Life of a Purse Snatcher

The sun had set.

Yet, families jumped and played in the pool as if it were day.

The hotel lights lit the night.

The laughter from children, sounded like angels singing, the smiles from dads, moms, and grandparents alike, lit the souls…but not all.

My wife sat beside the pool, smiling, laughing, watching our daughter and grandkids play.

This weekend at Coco Keys Resort in Orlando had been planned long before Christmas. We planned to show our Florida grandkids that Christmas was about presence, not presents. That the greatest Gift was a Babe in a manger wrapped in skin, not a present wrapped in paper under a tree. That’s why this year there were no presents under our tree, just a promise from our hearts that we had a better gift.  

Originally the trip was scheduled for the first weekend in January. However, between the time we celebrate the birth of a Child and the birth of a New Year, my step-mom passed away.

We had made quick flight arrangements from Florida to Oklahoma, where it was spitting ice and snow.

We’d planned to fly out on Thursday and fly home on Sunday…but that all changed.

The day of my step-mom’s Celebration of Life, I had just finished writing the eulogy, when I received word that my mom, in Minnesota, had also passed away. I couldn’t catch my breath, my hands started to tremble.  

As the little Oklahoma church was filling with family and friends, I couldn’t remember anything I was supposed to say or do. My hands were still trembling.  When asked, “Are you able to do this?” I said, “No…” but then, I heard myself say, “but, Jesus can.”

After that, a peace that can’t be explained or denied, washed over me, my hands steadied, I was able to pull in an even, steady, full, breath.

We cancelled the Frontier Airlines flight to Orlando and reserved a Sun Country flight to Minneapolis.  Frontier, didn’t offer the courtesy of a reply to our request for a refund on the return flight.

Our trip to Minnesota was a weeklong whirlwind of sleepless nights and emotional days. With love and prayers, so strong they could be felt, we made it through yet another thousand tears, hugged necks, memories shared and finally landed back in our own Florida beds.

Five days later we made our way back to Orlando for a different kind of, Celebration of Life. This time it was a celebration of One who was born to die, so we could live; a belated Christmas lesson. We were still exhausted, still a little weak in the knees, but looked forward to this time, to relax, have fun, enjoy life, and hopefully, create memories that would last an eternity.

Maybe death, is angry at our back to back Celebrations of Life. Maybe, he wanted to inflict pain, and depression and division, rather than unity and love and harmony and prayer. Perhaps he hates that we quoted and spoke and believed the words:

“So when this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written:

 ‘Death is swallowed up in victory.

O Death, where is your sting?

O Hades, where is your victory?’” (1 Corinthians 15: 54-55)

Lurking from shadow to shadow, dark souls spied and despised the laughter, the light, the life. Hiding in the shadow of death, they circled the fringe like wary wolves, these walking dead…afraid of the light.

I was sitting with our eleven-month old granddaughter, splashing on the top step of the pool, when I saw them approach my wife. I carried our granddaughter, the few steps to where my wife was sitting and heard them ask if the water slide was open.

“Not until tomorrow, from eleven to five” I said as I walked toward them.

They stepped back, “ ‘leven to five?”

“Yep” I said.

They walked away.

With the baby on my lap, I wrapped her in towels, until she was dry—except for her diaper, which must’ve carried two pounds of pool water.

I had just handed the baby to my wife when one of them, appeared again.

“So, do you need a pass or something?” he said.

I remembered the green wrist bands we were given when we checked in. The ones needed for entrance to the water park. Just when I opened my mouth to explain, he grabbed my wife’s purse which was on the ground at her feet.

I was in hot pursuit as he bolted through the gate and out of the pool area. I hit the gate, pulled the latch, pulled the gate, it wouldn’t budge, I pushed the gate and it swung open. I shot through the gate and hollered and continued hollering, at the top of my lungs, “STOP HIM.”

