Spaces

DISCLAIMER: Over the last several weeks, I have been encouraged to write regularly about the accident from 2004. I am working my way through writing a book about the incident. So, every Tuesday, I've taken the opportunity to write, remember and share snapshots of that tragic event.

They say that when there is danger a mother hen will work feverishly to gather her chicks close, to protect and care for them until the danger subsides. I think that's the way I felt that Friday evening as they loaded me into the back of the ambulance. I was frustrated because my children were not near me. I couldn't get complete answers to how they were doing. Every question I asked was met by four of their own about how I was doing and what I needed.

As the siren began it's mournful sounds and began to race toward the hospital, I couldn't help but wonder where Abby and Harrison were and who was with them (Josh had been placed in the ambulance with me). I had this horribly unsettled feeling that my kids were sitting on the side of the road amidst strangers. They needed me. I needed to be with them. I honestly got angry.

After we arrived at the ER, my pediatrician and our friend filled me in on some of what was going on. But there were spaces--long chunks of time where I would neither know where they were or what was going on with them. Those spaces were uncomfortable. I was told later that I was very agitated acting that night as they began to work with my family. They believed it to be the medicine. I think it was something far different. It was those spaces. That mothering nature--the one that had served Sarah so well as she parented our kids--was already kicking in with me.

As I lay on that board, neck brace attached and arms and legs strapped to the bed, I was furious that my kids needed me and I couldn't move. There were too many spaces where information was missing, my kids weren't near me and my thinking was fuzzy. All of that was too unsettling.

The greatest space of all came on Saturday morning when I awoke. They had medicated me to help me sleep through the night. I awoke to find most of my family (sister, mom and two brothers-in-law) at the foot of my bed. But I awoke with this horrible feeling that I had endured the worst nightmare ever. Only, it wasn't a nightmare. It was real. And there hung over me the shadow of yet more spaces. Was Sarah really dead? Where were my kids? Who was taking care of them? I needed something, someone to fill in all these spaces.

When I share our story at conferences and events, I am asked, "How are you and your kids doing?" I can honestly say we are doing well...for the most part. But when I search deeper, thinking back on those first hours, I have to admit that I am still haunted by spaces. Things I want to know. Answers that may never come. Questions of what could have been done differently or handled better. Those are moments where I have to lean heavily on a God who fills these spaces. I am reminded that He was there through it all and that even when I couldn't be, He was there looking out for my kids.

I am also reminded that, as they get older, there will be even more spaces. Growing up and independence require it. Even then, I have to lean heavily on God. He knows the answers. He cared for them then; He cares for them now. It reminds me that every day they live, I'm better off entrusting them to Him to watch over them and love them through the spaces.

Revival on the Caney Fork

Lisa and I were blessed with a few days to get away at the end of last week with the kids. Actually, it was the only time this summer that all six of us had our calendars clear--even if it was only for two days. We took advantage of a friend's offer to use their house over on the Caney Fork River. It was a wonderful time with the kids. No TV, poor cell phone reception, some old movies and some even older board games made for some great family time and "swirling," as we like to call it.

Even a comical run in with some of the local creatures gave us some great memories. (WARNING: the following story has no deeper meaning so don't be disappointed. Just laugh and enjoy it).

Morgan and Landon were hanging out close to the bank on a water trampoline while Lisa, Abby and I were floating in the middle of the river. Harrison was up on the dock and had been fishing for about 30 minutes or so when he howled, "Oh, crap!"

We quickly determined that Harrison had seen a snake floating under the dock towards the steps that came up out of the water. Instantly the squeals of my three girls pierced the quiet. So, as much as I hate snakes, I knew I had to figure out some way to get all five of us past that snake and out of the water. I began to float toward the dock, watching for the head of our new visitor to pop up. He was toying with me. Every so often, his head would appear and then he would descend again. I had images of him dropping below the water and making a beeline toward me.

I'm not afraid to admit that I was just a little nervous. As I got closer, two things filled my mind: number one, I hate snakes! (The only good one is a dead one in my mind.) Number two, I was on his turf and had absolutely nothing in my hands to fight him with should he decide to come closer.

I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed. Out loud. "Dear God! I know you are maker of heaven and earth and you control all of creation. I know you created this snake and I know you can keep him right there on that rock where I can see him until I get my family out of this water." I'm serious. I prayed it hard....

...and in the background, just after I said "Amen," I could hear my sweet wife screaming, "That's it, baby. Claim it in Jesus name. Just claim it."

I can't help but laugh now. It seems so funny. The end result was that the snake stayed put, my family got out safely and dozens on the banks of the Caney Fork River in Tennessee came to know God this weekend. Okay, the last part may be a stretch. But thanks to our four-foot friend, the Barrons created one more memory that we will share as a family. And I got to see, once again, the power of a prayer prayed in faith. I'm a true believer.

Our two "forgotten" kids

Lisa and I recently discovered that we have two kids that neither of us knew much about. Of course, when we got married she had her two daughters and I had my son and daughter. But lately, there has been an increasing visit from the "other two." There names are "Nobody" and "I Don't Know."

