Where is God?

Full Moon Over the Atlantic Ocean

(Note: My son's kidnapping occured over a two-month time period from December 1988-February 1989. I am grateful to the detective who helped return him to me and both sides of the family and my friends who lifted me up during that time period. Furthermore, without God's strength, I would never have endured.) 

“I want to show you something,” confided the detective as he opened his jacket to reveal a revolver in a holster tucked under his left arm.

I acknowledged the revolver and obeyed his next instructions. “Open the glove compartment.”  There I saw a second revolver.  I was familiar with both of these weapons.  I had been around them for two months now as we had searched for my husband and four year old son whom he had kidnapped. 

Jesus said to his disciples in Matthew 28:20, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”  If I weren’t right now at the end of my world, then I didn’t know where I had landed.  Sin had brought me to this place in life, and only God’s grace could lead me home.  On this moonless night, I felt lost and alone and wondered where is God?

In the years before Megan’s and Adam’s Laws, life was different for parents involved in domestic kidnapping cases.  Law enforcement was not interested in our cases, so the only help we could get was what we could find.  For me, it was a jaded detective whose mantra was, “The end justifies the means”.

Now, after two months of agonizing search, we had located my husband’s employment (working third shift at a store) but signs indicated he was about to flee the area.  We needed to disable his vehicle. The detective suggested we sugar his gas tank to slow him down until we could find out where he was living to recover my son. 

I focused again on the detective as he continued to give me instructions.  He had parked at the far end of a deserted parking lot underneath a streetlamp, which cast a pale light on his hardened face.

“I’m going to pull up beside his vehicle at an angle to block the view from the store window to give you a chance to work without being seen.  If he comes out while you’re pouring the sugar, I’m going to get out of the van and shoot him dead with this gun.” He motioned to his left side.  

He continued, “Then I’m going to take this gun from the glove compartment and place it in his hand.” He stared at me with determined eyes.  “You’re going to swear in court he owns that gun. He fired it first. I fired mine in self-defense.”

My head spun. I became lightheaded and cold with nerves.  I was sitting in a van next to a crazy man with two guns, but, paradoxically, he was the only one on the planet who was helping me find my son.  I was trapped.  I was frightened.  I nodded my head “yes” to him, but inside, I prayed as hard as I ever had in my life that God keep my husband inside that store.  No matter the pain he had caused me, the hurt I had undergone for the past two months, he did not deserve to lose his life that night.

Furthermore, this scenario would have destroyed me and our son as well. There was no way I could tell such a lie.  The detective had misjudged me.  I would have broken down in court. The lie would come out. I would have gone to jail.

Only God was great and powerful enough to rescue me this cold winter’s night from a world I did not belong and could not understand.  But where was God?  Was he listening to my prayers?  Did I dare hope he would listen to me?

The detective moved the van into position, and (still praying) I stepped out into the night with a five pound bag of sugar, a funnel and the nagging feeling I had forgotten something.  As soon as I reached the gas cap, I remembered. I needed a key.  I did not have the key. I was afraid to go back to the man with the guns, but I had no choice. 

He glared at me. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. 

“It has a lock,” I replied, looking as innocent as possible.

“Did you know it had a lock on it?” he hissed.

“No,” I partly lied and partly had forgotten.

“Then I guess you’ll have to slash his tires!”  From beside his seat, he pulled out the biggest Bowie knife I had ever seen in my life and handed it to me.

I held it gingerly by the handle where it swung like the pendulum of a clock.  I had not taken “Tire Slashing 101” in college, so I looked at him and asked, “How do I slash tires?”

He muttered under his breath, hopped out of the van, snatched the knife from me, and slashed all four bald and over-inflated tires himself.

God’s grace began with this act.

The next day, the man whom I later divorced, called my detective.  (He also knew the detective.) He asked him one question, “Are you looking for me?”

God used the detective to reel him in like a fish.  The detective arranged terms for me to visit my son, which opened the door for me to get him back for good.  His first words to me were, “Mommy, I want to go home with you!”  

I understood the feeling well. 

I wanted nothing more than to be home in a familiar world, and I could begin to see God’s grace was leading me back to the world of light after my descent into darkness. 

Since those weeks of agony, I have learned that God’s love and faithfulness to us are immeasurable, even when we think we have reached the end of the world and can go no further.

He kept my ex-husband in the store, lives were not destroyed by the detective, and my son was returned to me after only a little over two months of separation. 

“Where is God,” I wondered as I sat trapped in the detective’s van.  I didn’t realize then He was wrapped tightly around me, protecting me and all those for whom I was praying. 

He told us, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”  I know He is with me always because He was with me and heard my prayers on the darkest and loneliest night of my life.

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Thank you, Lord, for your faithfulness, even to the end of the world.