Lay it All Down

I have been married to a police officer for just about seven years.
Seven years of schedule changes and alterations to shifts at the most inconvenient times.
Seven years of saying, "Babe. Don't talk cop to me. I have no idea what you're saying. What does that code stand for again?"
Seven years of making sure he's given a good send off. A hug, kiss, wave, and the same command every time, "Come home to us, mister."
Seven years of us having numerous morbid conversations about what he wants me to do financially to support our girls if the worst happened.
Seven years of praying something like, "Please, Lord, guard him, keep him safe. Lead him to those that need him most. And if You want to give him an opportunity to get in a really good fight or something exciting--but not too crazy--that would be amazing."
I really try not to worry. I don't often think about the bad that can happen.
Sometimes, I am reminded that I am human and need to take my fear and my husband to the Lord and lay both at His feet and into His very capable hands.
I recently had one of those times. One of Richard's co-workers was over for lunch and they were talking shop. The co-worker described a situation he was in where a man he was in a tousle with had repeatedly tried to get this officer's gun from him. I shuddered when the co-worker told of testifying at that man's trial, "I believe he wanted to kill me, sir." My heart stopped as they talked about it.
They told their crazy stories, laughing, while I quivered inside.
I focused on making our pizza while Mr. told his friend about almost getting hit by a car at work the night before. (In the summer my husband rides a police bike and I know getting hit by a car is a very real danger for him.) As I spread the sauce and sprinkled the mozzarella cheese, I listened to the love of my life describe the way a kid came screeching around a corner, not paying attention, swerving just before he rammed his car into him. I felt sick and forced a laugh and a, "Ok guys, I don't need to hear all this. Ha. Ha." Sniff, sniff.
They shifted the conversation and my fear left.
At least I thought it did.
I decided to take the girls to a park in my husband's city that same day after he'd left for work, and just before we turned into the parking lot, I saw an accident on the side of the road. An idling fire truck, the flashing lights of an ambulance, a few police cars boxing in the accident.
My heart sank. I only saw one car at first and the conversation from lunch came rushing at me.
"Oh God," I whispered. "Please don't let it be him."
It wasn't. And Little Miss piped up from the back seat, "Mommy! There's a waaambulance (yes, we might have taught her that's the way to say it and, no, we don't plan to fix it) and fire truck. We need to pray!" I grumbled slightly inside. Why oh why did I teach her that we pray for those hurt and helping when we see emergency vehicles?
"Why don't you pray, baby?" I called back to her, still shaking with the fear that had washed over me.
"No, I want you to." Of course you do. When I'm all weepy and shaky.
I managed a quick prayer, and then we were at the park. Mr. was able to ride to the same park to say hi and I just cherished the moment.
As he and his partner rode away, I prayed in my heart, "Ok, Lord. I still need to give him to You. You are mighty. You are good. You are in control. I lay it all --everything I hold dear-- all down before You."
I don't often feel fear over Mr.'s job, but when I do, God is so good to remind me that He is a God worth trusting my fear --and life-- to.