Oh, Mr. Tentmaker

Author Roselyn Aronson. Submitted by Mark 

It was nice living in this tent when it was strong and secure and the sun was shining and the air was warm.

But, Mr. Tentmaker, it's scary now.

My tent is acting like it's not going to hold together. The poles seem weak and they shift with the wind, a couple of the stakes have wiggled loose from the sand, and worst of all, the canvas has a rip. It no longer protects  me from beating rain or stinging flies.

It's scary in here, Mr. Tentmaker. Last week I was sent to the repair shop and some repairmen tried to patch the rip in my canvas.

It didn't help much though, because the patch pulled away from the edges and now the tear is worse.

What troubled me most, Mr. Tentmaker, is that the repairmen didn't seem to notice I was still in the tent. They just worked on the canvas while I shivered inside. I cried out once, but no one heard me.

I guess my first real question is, why did you give me such a flimsy tent? I can see by looking around the campground that some of the tents are much stronger and more stable than mine. Why, Mr. Tentmaker, did you pick a tent of such poor quality for me and even more important, what do you intend to do about it?

Oh, little tent  dweller, as the Creator and Provider of tents, I know all about you and your tent and I love you both.

I made a tent for myself once and lived in it on your campground. My tent was vulnerable too, and some vicious attackers ripped it to pieces while I was still in it. It was a terrible experience but you'll be glad to know that they couldn't hurt me.

In fact, the whole occurrence was a tremendous advantage because it is this very victory over my enemy that frees me to be of present help to you.

Little tent dweller, I am now prepared to come and live in your tent with you, IF YOU WILL INVITE ME IN.

You will learn, as we dwell together, that real security comes from my being in your tent with you.

When the storms come, you can huddle in my arms and I'll hold you. When the canvas rips, we'll go to the repair shop together.

Someday, little tent dweller, your tent will collapse (for I've only designed it for temporary use). When it does, you and I will leave together.

(I promise not to leave before you do.) Then, free of all that would hinder or restrict, we will move to our permanent home and together, forever rejoice and be glad.