A father’s worries (snow day edition)

I do not blog about the members of my family. I respect their privacy, and I figure that they can tell their own stories on social media if they wish. My readers miss some good stories because of this policy, but certain principles need to be held consistently.

Of course there are exceptions.

This account is mostly about me and the way I felt, but there is no way to tell the story without including members of my family.

One day last month, schools and other institutions were closed due to winter weather. Other businesses, including the shopping mall, chose to remain open. I have daughters who work for a fast-food restaurant inside a shopping mall. Their manager figured that the mall would be busier than usual, the schools being closed and all. He texted those who were scheduled to work and asked them to try to come to work. He also called for additional workers, for whoever was available.

Some of our neighbors had already left their homes by car and didn’t seem to have trouble with the local street, so my daughters figured they could get to work safely. They set off by car. I was home—the place where I work was closed for the day. I had no plan to try to travel anywhere.

Then the phone rang.

My daughter the passenger called to tell me that they had slid to the edge of the street and couldn’t get the car moving again. They were well past half-way to the mall, but they were in a low spot between two hills, and two other cars were also stuck in the same area.

While we were talking, I heard my daughter the driver scream, and my daughter the passenger said urgently, “oh no, oh no.” Yet another car had met the same slick spot on the road and was sliding directly toward them. A collision was narrowly avoided, thanks to God’s grace and the skill of the other driver. Imagine my helpless anguish, though, being home on the phone and listening to my daughters in danger, unable to help them in any way.

We stayed on the phone for twenty minutes, and two more cars slid on the same spot straight toward my daughters in their car, and all I could do was listen to their shouts and screams.

Other cars managed to navigate the road. Those drivers chose not to stop to help, and I cannot blame them. Anyone who stopped between the hills was going to be stuck there. I asked my daughters to get out of the car and stand a safe distance away. They finally took my suggestion.

At one point a pickup truck belonging to the city did stop. The driver spoke with my daughters and the other people who were stuck. He said that the sand truck had stopped sanding right at that spot, which is why it was so slippery. He had called for barricades to close the road, and the sand truck would be back as quickly as possible.

From this point, the story is a happy one. My daughters continued to stay in touch by phone, off and on, while they waited for the sand truck. An older couple saw them standing by the car in front of their house and invited them indoors for tea and cookies. When the sand truck had arrived and applied its sand, the gentleman asked them if they would like his help to get the car unstuck. They thought he was offering to push. Instead, he took the keys, got behind the wheel, and maneuvered the car onto a drivable stretch of the street. He got out of the car, they got in, and they headed toward home.

The main streets were good, but they feared the side streets of the neighborhood. Therefore, they stopped at a grocery store, bought hats and mittens and hot beverages, and walked the last mile home. In the afternoon, when the streets were in better condition, I drove my daughter to the store to regain her car.

People say that as children grow, their parents’ worries become larger rather than smaller. I have to say that in my family, that adage appears to be true. J.

 

Guest post: an open letter to Carl

I have not invited guest writers to post on the Salvageable blog hitherto. However, a fellow blogger appealed to me so convincingly that “certain things need to be said,” that I am allowing this one-time guest-posting. As a Grammar Dalek, I could not resist correcting some of the writer’s grammar, punctuation, and spelling. However, the thoughts expressed below are those of the guest writer. J.

An open letter to “Carl,” whoever he may be.

My dear brother,

You are in enormous danger, a greater danger than you realize. Not only your happiness is at stake. You could lose your health to a rightfully jealous husband. You could lose your job because of a just supervisor. Worst of all, you are threatening your relationship with the Lord and his gift of eternal life because of your thoughtlessness.

Consider the words of Scripture. “Thou shalt not commit adultery” (Exodus 20:14). ”Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28). “Keep the marriage bed pure” (Hebrews 13:4). “Whatsoever things are pure… whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think about such things” (Philippians 4:8). ”Avoid even the appearance of evil” (I Thessalonians 5:22).

You may well say to me that you are looking at Number Seven with eyes of friendship and not of lust. Yet you cannot deny that you are approaching her, not to serve her as a neighbor, but to enhance your own good feelings inside your heart. In that, you are using a woman—another man’s wife, for that matter—for your own selfish purposes, and that is sin. It borders upon abuse, no matter whether or not she knows what you are doing.

Your co-worker and friend warned you to be careful, suggesting that you might be hurt as you were hurt before. I would respect Esther more if she told you to be careful not to hurt Number Seven, not even to allow any suspicion to fall upon her. If you truly loved her as Christians should love one another, you would be cautious not to bring any sort of trouble upon her.

I know that, in your imagined conversation with Number Seven, you said that you would never allow anyone to harm her, not even yourself. Noble words, my friend, but said in the way you said them, they went against your stated purposes. I know you prayed to God to guide you away from temptation. A godly prayer, my friend, but those are mere words, and your actions are speaking louder than your words.

By all means be a friend to Number Seven. But equally be a friend to the other five workers in your office. By all means, visit with her. But visit just as much with your other coworkers, as much as your jobs permit. When you allow Number Seven to be more special to you than the other people in the office, you flirt with danger. When time spent with Number Seven makes you feel good for the rest of the day, watch out! You are deliberately walking along the edge of temptation, and few who follow that path fail to fall into sin. If you believe that your affection for her is making you a better person—calmer while driving in bad traffic, I believe you said somewhere—please be aware that evil has a tendency to take one danger away from us for the very purpose of leading us into a greater danger.

One final thought, and this concerns your lingering memories of “Rosa.” I have read J’s First Friday Fiction, and I strongly suspect that Rosa lives there under other names—Michelle, Jessica, and Crystal come to mind; I think there are others. One heartbreak seems to have led to several cries of pain. If you learned your lesson with Rosa, why, oh why, would you consider making the same mistake again?

These words are not meant to hurt you, my brother. This is a sincere rebuke from a fellow Christian. I beg you to change direction before it is too late. And I commend you for trying, at least, to seek the will of the Lord in this matter.

My name is Salvageable, and I approved this message. J.