Spiritual Development

Green Bags

By Terri Barnes

One Tuesday morning, it seems like a long time ago now, after sending the kids off to school, I sat in my study writing in my journal:

"I watch my children waiting at the end of the driveway carrying matching backpacks and lunchboxes. They are talking and laughing together. A big yellow school bus pulls up, lights flashing and sun glinting off the windows. The kids give me a last wave and climb in. The bus driver also waves to me, and I wonder if she envies me, standing on my porch in my jammies with a cup of coffee in my hand, as she drives away with 40 kids in tow. She should, I think with a laugh, as I walk back into the kitchen for a refill. I look around at oak cabinets, hardwood floors, and new appliances. Fresh coffee in hand, I head for the study. One wall is lined with books. A wingback chair is by the window. I sink into it with a sigh of contentment. My youngest still snoozes upstairs-this is the most peaceful hour of the whole day.

Growing up I dreamed of having a room and a chair exactly like this, a life exactly like this. I enjoy many blessings, but I know they are not necessities. Lord, even when my circumstances seem too good to be true, help me to look only to You. My joy doesn't come from these things, but from the hope I have in You. What You have prepared for me is so far beyond what I describe now as 'perfect.' Your ways are higher than my ways, as high as the heavens are above the earth—September 11, 2001 (about 8 a.m.)

Life is uncertain. Now things are different.

Dark green duffel bags, zippered mouths gaping open, mar our living room and my thoughts. The bags are required gear for my military husband and must be packed and ready to go at any time. In more peaceful days they were relegated to the garage, but now are spread on the living room floor. The bags demand our attention, like the continual repetition of the news reports that changed our lives.

My husband empties the bags and scrutinizes their contents. T-shirts, camouflage gear, a gas mask, a first aid kit, and other necessities are strewn in a wide circle. A small American flag barely clings to one bag by one stapled corner-a reminder of another war ten years ago. a last minute addition, stapled to the canvas bag just before departure. This time—five moves and two children later—I'll sew it on. In the relative peace of those years, it was easy to forget what is again clear to us. Life is uncertain.

Our children troop downstairs for breakfast and stop short when they see the bags. "Where's Daddy going?" they ask. Skyscrapers collapsed hundreds of miles away, but the graphic scenes on television were too distant. The sight of Daddy's bags brings events home to them and to me. We can't answer all their questions because we don't know the "when" or the "where." We can only tell them that life is uncertain, but God is not.

In line at the post office yesterday, I was behind two young men in civilian clothes, but sporting military haircuts. They were filling out change-of-address cards. Probably deploying overseas, I thought to myself. The younger one said to the postal clerk. "I don't know how to fill this part out." He pointed to a line on the form. "We don't know when we're coming back."

Life is uncertain. It always has been. My life was just as uncertain before the news that Tuesday morning. God has always been the only certainty. I just didn't fully realize it then. Now I do. God is Certain. I am so thankful that His ways are higher, that neither death, nor life nor things present nor to come, can separate us from His love in Christ Jesus.

I often send messages to my children in their lunch boxes. Something like "Have a great day" or "I love you." Tonight, after I make their ham sandwiches and pack their favorite cookies, I'll write Hebrews 13:8 on their napkins. It's a verse to remind them what is certain: "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and today and forever."