In the Arms of Our Father

Few circumstances are more terrifying than being unable to breathe. I truly believe the inability to draw productive breath yields a level of panic like no other occurrence.

Unless you are watching your child struggle for air. That raises the bar exponentially.

About a month ago, we were eating with friends at a local restaurant. It was one of those rare occasions when we had a table of only adults and teens; only our oldest, Luke, was with us. We were totally relaxed, talking and laughing, when my son hit my arm and yelled, “Mom!” I turned to look at him, surprised by this sudden outburst. To my consternation, he was rocking in the seat beside me, unable to breathe or make another sound. I shouted his name and reached for him as I jumped out of my chair, watching him clutch at his throat.

In a flash, my husband was there with us. How he got out of his chair and around the table so fast, I’ll never know. He reached over the back of my son’s chair, wrapped his arms around him, yanked him to his feet, and began to administer the Heimlich maneuver. Given that our son is six feet tall and larger than many grown men, this was no small feat.

Time stood still for what seemed like an eternity of abdominal thrusts. I stood face-to-face with my firstborn, maintaining eye contact to the best of my ability. I repeated over and over, “Don’t be scared. Dad’s got you,” as his eyes widened in panic and his knees buckled. Because he was choking on a boiled potato, it took several tries to clear the object. Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. Or quick.

Wrapped in the arms of his father, my child struggled for air as my husband continued his determined efforts.

I noticed the inhale first, even before Luke realized he was breathing. With one hand on my son’s chest and one hand on my husband’s arm, I cried out, “Okay! Okay! He’s breathing! You’re breathing, baby.”

Only then did my husband stop. Keeping his arms locked tight, he held up our sagging child as Luke began to gulp in air. He leaned back, head resting on his father’s chest and shoulder. Still wrapped in his father’s arms, he stayed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. I watched my son and husband, faces next to each other, as they paused with eyes closed and leaned into each other, each silently praying his own prayer of gratitude. It made quite a picture—their uncanny resemblance, their identical expressions. When my husband opened his eyes, our gazes locked in a parenting moment I’ll not soon forget.

It gave me a glimpse into a moment of my child’s life that I’ll hold onto as well.

How many times do we get caught, struggling to find breath or peace as we become overwhelmed, choking on the stress, anxiety, and pressure that surround us? How often do we cry out, just once, then lose our ability to make another noise and ask for help?

Do we ever doubt that our heavenly Father will notice our plight? Or that when he does, he’ll come to our rescue, wrapping us tightly in his arms and lifting us up, clearing the blockage, giving us breath, then holding on so we can lean on him for support?

Isaiah 59:1 reminds us, “Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear” (NIV).

His arms are big enough, strong enough, available enough to wrap around us whenever we need them. Every time. In every way. No application or proof of urgency is required. No formal declaration or elegant speech is needed. [Tweet “God responds to even the most strangled cries of our broken hearts.”]

He is our champion, our rescuer. He is the master of the Heavenly Heimlich, and he dispenses life-saving effort with power and ease, and without exception. And when he has saved us, he is willing to hold us for as long as it takes. We can recover in his arms, catch our breath, and regain our strength while he holds us up. It’s okay, really. We are weak, but he is strong.

The world stopped for a time that night, at least for two worried parents and a scared young man. When the danger had passed and Luke was ready to bear his own weight, my husband slowly released his grip and helped our son to stand tall. We looked around the restaurant, and at our nods the shocked silence was broken by spontaneous applause and exclamations of relief from waitstaff and other patrons. The mother at the table next to ours wiped away tears as she stroked her teenage daughter’s hand.

It was a little too much drama for a Friday night dinner, yet it was the right amount of punch for a lesson we all should remember.

God saves us. He’s been doing so since the beginning of time. He’ll continue to do so until the end of days. When we abide in the arms of our Father, we are secure as we breathe him in and find strength after the struggle.

Rebecca Greebon is a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and child of the One True King. She has a passion for sharing with others how amazing they are, how much they are loved, and how blessed every day is, even when we are lost or distracted or completely over ourselves and the world. Rebecca blogs at theriverchick.com.

Photograph © Bethany Beams, used with permission