Genesis 19:12 And the men said unto Lot, Hast thou here any besides? son in law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place:
Lot’s family built a wall. And they built a wall because they had moved into a city. The city. The big city. A city called Sodom. And while they liked the fireworks, parks, restaurants, and street performers, there were also things about the city they didn’t like. They didn’t like the crime or the drugs or some of the ideas people had or the ways some people acted. And Lot and his wife wanted to protect their family from negative influences.
But while walls can keep people and animals out, they can’t stop all the noise, smells, or bugs. And they are nothing against your imagination. It doesn’t matter how big or thick or strong a wall is; your imagination can walk right through to the other side. So Lot and his wife couldn’t keep their children completely safe behind even the thickest wall.
They had four daughters, and the daughters were growing. Before long, the two oldest were imagining adventure and life and love beyond the wall. And then they were sneaking out to parties, and going with friends to dances, or hanging out late at diners.
And their mother would see them missing and worry and worry and worry until they came home safe. Have you ever seen your mother worried? Maybe she paces the floor, or sits and fidgets. Maybe she scrubs the dishes extra hard or reads a book or maybe she cries. Well, the two youngest daughters saw their mother worry a lot.
And so they decided they were never going to sneak out or climb the wall like their older sisters had done. They never wanted their mother to have to worry. And so they were going to be obedient. And their commitment to obedience only became stronger when their older sisters announced they’d fallen in love. Soon enough, the oldest daughters were married, had children, and started their own lives in tiny apartments in Sodom City beyond the reach and safety of Lot’s walls.
They probably stayed in touch. Maybe they came over for Sunday dinners, and after their mother would have packed leftovers into Tupperware for them to take home. And Lot and his wife and their younger daughters would watch from the gate as the older sisters walked away with their families to their apartments. And then Lot and his wife and the younger daughters would retreat again behind their walls, where they could live safely. Or so they thought.
But one night, there was a knock at the door. It was two men. Only they weren’t men at all. Their skin shone and their faces beamed. They were beautiful. Were they angels?
“Make yourself at home,” Lot said. “Can I get you something to drink?” his wife asked. But the men had not come for pleasantries. They carried a message. A big, terrible, tragic, sad, horrible, unbelievable message. Sodom, the bustling city they lived in, was about to be destroyed. “Your walls will not protect you from this,” they explained. “Leave now and don’t look back.”
So Lot and his wife grabbed their two youngest daughters and a backpack with toothbrushes, water, and snacks, and headed out the door. But before they could go, they had to warn their oldest daughters, their son-in-laws, and their grandkids.
But the son-in-laws thought it was a joke, and the eldest daughters didn’t want to wake the children, and they didn’t even believe in angels anyway, and the whole story all felt a little ridiculous. It was probably just another trick to get them to come back inside the walls. But they were not going to be duped. They were not going to be scared. They were not going to leave. Yet Lot’s wife persisted. “If you’re not going to come with us now, promise us you’ll run at the first sign of danger. Don’t wait a second longer. Promise me, please. Promise me.”
And off Lot and his wife and their two youngest daughters went. They ran out beyond the city wall and down the road. They ran through the night and into the morning. As the sun was rising, Lot’s wife trailed behind the other three. Her run became a jog and then a walk. She looked ahead at her youngest daughters, who were moving swiftly away from danger. And then all at once, she looked back. She had to see if the rest of their family was following or if an army was coming or what terrible destruction might be approaching.
Maybe there was still something she could do for her eldest daughters. Maybe they’d see the danger in time. Maybe they’d still come running. Maybe she could help carry the children. But her youngest daughters also needed help. They weren’t safe yet. Plus, they were the ones who listened. But they were not in as much danger. And she didn’t know if she should help the people who needed it most or the people she was most able to help. And so she didn’t know if she should move forward or go back. She was stuck in paralysis.
Paralysis, a definition:
So often in life, we are stuck. Not between a rock and a hard place or in the mud or from a headlock. More often, we are stuck between two good choices. Do you want licorice or gummy bears? This toy or that one? To clean or to play? These are all good things, and sometimes you will get stuck picking between them. You won’t be able to decide whether to go north or south, left or right, up or down. You will want to pick the best option, but you won’t know how. And so you will be stuck trying to figure out what to do. This is paralysis.
Lot’s wife was in paralysis. She couldn’t decide to go forward or backwards. She stood frozen like a pillar halfway between them, her eyes looking back but her feet facing forward, not moving an inch either direction. But Lot and his daughters never turned back. On they went. They ran until their legs gave out, and they fell to the ground, exhausted, and slept on the naked earth. And when Lot woke in the heat of the day, his wife was missing. There was smoke in the air. Destruction had come, just like the angels predicted. And Lot cried, and he would continue to cry for weeks and months to come. He would never see his wife or home or city again.
And Lot decided that they would never go to another city or even a small town. He didn’t want his daughters to leave or marry or be exposed to all the cruelness and randomness and dangers of the world. So he took his children to the mountain where they lived like hermits. If walls hadn’t kept them safe, maybe a cave would.
But in a cave, there are no friends or schools. No one to play with or get in trouble with. No one to joke with or flirt with. And in the cave, the youngest daughters learned what it really meant to be alone. They had lost their mother, sisters, nieces, nephews, and friends, and even their father, who retreated further and further into his own mind.
But these were strong women. Women who would not give up. Women who would find hope and a way to continue. They would make a future and live on. They would leave the cave, and descend the mountain, and make a family. They knew the world was messy, complicated, gross, exhausting, impossible, unpredictable, terrifying, incomprehensible, and still they were going back to try again.
And they would raise their own families. They would build their own walls, have their own rules, teach their own beliefs, and do everything they could to protect their children. And some of their children would still choose Sodom. And some would still choose the cave. And sometimes these strong women would get stuck looking back, wondering what they could have done differently.
But then they’d move forward again as they had done before. They would find a way to continue, to push on, to trust that one way or another, their children would make it out of Sodom, down from the cave, through paralysis, and home again.
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