Every family has a pyromaniac, and I am not one.

Fourth of Julys find me gingerly holding a sparkler that a pyro-friendly relative has lit for me nor do I crowd the gravel driveway impatiently waiting my turn to set off Target fireworks. For a date-specific holiday, the Fourth of July somehow morphs into an entire week of festivities as neighbors set off their stash of fireworks on July 5, 6 ad nauseum.

Our dog is the one member of the house that shares my July Fourth angst. He remains on high alert from the first hiss-boom-bang of fireworks to the last. He paces and whines, looking for refuge but refusing any we offer—laps, crate, favorite toys, blankets. My dog finally settles down around Bastille Day. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for us, we don’t live in France.

When it comes to angst, I am more dog-like than I care to admit.

You would know it, but life's fireworks scare me. When day turns to night and the booms start going off, I grasp for toys, blankets, inconsolable with the booms going off around me. I want to run away and hide, put a blanket over my head.

At the first hint of disappointment or distress, I go on high alert, expecting more to come. I pace as I whine, “It’s not fair, Lord.” I jump at every alarmist statement on social media, as I look for refuge and rest in all the wrong places, people and things. If I hold a dogged devotion to rest as the cessation of trouble, I miss out on both rest and refuge.

I read Matthew 11:38, and eagerly accept Jesus' invitation to promised rest, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” OK. I can breathe now. But in John 16:33 Jesus promises that we will have tribulation in this world. So, which is it?

Both.

It’s in him we have peace, and that precedes the tribulation in John’s gospel. On the same night that he would experience his deepest anguish, Jesus said to his disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. (John 14:27)

Nor should our hearts be fooled into thinking that we can manufacture refuge from tribulations. If a simple move to another state would keep disappointments at bay, then I say move away. If Ikea sold easy-to-assemble fortresses, I would load up as many that would fit in our car for a block party of sorts that keeps troubles where they belong—outside my fortress. I want all the rest and no tribulations.

But that’s not what Jesus promised. He promised not to leave us as orphans. He promised to make his home with us. He promised the Holy Spirit, and to that promised peace in John 14:27, Jesus made sure we knew that it was “not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

Instead of a devotion to a trouble-free life, may my devotion be to a trouble-free heart that is

Resigned, submissive, meek,
My great Redeemer’s throne;
where only Christ is heard to speak,
where Jesus reigns alone.
from O for a Heart to Praise My God, Charles Wesley