Nathan's Pavilion

Nathan has taken a nap on my bed for two days in a row.

I gently touch him and say in a slow soothing rhyme,
"Nose....toes.  Lips...hips.  Eyes...thighs.
Chin...shin. Ears...hear. Sweet...feet."
He may even be crying and as soon as I start stroking his little nose
he stops mid-wail,
and in a minute or two,
he is sound asleep in my arms.

We stay like that for awhile because there is nothing like snuggling
with your very own grandbaby.

Then, duty calls, and I gently disengage my arm from his sweaty sleeping head.

I put pillows all around, leaving plenty of space for him to breathe and roll over.
He is secure in the little pavilion I've made him;
able to look out but not able to fall off.

I leave my bedroom door open so I can hear his little call when he wakes up.

I thought about Nathan's bed nest when I read Psalms 27:5 today.

"For in the time of trouble
He shall hide me in His pavilion;
In the secret place of His tabernacle
He shall hide me;
He shall set me high upon a rock."

A week or so ago,
I was in Thailand
visiting a group of church people
along with my husband, daughter, sister-in-law, and nephew.

We met in a pavilion, sitting in a circle on mats on the concrete floor.

I had been in this same pavilion over nine years ago.

It was under this shelter that I gave a letter of forgiveness to the man
who had killed Phil's brother in a drunk driving accident
on a Sunday morning in July.
Johnny had been riding his motorcycle to preach his first sermon in Thai
to these same believers gathered under this same shelter
who were anxiously waiting for him to show up
with a simple explanation for his tardiness.

It was under this shelter, that as I drank the communion juice
from a little glass, the YES team member next to me whispered,
"These are shot glasses from WW11."
"How do you know?" I whispered back.
"There are red swastika's etched on the bottom."
And sure enough, there were.

And it was in this pavilion that I experienced the miracle.

I felt God's love spread all through
my heart towards the man who killed Johnny.

I was afraid I would attack him; hit at him blindly.
But then, there was this miracle.
This complete surprise.

And the letter I had struggled so hard to write
was sticking white and rectangular out of his jean shirt pocket
as he later stood by the bank of the pond
watching the baptism.

This pavilion in Thailand,
and Nathan's pavilion on my bed,
and the pavilion of God,
serve as protection from the sun, the heat, the elements,
and our own propensity to wander,
but allows freedom to see all around.

Freedom to feel warmth and breezes.
Freedom to hear voices nearby and beyond.
Freedom to be the cared-for-one
in the refuge of someone stronger.

And what is this 'secret place of His tabernacle'
where He hides me?

Every place in the tabernacle is accessible to others' eyes
with the exception of the Holy of Holies, where God dwells.

He hides me in His Holy Place;
in His holiness;
in Himself.

How wonderful this place of freedom and security.
This open pavilion.
This holy secret place.
This resting nest of God.