Back on the Ottoman

What’s wrong with me? I’m walking around on the ottoman again! I am no smarter than my cat.

After I had written about jumping in the dark, and after I had gone to bed for the night, I foolishly began making a beeline for the ottoman. I didn’t really mean to get stuck there again, but I didn’t make the conscious decision to trust God and that’s where I ended up—crying for someone to rescue me from my fears. Here’s the story:

Because Cole is nearly 13 (tomorrow) and because Brent is such a great dad, the duo left early in the afternoon yesterday to go on an adventure. When we asked Cole what he wanted for his birthday, he said that he wanted to go out into the wilderness, build a shelter with his new little hatchet (a Christmas present from Uncle Tim), and sleep in it. So…this is what they did.

When they left for their outdoor evening, the weather was a balmy 48, but as they slept in their homemade creation, the temperature dropped dramatically and the wind-chill made their outside home feel like 8 degrees!

As I lay in bed listening to the wind blow, I worried about them and hoped that they were not dying of hypothermia—my first steps toward the ottoman.

Then, during my fitful sleep, I received a phone call from Luke (who is on his way to Florida with some friends—driving!) at 2 AM telling me “Hey Mom, the transmission failed in the suburban and we are about 20 miles outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee. We are waiting to be towed.” Great. More worrying, less sleeping, now climbing on the ottoman.

After feigning sleep for a few more hours and waking to daylight, I decided to check in with my men. Luke answered his phone and tells me that they slept in the car for awhile, but the service shop that they had been towed to was not open on Saturday, so they pushed the Suburban 4.8 miles—up hills and through downtown Chattanooga—to a car dealership where it could be fixed (too bad we own two transmission shops in Iowa). And now, since the car won’t be done until Tuesday, Luke and crew decide to rent a car to drive the remaining 10 hours south. Good thing at least one of them was 21 and had a credit card. I am now firmly on top of the ottoman starting to circle.

My other men were still unaccounted for so I texted them—asking them if they were still alive. Nothing. I called them and told them to call me back. Nothing. I took a shower and tried to act like I wasn’t circling on top of the ottoman crying. But I was.

I was sure that Brent and Cole had either died from overexposure or that their handmade shelter collapsed on top of them or that the fire got too close to them and burned their sleeping bags—with them in it—thus rendering them unable to answer the phone. They were probably laying there unconscious waiting to be rescued—and I didn’t even know exactly where they were—which is why I thought maybe I should call the police. Circling the ottoman—crying—too scared to jump.

And then I got on my knees beside my bed and began to pray. and jump. off of the ottoman. where I never should have gone.

At least I knew how to get down without falling on my head.

Then Brent called (and I hadn’t even called the police) and said that he and Cole had gone on a morning hike. They weren’t dead! Praise God!

Then Luke called and said that they had been able to rent a larger car—instead of the two they thought they might need—and they were again on their way—safely. Praise God!

So that’s my story. I guess I kind of have a pea brain just like Sandy. But God likes me anyway and he wishes I would stop crying and climbing. He wishes I would start trusting. Really trusting.

I hope tonight is less eventful, but even if it isn’t, I will stay away from the ottoman—God willing, Christ enabling, Tori trusting.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7