The Bodyguard

 

You'd never know it just by looking at him, but this man is deathly afraid of needles. . . as in,  hypodermic needles. His name is Felix, and he was my husband's driver and bodyguard during the five years we lived in Honduras--a highly trained ex-military-turned-security guard with years of warfare under his belt. He was practically blown apart while fighting against the Nicaraguan Sandinistas during the 1980's, and still carries in his body bits and pieces of shrapnel from the grenade that almost took off his hand and blew a hole in his stomach. He walked out of the jungle on his own, holding his gut together with his injured hand, to try to save the lives of his men in his unit. He lived, but some of his men did not.

But point a needle at him, and he goes weak in the knees.

I could describe Felix in so many ways--he is a crusty old curmudgeon on the outside, but there is a heart of gold beating on the inside; he has a wicked sense of humor; he adores his family-- his youngest daughter, especially, has him wrapped around her little finger . . . and, it turns out, he's a poet. He wrote one of the most touching, poignant poems I have ever read as a tribute to my husband when he passed away. But here's the thing that makes him stand tall above everyone else:

He would have taken a bullet for the one he loved. Literally. If he could have saved my husband's life by throwing himself in front of the plane as it skidded off the runway, I know he would have. 

When we first arrived in Honduras, I was not looking forward to having people around us at such close quarters 24/7. However, over time he, and a few others, became part of our 'extended family' of people who worked for us and took care of us while we lived there.  Having bodyguards and drivers were a necessary precaution for many expats living in this particular country--but no one really believed that anything would ever really happen. You are as vigilant as possible, but then you just go on with your life. What more can you do? In the end, I cannot imagine how I could have endured what I did without him and the others who became such an integral part of our lives.

The thing is, we don't know how many disasters God spares us from daily as we make our way through life. Sometimes we get a glimpse of the near miss as we swerve to avoid the car whizzing by; or when we catch ourselves and avoid a serious fall; or we scoop up the baby just as she goes to grab the knife or the lye or the razor...or when the surgery is successful or the test comes back negative. Our hearts race with the realization what could have been...

God is so near, so real, so palpable sometimes we can taste Him. And at other times we feel so alone, so afraid, so abandoned that we begin to believe that He is far away and removed from what matters in our lives. Nothing could be further from the truth.

And yet, sometimes the worst does happen. Sometimes the plane does crash, the test does come back positive, the surgery is not successful and the baby gets cut.  Where was God? Someone challenged me a long time ago that if you feel that God is far away, guess who moved?  I still don't understand so much about the how's or why's of the way God works, but I choose to believe one thing:

God has not abandoned me. He is not afraid of the dark or the jungle or the bogeyman lurking in the shadows, or even . . . shudder . . . hypodermic needles. 

He, like the bodyguard, is on duty 24/7, watching, guarding, protecting in an often-scary world. He, like the bodyguard, would willingly take the bullet and lay down his life for the one he loves. 

In fact, He already has. 

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways . . ." Psalm 91:11

". . . for the LORD will go before you, the God of Israel will be your rear guard." Isaiah 52:12