Aprons and Helicopters

   There was one phone. At the end of the hall.
   Parents called once weekly. Talk was short, every minute
   metered. "Goodbye, don't want to run the phone bill up".
   Mom mailed letters regularly. Me, not so much.
                                   College was spelled F-r-e-e-d-o-m.

We mentioned them in our staff meeting today.
Like helicopters they hover close. Texts often, phone
in hand. Calls to check in with student. Calls home
for help with research. In our building, we want college to be
                                    spelled Databases and Librarians.


Why the change? What does it mean?
Have Apron Strings been replaced by Air Currents? Or    
Micro Waves?
Or are family more connected now because they can be?






I don't know. But I like how my Abba wants connection
with me. He will never leave me. He's closer than a micro wave.
He answers my calls. We are on the same cell plan. He made an
eternal payment, so I never have to. His text messages are Words
to live by.  Skyping isn't an option yet. His camera pixels have
resolutions beyond what I can compute. But we will have face
time in the future.

Poor connections happen. Like when I roam too far.
Or don't check my messages. We get cut off
when I allow my battery to die and I haven't plugged in
to His power source. It could be static and interference
have gotten in the way and I just need to move
to get better reception.

Technology spells close, fast contact with family.
Abba has always been close to his own. Even when we
power down our hearts or choose a different  provider source,
he is still there and will take us back on his plan when we ask.

Someone recently put it this way. He lets us walk off and go our own way.
When we realize our wandering has left us bereft and lost
we may fear his condemnation and feel far away from Him.
But when we turn to go back, we find he has closely followed
us there and we collide with Him, enfolded in an embrace of
grace and mercy.

He loves me.  He loves you.  This Abba.