In January and February 1991, I spent a lot of my homeschool history time in front of the television. I have jumbled memories of Scud missiles, air raid sirens, and ordinary Israelis spending time in sealed rooms and bomb shelters.
Now I know many of those people. They tell me funny stories: like their chagrin at leaving a dessert sitting on the table while they ran to the basement. I see the goofy side, like my friends (now grown men) who posed as kids in their gas masks, one making the Spock sign, just because he could. Now I get to see how God answered my prayers: 38 Scuds landed in Israel, but not a single one hit a human being.
Well, I’m praying again today. And my heart hurts.
Imagine, for a moment, that dozens of your friends live in an area the size of Massachusetts. (Or, if it’s easier for you to envision, Vancouver Island or Taiwan). Ninety minutes in a car will take you across the country; six hours will take you north to south. Their borders cover a spot that’s between 8 and 90 miles wide, but 70% of the population lives in an area the size of Atlanta, Georgia.
When it comes to defense, there’s not much margin for error. And that’s a problem when nearly all the surrounding states (640 times their land mass) are neutral or hostile to their interests.
Over there, it’s the college-aged who are on active duty. It’s the twenty and thirty-somethings who form a national guard that may be called up at any time. They have faces and names to me. They’re my Spock-signing friend (who now has three little girls) and his younger brother. They’re my twenty-something girl friend and her little sister.
The people who are listening for the sound of air raid sirens: that’s Karen, whose son told her to keep the windows open, so she can hear it better. (She’d rather get a good night’s sleep). It’s Shula and Shalom whose Sabbath evening dinner was interrupted; whose neighbors spent half an hour standing in the hall, waiting for an all-clear.
My heart is there, with them. But those who are really there remind me that God gives grace — more grace — to those who actually need it. One friend says, “I know it’s hard on you — more than on us! I remember how frantic people overseas were during the Gulf War, and us, during the Lebanon War, being in [the US] and so worried about [our son] on the Lebanese border! It’s terrible to be far away during times of trouble for people you love.”
If they can be at rest in His protection, then can’t I rest in that too?
Even when my heart still hurts, because it’s there.
Elisabeth Adams 