Where was everyone? It was me and him and the whole world vanished. He rounded the corner and slithered into a waiting red car. They pulled out of the stall. I headed straight toward them.

From time to time folks have said I resemble Chuck Norris. In that moment, I imaged I was him, kicking out their windshield…but before I had a chance to do something that stupid, they turned and sped down the parking lot toward the street. I continued the chase on bare feet, still hollering, hoping someone would hear and stop the car and then I’d catch them and then I’d…I can’t repeat the thoughts of what I’d do when I caught them. Things that shouldn’t be said or done or even thought. Deathly things. But I thought them, just the same. If death only knew what I was thinking then, he’d have been laughing.  

I chased all the way to the street where they swerved around a car entering the parking lot and sped off down International Drive.

Only then did I notice how my tender feet stung from beating down concrete and pavement. Only then did I realize I couldn’t catch my voice or my breath.

It wasn’t until that night when I tried to sleep that I realized and replayed the awful thoughts that went through my head. How I wanted to hurt that punk. How could they steal, uninvited into our precious time and violate our lives?

I tossed and turned as death slithered and spewed its deathly venom of hatred and revenge and distrust for mankind…it wasn’t until it spilled an accusation so vile that I came to my senses. God doesn’t love you or care about you. He’s mad at you. That’s why this happened. You’re on your own. Everyone is evil You can’t trust anyone—especially God.  

Only then, through that sleepless night did I pray for them. Those thugs, those walking dead, those arrogant punks that stole into our lives and violated our time, our lives…those lost souls, wandering in darkness, seeking light, longing for a family to wrap a band around their wrist, a hug around their neck and sit beside a pool and laugh and love and enjoy the light, even in the night…those precious, hurting, lost and crying boys.

I remember my wife had said, “If only they’d have asked, I’d have given it to them.” If only they’d had sat down and had a chat with us, we’d have given them much more than anything that purse could hold.

I never realized how easy it is to fall into the victim mindset. So easy to follow the path of least resistance and float down the river of blame. It’s everyone’s fault but mine. The victim mentality is a vicious downward spiral. It’s the hotels fault. They had no cameras. The gate opens for anyone. There’s no security. The self-centered victim mindset is fueled by thoughts of entitlement. The hotel owes me. On and on it goes, until everyone is to blame, but self. Everyone is responsible for my irresponsibility. This mindset makes the world dark, bleak. The media seems to feed this frenzy.

 It’s hard to rise against the tide and stand as victor not victim. Yet, when we do, we’ll see there’s so much more life out there than death.

Life is winning.

Light always causes darkness to flee.

The people, the amazing, loving, kind people far outshined that shaded moment. Kind folks for the rest of our stay would stop and offer encouragement. One sweet lady named Gwen asked if we needed money, she provided her phone and room number and said to let her know if we needed anything.  

Sure, the slaves of darkness showed up.

Yes, God allowed it. He could’ve stopped it. Perhaps He even warned us with a thought to not bring a purse to the pool. Maybe we weren’t listening.

But the bottom line is that even though God hates what they do, He loves them, too. Perhaps they needed to come in contact with the Light and Life we have in Jesus.

Without their intersecting our lives, without us postponing our trip, we’d probably never have encountered these lost children. We’d never have uttered a prayer for them. Now we have. Now, whether they like it, or know it, or not...we’re praying for them. Before we ate, my twelve-year-old granddaughter prayed for them. We’re believing for them that they won’t continue walking in death, but will be swallowed up in victory.

Even now as I write this my wife is bouncing that precious grandchild and singing “Hallelujah…” not a trace of the trembling and fear remains.

I prayed and still pray that they all get caught. Get stopped. I still pray for my wife’s purse to be returned. That not one thread will be missing. But, most important, the reason I pray for this, is for them. So those boys will be changed. So they will stop slithering around in the dark and step into the light and experience a real, Celebration of Life.

Lord God, we pray and believe that You’ll intersect the lives of those dear children and bring them to Life.