It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegone. Joseph (and, therefore, Joseph’s family) has been dealing with anxiety issues once again.

Sirens are very hard for Joseph. He can take other really loud noises but there’s something about the combination of  loud sirens combined with the thought of ambulances, fire trucks and other vehicles rushing to an emergency that just freaks him out.

A friend and her boy came over the other day. We took a walk over to a bus stop that was a little further away, in order to give the boys some exercise. Then we caught the bus into town, which is something that the boys love to do.

But on the walk over, we heard siren after siren after siren. Just when we thought it was done, another would start up. Poor Joseph. The only way he can cope is to stop whatever he’s doing and cover his eyes until it’s over. Not his ears, mind you (we couldn’t actually see the rescue vehicles), but his eyes.

So, as the sirens wailed nearby, my friend turns to me and says, “It’s almost like it’s on purpose!”

It feels that way sometimes. Like God is up there saying, “Let’s turn the heat up for little Joseph and see if he can take it.”

Covering his eyes when he’d actually be a lot better off covering his ears. It makes me think about everything we do in order to feel safe.

Just a few days ago, I heard President Obama say that the primary job of the government is for the protection and safety of its people; that’s why we’re at war. I think about all the insurance we buy in order to feel secure; the “safe” places we put our money; the fact that we create a nest egg at all. We wear armor, physically (for snowboarding, skate boarding, etc.) and psychically (keeping people at an emotional arm’s distance). We buy nice houses in good neighborhoods — sometimes behind locked gates. We take our Xanax and our homeopathy. We say our mantras and our prayers.

I once met a woman who’d lost 100 pounds. She said that the hardest thing about it was that now people stood closer to her. She didn’t have that physical fortress around her, keeping them away.

Safety. Amazing what we’ll do for it.

My little boy doesn’t feel safe at times. More than most. Toward the end of his school day he frets, sometimes panics, about whether or not his mom will really come to get him. Dogs are a constant terror. Crowded new places are no bed of roses, either.

It’s the limbic system, where the rational part is not calming down the primitive part of the brain. How do you battle something like this?

Two things work a little. One is called approach and study. So there’s a dog up ahead. I take Joseph’s hand, we stop and I say, “Oh look, there’s a big dog over there. Do you think he looks friendly (I am trying to teach him dog body language)?”

If Joseph doesn’t immediately panic about the dog’s presence, we can talk about the wagging tail and the ears up and the dog’s general demeanor. Theoretically, we can then edge up a bit closer and study some more, but we haven’t gotten to that point yet.

However. We do have friends with a mid-sized dog, and we have graduated from the dog being banned outside when we visit to the dog being held on our friend’s lap to Joseph actually touching his tail on our visits.

And that’s the second thing that helps a little: repetition. Over and over we visit this dog, Miles. Over and over we talk about how sweet Miles is, and again and again we bring Joseph over to get to know him.

That’s our little anxiety/safety issue, but I’ve been thinking about safety on a larger scale, too, and I’ve come to one undeniable conclusion:

NO ONE IS SAFE.

Our community is being rocked right now because a sweet 8 year-old girl was in a car accident last week. Her skull is fractured, she’s in a coma, and she’s got titanium rods in her legs. Will she survive? If she does, will she be brain damaged? Nobody knows.

This is a family that, two weeks ago, I would have envied a bit. Loving parents who got to raise a nice, neurotypical girl.

But sometimes everything we do to be safe just evaporates. Our very foundation is whipped away, and we have nowhere to stand. It’s terrifying.

Unless and until we realize that we are in the hands of God, and that is that. We can do all this stuff to feel safe, but the truth is it’s not our business: it’s God’s.

And this leads me to another undeniable conclusion:

EVERYONE IS COMPLETELY AND ABSOLUTELY SAFE.

Why? Because God is holding us all in His loving arms.

What is the biggest fear? Death. We tell Joseph that death is going home to God and, deep in my being, I know that this is true. Going home to the Source of unconditional love, light, and peace. How unsafe is that? And we don’t have to wait ’til we die to access this Source. It’s available here, now, always.

Here’s the part we don’t get: though life on this planet feels very unsafe, there is an invisible, intangible cable connected to us.

God’s got our backs.

I wonder sometimes how differently I would live if I really, truly got that, in every fiber of my being. That I was safe. That God, in Her depthless love, was always with me, protecting me, caring for me. Would I be lighter, feel freer, see the humor in what is now only viewed with fear?

How about Joseph — how differently would he live if he could get that he is truly safe, on every level?

I suppose it is a question we could all ask ourselves. And then, when we feel that safety, we could focus more on the invisible cable that connects us to God than on the jump (or, let’s face it — the push) off whatever cliff’s edge we’re currently teetering on.

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