April 14 – “The creature from the depths of the back seat”

It started out like any other day.  Little did I know what dangers lurked in unexpected places.    The school semester was winding down for April.  She was intensifying her study efforts in a determined effort to score high on her exams that would result in an invitation to continue on toward her lofty goal of joining Clara Barton, Mother Theresa, and her mother-in-law in the ranks of quality nurse-hood.   That's why we were blessed with opportunity to spend more time with our beloved granddaughter, Cailyn.  April dropped her off with us as she left for class each day.  Most often it was a smooth transition.  Cailyn was happy here with Nani to spoil her and DadDad to grant her every whim when he was around.  That day was no different, except for the one unusual request.  Cailyn decided when she arrived that she wanted the option to depart.  To make sure that was possible, she insisted that her car seat be transferred forth with into Nani' car.    Choosing her battles carefully, April agreed to put the car seat in our car.  Chris rolled down the windows in the car to allow it to cool in case we indeed did choose to go somewhere.  In fact we fully intended to find some excuse to fulfill such a trivial request by one who brought such joy into our lives.  As it happened, our day was filled with other adventures.  A walk down the street.  Picking wildflowers.  Studying the travel patterns of a colony of ants on the sidewalk.  Swinging in the backyard.  Taking a nap.  Having a snack.  Drinking some bopple juice.  Ah, how marvelous is life when you are two years old?  Sadly, we never got around to taking that drive.  Cailyn never seemed to miss it, though.  Her Dad took the car seat and departed.   When I went out to get the paper the next morning around 6 a.m., I became aware of several things.  It was quiet.  So quiet that I could hear the waves crashing on the beach a few blocks away.  I heard the birds chirping in the partially dead oak tree across the street.  And I noticed that the windows were still down in the car.  I retrieved the keys so I could close them.  Can't leave your windows down in Galveston.  The humidity is so great that the windshield will be glistening with moisture on the inside.    I opened the front door and entered the key into the ignition, turning it just enough to activate the power to the windows.  Balancing my weight tenuously with one hand on the center console, I leaned across to push the window's close button.  And as I stretched, I glanced into the back seat.  There, a tiny pair of eyes peered back at me.  Nothing else.  Just two eyes, staring.  Unblinking.  Unmoving.  It was more than disconcerting.  It was one of those moments in a guy's life when he is glad there is no one else around.  He can be frightened and "express his emotions" without anyone seeing him.  Now, I didn't scream like a little girl.  I didn't jerk backwards and crash my head against the roof.  I didn't run from the car like I was being chased by a serial killer.  But in the second or two that it took for me to realize what it was that was looking at me, I considered all of those things.  My heart was racing.  The creature heard my gasp for air.  And in a moment of terror wherein I was sure would follow an ugly confrontation with some horrific demonic force, I heard it speak.    Or rather, I heard it meow.  Ah.  It was the neighborhood black cat that has been sleeping on our front porch welcome mat.  It found a new bedroom.  But that was just for one night.  I will make sure that's closed from now on.   Lamentations 3:31-33 says, "For men are not cast off by the Lord forever.  Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love.   For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men."   Father, thank you for your protection as we live with the real battles with evil every day.  Amen.