Last year at this time Nate and I were packing our bags to travel to England. Hans and Katy’s firstborn, Nicholas Carl, was going to be christened, and we were eagerly looking forward to participating.

The time we spent with our shirt-tail relatives in northern England was delightful, and since I got to stay an extra week, grandma-time was abundant. It’s not easy having grandchildren so far from home, especially when there’s an ocean between us. Spending a big chunk of time being involved in Nicholas’ life was rewarding, not to mention the fun of being with Hans and Katy. Soon I’ll go back to cuddle newborn twins.

Last Easter we stayed with Katy’s parents, always gracious hosts, and slept in the bedroom they’d allowed Hans to use for many weeks before he married their daughter in the summer of 2007. We got to know Hans’ “other family” better, pleased at how warmly Sarah and Cliff have embraced their son-in-law.

While we were there, all of us visited several tourist sights, one of which included a complicated maze of thick hedges eight feet tall. The idea was to follow the curves and turns, many of which were dead ends, to eventually arrive in the middle. It wasn’t easy, and although none of us succeeded that day, we had some good laughs trying, and also hollering for each other over the bushes.

The well-trimmed hedges made me think of the scriptural principle of God “hedging us in” from harm. The famous story of the Old Testament character Job tells of how he was hedged in so well he prospered in every category of his life. At least that’s what Satan thought when he talked to God about breaking through that wall of protection. The devil complained that such a shield from harm wouldn’t allow Job’s faith to be tested. We know the story of how God “opened the hedge” for Satan, confident Job’s faith wouldn’t fail.

But how did Job feel, while hedged in by God? He tells us: “Why is life given to a man whose way is hidden, whom God has hedged in?” (3:23) Job didn’t like it!

The hedge maze we walked through in England had its disadvantages, too. Although no one could see us through the thick greenery if we’d wanted to hide, we couldn’t see them either or find our way to the center. And if we got going too fast along the path and bumped into the bushes, they poked and hurt.

Maybe Job experienced similar frustrations with his being hedged in from satanic harm. He did get his chance, however, to experience the absence of God’s hedge, and the result was torturous.

I’ve often asked the Lord to hedge in my children from evil and harm. Until I experienced the big, stiff hedge bushes in England, it never occurred to me that being hedged in might feel badly. When I pray fervently for the kids, more often than not the circumstances of their lives get worse before they get better. Could that be God’s removal of the hedge to allow testing into their lives? After studying Job’s example, I think it is.

Sometimes God’s provisions, structured for our gain, feel like prickles or punishments, much like the poking branches of a bush-hedge. When we feel life’s bristles, though, it might simply mean we’re bumping up against God’s protection. A really strong hedge might even have thorns in it. But we ought to be careful about trying to remove it, learning from Job’s example that nothing good is waiting on the other side.

“Does Job fear God for nothing?” Satan replied. “Have you not put a hedge around him and his household and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, so that his flocks and herds are spread throughout the land.” (Job 1:9-10)

Nate loved the horn on his car. Each evening as he arrived home, he’d toot the horn twice as he pulled up to the garage as if to say, “I’m home!”

A few years after that became standard, he added another set of toots when turning into the drive. And several years after that, he began honking as he rounded the corner onto our street. When I talked to him about it, he had no intention of stopping and said his goal was to get a horn that sounded out the notes of Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender.” Although he never accomplished that, the boys did buy him an air horn louder than a freight train and installed it under the hood, giving him the surprise of his life. He loved it.

All of Nate’s horn-blowing irritated me, partly because of the noise and partly because I thought the neighbors must be cringing inside their houses at the disruption on our quiet cul de sac. It was six unnecessary loud, long blasts each time he came home. But when I talked to Nate about it, he just laughed and said, “Everybody loves a nice horn.”

Tonight the girls and I will be sleeping in a luxurious home on Sanibel Island filled with wonderful relatives who welcomed us warmly. We talked of former adventures on this island when our two families used to rent houses next door to each other annually.

