He calls out like a lion.
My Lord, I stand on the watchtower all day long,
I stay at my post all night.
~ Isaiah 21.8
Down below soft music plays and people are laughing and talking. Not too loud that it would be bothersome, but loud enough for him to notice.
He’s tired. From the second floor window his eyes scan the street below. It’s 3 am. The windows of his house are the eyes of a watcher.
He lies down in his bed and waits for the noises to become part of the house sounds. Sleep will come if he can let go of the urge to get out of bed—to let go of the need to be responsible for the neighbourhood’s safety.
His breathing slows and sleep cradles his body. He lets go—his home secure.
Last week there were three break ins. He saw them running up the street with their hoodies disguising their faces.
There wasn’t much taken, some change from a truck parked on the street, a garden gnome from across the street and a for sale sign relocated to another lawn.
Nuisance stuff.
But he saw it all and watched. He made sure his cameras were correctly positioned after that so to catch a glimpse of a face or two if they returned.
They did.
His sleep for the next few nights was broken—much like his heart. His losses great and deep. It didn’t matter if all the clocks in the house were synced to the exact second, minute, hour. Keeping time, watching, waiting didn’t stop bad things from happening.
The grandfather clock always needs to be wound.
He can’t let that clock stop. The key is inside the clock and he pulls it out carefully, placing it into each spot to pull up the weights.
There are three.
He adjusts the hands to ensure the time is exact. The music starts when the hand sweeps past 12.
Westminster chimes.
He allows the music to sink into his soul and recalls the words learned at scout camp with each chime.
Oh Lord our God
Thy children call
Grant us Thy peace
And bless us all.
Amen.
The neighbours come over while he’s tending the front garden of the house to ask what he knew about the break-ins. At first he’s shy to admit he was watching at his window and saw them run away.
He’s shy to admit, also, that he installed cameras.
He wants to be liked and not thought odd.
He takes a breath and exhales, then confesses to being vigilant and promises he’ll share information with them if something else should occur.
Three little pigs and three building materials. Wood, hay, stubble—
No, that’s from the bible. That will all burn and the builder will suffer loss.
The fairy tale was wood and straw and brick. The wolf can’t blow the bricks down but can blow down the wood and straw houses.
He wonders if he’s done enough to secure his family from harm.
Back in the past he watched in prayer, anointing his three children’s heads while they slept.
INRI, INRI, INRI
Now he depends on his sight, although failing and his new cameras to help him watch.
Watching over his children brought them safely from childhood to adulthood. Now that they live in their own homes with their own families he doesn’t anoint them anymore.
He hopes they do the same for their children—watch and pray.
The pain wakes up his heart reminding him they are adults now and are gone. He has a purpose—watching the street.
Three children, three robbers, three days, three neighbours, three clocks, 3 am.
It all means something in the calculus of his life.
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