Every time a question is asked, it seems that the answer points back to these two children.

"Who spilled water on the floor?"

"Nobody"

"Who forgot to empty the dishwasher?"

"I don't know"

"Who took out the trash and when?"

"Nobody and I Don't Know."

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little but it sure seems like these two have moved in to stay. They are responsible for everything that goes on in our house--everything negative that is. It seems neither ever get credit for making the bed, turning off the lights or cleaning the dinner table.

Is it wrong to offer them up for adoption? The other four I'm completely in love with, but those other two are kind of jumping up and down on my last nerve. Frankly, I'm tired of paying for their room and board.

Please be in prayer for the Barrons the next three days. We found a few days where all 6 of us are free and there are no interruptions so we're getting away for a little while as a family before Morgan heads off to school. I'd appreciate your prayers for safety, a little down time and a lot of relaxation. We'll see you Sunday morning at Ridgeview.

Presence

DISCLAIMER: Over the last several weeks, I have been encouraged to write regularly about the accident from 2004. I am working my way through writing a book about the incident. So, every Tuesday, I've taken the opportunity to write, remember and share snapshots of that tragic event.

I don't know how long I was "out" but it was the voice of Harrison, my oldest son, who brought me back to consciousness. He was in the middle seat of the mini-van with his brother and sister when the wreck occurred. Doctors believe that all of us were knocked unconscious, even if for only a few seconds. Harrison's cries that day still ring in my ears when I think back to that day.

"Daddy, what's going on? Daddy, is this a dream? What's wrong with mommy? Is she okay?" Over and over Harrison repeated his words until, finally, my head cleared enough to realize we had been in an accident.

I looked down at my legs which were covered with scratches and a little blood. They were pinned just enough under the crushed dashboard that I couldn't really move them. When I tried to face my children, I realized that my left shoulder was broken and I couldn't turn. All I could think was "What in the heck happened?" and all I could say to Harrison was, "It's okay, buddy. You're alright. Mommy's going to be okay."

At that point, I still hadn't really looked at her. When I did, I watched as my best friend and wife of 12 years took her last breath. She rolled her head against the seat, exhaled and was at peace. It was then that I noticed the face of the unfamiliar man in her broken out window. He would become an instant hero in the minutes that would follow. But for now, he was a distraction.

Not realizing that Sarah was dead, I began to plead with her not to quit, to hang on. The voice that screamed out inside that car seemed to come from some place far away. It was filled with fear and with panic. Something told me right away that I couldn't lose control because there were three kids watching me.

I dropped my head against my seat and began to plead again...this time with God. "God, don't let her die. I can't do this without her. I need her...the kids need her. Let me die instead. I won't be able to do this."

I've felt God nudge me many times in my life. He's given me direction, helped me to make some tough decisions. I've been in great worships and wonderful prayer times with friends. But I've never felt God like I felt His presence in that van in those next few minutes. I felt Him calm my heart, literally surround that van. And I heard Him say, "You will make it, Ridley. I'll be here to walk this journey with you. Do not be afraid."

At that point, I knew we were going to make it. And whatever happened, we would not be alone. I still had life to live and kids to raise. His presence that afternoon reminded me that He would be the only reason we'd need to keep on going.

Baseball cards

I remember the first time I came across a baseball trading card. Actually, it was a football card. I got a stack of them as part of a game I received around the age of 10. I didn't know then that people actually collected the cards and traded them but I tucked them away in a drawer along with a few "old" baseball cards my brother-in-law shared with me.

As the years passed, I would collect one or two here and there for different reasons. I even began to hear stories about how people would pay big money for certain cards. I paid no attention. I believed my cards to be of little value--just pieces of cardboard with pictures.

Then, in my early 20s, a friend of mine at school enlightened me a little bit more. He was an avid collector and allowed me into his private stock--a closet filled with thousands of football, baseball and basketball cards. He began to tell me about how he had gathered his collection. I was floored, especially when he pulled out a box with a lock that was full of "special" cards. One by one he would pull a card and say, "This one is worth $125. This one just sold recently at auction for about $890. This one is only about $75." I could not believe my ears. You can imagine my surprise when he pulled out a particular card that I recognized from my personal collection. "I have a friend who just sold this card for a little over $1200...but his was in really mint condition."

My dad used to say, "If you want to know if something is valuable, just ask someone how much they'll pay you for it. If they won't pay, it isn't worth much."

That card sold because someone was willing to pay the price. Although it was in mint condition, it was still just a piece of cardboard with a picture on it.

You won't to know how much you're worth? Look how much God was willing to pay for you. When it came time, He didn't offer a paltry sum or even a mildly extravagant fee...He gave the ultimate price, His son.

Here's the really good news. You don't have to be in mint condition. Truthfully, none of us are...nor can we ever be without Him. Here's what's really important. Neither you nor I have the grounds to question how much we mean to God. We are neither insignificant nor worthless. We are His most prized position, worth whatever it cost Him to secure our salvation. And the best part of it all...once bought we can never be traded.