imagine what He feel knowing what they will definitely go through without Him. Jesus was a 'man of sorrows' and that has to be a part of it.

Hell is the absence of God. Heaven is His abiding presence. I got a little glimpse of that through my son's eyes last night.

And to top it all off, Big Papi hit a home run.