Once upon a time, back when I was young, I believed in fanciful things like most children do. I believed that my stuffed animals had feelings that were hurt if I failed to kiss them good night. I believed there was a monster under my bed who would eat my feet when I had to get up to pee in the middle of the night. I believed in fair. I never did have the chance to believe in Santa or the Easter bunny do to insistence of my sisters that they were not real. Childhood is a lovely thing.
At some point, I stopped kissing my stuffed animals every night before bed. I am sure it was originally with some pangs of guilt. While I no longer believe my animals are real, they do hold a special place in my heart filled with memories of tea parties and hide and seek.
I am not sure when I stopped jumping into bed to avoid the dreaded toe monster. I am assume it was when I became old enough to worry about fear not being cool. I still don't like the dark, but manage to walk to my bed with grace and dignity befitting my age. Currently I know the only things to fear under my bed are very old socks and an embarrassingly large amount of dust. My getting to bed is impeded only by the two large dogs I trip over.
Fair is a different story. My parents always were a proponent of Fair during Christmas, making sure to spend the same amount of money for each of us girls. In school, teachers told us about Fair and grading. Fair popped up in everything; sports, friendship, and slices of pie. Everyone seemed to like and support him. Great lengths were undertaken to make sure he was present at important events.
When I was in middle school, our youth group took a missions trip to Arizona. We worked with mentally handicapped adults and did VBS on a Indian reservation. Fair began to feel ill. What I saw and heard of those children's lives did nothing to support Him.
I married young. Fair failed to show up. I worked hard and felt, at times, if anything got done it was because I did it. Where was Fair? I was sure that this is not what I had signed up for. Fair seemed to be different according to who called upon him. Fair became critically ill.
My dad has gone to Nepal. We now partner with some pastors there to take care of women and children who have been left by the men who promised to care for them. Apparently, Fair has never shown up in this country in any form. I read a blog about a man who gave up everything in American to help orphan children in Haiti. It seems that Fair must not get out much, because he has never gone to Haiti either.
My friend has cancer. Not the kind that leaves you inconvenienced for a little while, but the kind that threatens to steal her away from her babies. Cancer will take her health, her breasts, her hair, her time. It will steal mommy away from child and wife away from husband. Her life will never look the same again. It stole her sense of safety.
So long, dear friend Fair. I wanted to believe in you, I held on even when it didn't look like I should. I am not sure what I will do with the hole you leave in my life. I know Someone who wants to fill it with things like grace, faith and hope, but it seems so scary to trust again. I will start with Faith, I will try to believe that He who fills the holes really dose know what He is doing. I will fill the whole with Him who doesn't do what is fair, but does what is best.