The Everlasting Arms
Laura Trapp

Growing up in south-central Mississippi, I am all too familiar with the hot, humid "Tennessee Williams" environment. There was no air conditioning in our home until I was a young woman. How well do I remember those nights of my childhood! We would open every window, with nothing but a screen protecting us from the world outside. I remember the gentle, lulling ‘whoosh, whoosh, whoosh’ of the attic fan that circulated the air and pulled in the warm breeze from outside. But the smell…oh, how I remember the smell! Surrounding our humble house were at least a dozen large gardenia bushes, standing four or five feet tall, filled with blooms and the headiest fragrance one could imagine. The sweet, pungent odor filled our house on those warm nights. As I lay there in the dark, I remember feeling as if all were well with the world, and that nothing could harm me. The source of this security that I felt wasn’t in the safety of my bed, or the comforting fragrance of the gardenias on a hot night. Why, there was nothing but a screen protecting me from all the evils of the outside world! The source of the confidence and peace I felt in my heart was in the next room: my father. Daddy was in the house. All was well. I was safe.

Daddy was an austere man in many ways, not one prone to laugh and get down on the floor to play with his kids like dads today. But he loved us. We all knew that. And he faithfully provided for us. We all knew that too. He relentlessly worked long hours during the day and on into the night as a salesman. In those days, a man came home, sat in his favorite chair, and the family rhythms stopped their meandering and began to center on him. Was he comfortable? How was his day? Was he in a good mood, or bad? Had he had a successful night in sales, or was he coming home disappointed? No matter what his mood, I always felt a sense of peace, or relief, at his presence. Daddy was in the house. All was well. I was safe and secure. Even when he lost his job, and there was no steady income for a time, and the ‘for sale’ sign went up temporarily outside our family home, I knew, somehow, someway, Dad would provide. He was in the house. We were safe.

The scripture refers repeatedly to our Heavenly Father as a Refuge…a Fortress…a Rock…a Sanctuary….a High Tower. Reading the Psalms, you hear David’s real concerns about the trials and tribulations he was going through at the time, but he always seemed to return in the end to this familiar refrain: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble" or "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust." Even though David was well aware of the frightening world ‘beyond the screened window" he chose to focus on the fact that "Daddy is in the house. All is well."

During the years when Lou Gehrig’s disease was ravaging my husband’s body, the world ‘beyond the screened window’ became almost overwhelming at times. There were days when I wondered if my heart and spirit would survive such unrelenting sorrow. Out of instinct, I would stumble to my prayer room, usually in the early hours, and put on my headphones, turning up the praise music so that it drowned out every other thought. I would focus on my heavenly Father, on His character, His attributes, His constancy, and His proven love for me, somehow, without fail, Lou Gehrigs would shrink to a sniveling little demon in the corner, instead of the towering specter that hovered over our bed every morning as we awoke. And I somehow knew that, even if it did its worst, my sons and I would still be OK…for ‘Daddy is in the house. All is well.’ Somehow, I knew. God is good all the time. I can trust Him. I will run to Him and be safe, no matter what the circumstances of my life.

It has been almost two years since Bill’s death. During the crisis of disease and in the aftermath of sorrow, I have found that my Father’s presence in my life has held me up, as if in invisible arms.

Deuteronomy 33:27 says, "The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." Underneath what? Underneath anything. Underneath everything. As Betsy Ten Boom told her sister Corrie, upon their imprisonment in Auschwitz, "no pit is so deep that God is not deeper still."

No matter what the circumstances of our lives, let us choose, with David, to take refuge in Him. Daddy is in the house. All is well.