Vitamin Save

In this house, we like to wrestle. And when I say "we", I mean the masculine "we" that resides here. My daughter and I wrestle only to be near the men that we love - not because we enjoy it.

Actually, my personal role looks much more like 'sit and watch' than it does 'wrestle,' but that's almost beside the point. You see, I play a crucial role in this family bonding activity. I exist to be rescued.

"ROAR!" Yells my husband, approaching one or the other of my defenseless young boys. "I'm going to GET YOU!"

They shriek like little girls and run away, only to be lured in by that greatest of all forces, chivalry.

"Well then -" my husband pauses in his pursuit of the boys. "I'll have to get Mommy instead." He lunges toward me, sitting on the couch, and I emit the appropriate sounds of distress. (To tell the truth, I am a bit distressed. I never know my chances of keeping my bladder contents restrained if I start to laugh a little too hard.)

Both boys pause in mid-flight. "MOMMY!" They bellow in blind fits of rage. "DON'T GET OUR MOMMY!" With eyes aflame and legs churning, they rush back to face their opponent. As a unified team, they wrestle him to the ground, a gyrating, flailing mass of arms and legs and pummeling fists.

And not a moment too soon! Without their able assistance, I'd have been reduced to a puddle - hopefully only a metaphorical puddle - of laughter and screams on the spot.

"I'm your hero!" My youngest son shouts with abandon. "I save you every time!"

I agree loudly (to be heard above the sounds of war all around me) - and then in a short pause, I hear another, much softer, voice by my side.

"I'm your hewoah too, Mommy!" It says.

I look down. My cherub-faced daughter, sweet eyes gazing up at me with unrivaled joy, gives me the tightest hug she can muster. "See?" she asks happily. "I save you!"

And then I see it. To this daughter of mine, saving means something entirely different than it does to the boys. To her, the tight clasp of her sweaty arms around mine is the epitome of rescue. of bravery.

And I believe she is right. This world needs both kinds of saving; don't you think? There's the all-out, teeth bared kind of rescue that protects a person physically from intended harm. And then there's the softer, equally indispensible, sound of salvation. The voice that says, "I am here. You're not alone." That voice, just as much as the fists and flint of the fighting heroes, brings a sense of safety to all who hear it.

That voice. Those fists. Both are unavoidably necessary to bring true salvation. And like the makeup of our family wrestling sessions, they must both be present in one's hour of need. They must, and thank the great Rescuer, they are. God is both iron and velvelt, justice and mercy, peace and protection, wrapped into One. "Therefore, He is able to save completely those who come to God through Him, because He always lives to intercede for them." (Hebrews 7:25)

Yes, our family loves wrestling. But even more so, I think we all cherish the act of saving that wrestling makes plain. In it, we find ourselves. In it, we see a mirror of Grace. And in it, we live out a larger picture of what it means to be made in the image of God.

But I won't try telling that to the screaming banshees in my living room just yet.