One fun memory of Nate brought enthusiastic laughter as we remembered how his horn-honking came all the way to Sanibel. The four younger girls, still in single digit ages, were out roller blading when they spotted an alligator crossing the road. These unpredictable beasts look lazy and low-key but can swivel around lightning-fast and snap their jaws with deadly force.

The girls raced back to our houses to holler for help. Just then Nate drove in with the day’s newspapers, right up to the alligator, and lay on his horn like never before with long, blaring honks that practically shook the stilts from under the houses. When the alligator paused on the road to look at the car, Nate considered that his go-ahead for further honking. In the end, he had to give up and back up, since the alligator refused to be intimidated. Eventually the reptile wandered into a nearby swamp and our girls were able to resume their skate.

Back in Illinois, I talked to Nate about his horn-honking repeatedly, asking him to at least cut down the frequency, but he never complied. Then one day as I was planting flowers with my back to the street, he blasted the horn and I jumped a mile. He didn’t mean to startle me and quickly got out of his car to apologize, promising never to honk the horn again. I didn’t believe a word of it, but he followed through. That very day the honking completely stopped.

The Bible is full of blaring horns, and God instructed people to make noise with them when leading troops into battle, when fighting, when announcing victory and when celebrating afterwards. Trumpets and rams horns were used in worship and in making joyful music combined with other instruments. And when God decides it’s finally time for time to end, he’ll assign angels to blow horns just before each judgments occurs.

Because Nate is now with the Lord, its possible God has assigned him horn-honking/blowing as part of his heavenly service. If the Lord asked for volunteers, I know Nate’s hand would have been waving wildly. I hope he’s having an absolute blast!

”Make music to the Lord…with trumpets and the blast of the ram’s horn. Shout for joy before the Lord, the King.” (Psalm 98:5-6)

The girls and I are singing “On the Road Again” en route to Florida for two reasons: (1) a second visit to seven week old Micah, 20 month old Skylar and their parents, and (2) a few days on Sanibel Island with Mary and Bervin. Their two youngest girls and ours will revel in exploring the island on rented scooters, as well as spending refreshing time on the shelly beach.

As for me, a Cyclops-lookalike with a colorful goose-egg, I’ll be on the screened porch waiting for my battered face to quit oozing. The doctor said, “No sun for you, unless you want half of your face to absorb an extra amount of ultraviolet rays and become permanently stained.” I already look like Two-face, the deformed villain in Batman’s “Dark Knight” and don’t need that.

As we packed and loaded up this morning, doing all those last-minute chores before departure, I realized anew why my widow warrior friends have told me they like to stay home. After walking through months of unknowns getting used to widowhood, these women are tentatively holding onto shreds of a new routine when suddenly it’s time to break stride and leave on a trip, yet another unknown.

In addition, widows like to pass their days where their husband used to be and sleep where he used to sleep, maybe even in his t-shirt. Going too far away for too long becomes tense and unsettling, causing mourning to be set aside for a few days, which elongates the process. It’s always waiting upon return.

Despite these stresses, the girls and I are looking forward to a dose of tropical weather after this sad, snowy winter, and my broken toe will be happier in flip flops than in shoes. Once again my magnanimous sister and husband are providing for us in a special way, offering bedrooms at a restful resort, urging us to come. Without them, we wouldn’t go.

Our road trip was interesting today. I’ve learned what it feels like to be the object of gawkers. “Don’t stare,” one mom told her little girl as we waited in line for the gas station bathroom. Most are sure I’ve been battered by an angry man and show compassion. One woman saw my face and lovingly said, “Oh honey, let me help you into the store,” rushing back to open the door before I got there. She had all she could do not to embrace me. When I saw another little girl with a scab on her face staring at me, I smiled and said, “You don’t look as bad as I do,” but she turned and ran.

Louisa did all the driving without complaint, and the girls walked the dogs as needed. Compared to traveling with little children, we had it easy. I just hope when we connect with Skylar tomorrow afternoon she doesn’t take one look at Grandma Midgee and go screaming to her daddy in terror!
”The Lord, before whom I have walked, will send his angel with you and make your journey a success,” (Genesis 24:40a)