Everybody wants to be the cavalry, riding to the rescue.

I’ve been on a few of those rides. Once, a woman in our Sunday School class was suddenly, shockingly divorced. The roles were easy – the damsel in distress, the villain. We were the heroes, of course. We rode in and moved her into a new condo in about an hour and a half.

It was a sight to behold, horses galloping, flags waving, trumpets blowing, exciting underscore music building. Well, maybe I exaggerate a little. But that’s how it felt. A long line of cars. Noble camaraderie.   Team spirit. Back slapping congratulations.

But there’s a problem with the cavalry. Not every situation needs crowds and horses. They are too overwhelming. They are set on quick victory. And as everyone who’s ever mucked a barn knows, the cavalry can leave a mess behind.

A divorce can’t be solved by moving furniture.  Healing takes place at a slower pace. A lot of listening and crying are necessary. Possibly some throwing of things. Can you imagine a cavalry unit standing by quietly and listening? Me either.

Here’s another example:

Suzie, my wife, had a brain tumor. It was discovered when she suddenly was unable to speak. One minute she was getting over a bilateral mastectomy and the next we were meeting our friendly neighborhood brain surgeon. There’s much more to the story, but as a side show the cavalry showed up.

I hadn’t slept or eaten in many hours. I’d just left the quiet womb of intensive care with murmured prayers and ominous goodbyes. I knew my only chance to eat for the rest of the day would be immediately. After that, I’d be too nervous to leave in case the surgeon came in for a report. I opened the door to the surgical waiting room to find the cavalry on the other side. I was overwhelmed by a room packed with strangers and friends from church, all eyes turned to stare at me. I felt like I was standing on a stage – naked. Aaaah!

I grabbed a few of my closest friends and headed for the cafeteria to eat and build my courage to deal with all of this fuss. The burger was great.

But when we came back, the entire room was empty. What? Everyone had just vanished. The cavalry rode away, never to be seen again. Instead of praying and thinking about my wife having brain surgery with no assurances she would survive or recover, I also felt guilty. I wondered what I’d done wrong. I tried to remember what I’d said, how I’d acted. Did I run them off by not thanking them for coming?

It’s ridiculous, of course, to think that anyone waiting for their wife’s brain surgery should be held responsible for anything. I should have cared less, and part of me didn’t care. Part of me was angry. Part of me was hurt and confused.

I never found out why they all left. To this day I wonder. We moved from brain surgery into even more pressing problems. There was plenty to do.

But I never forgot the cavalry and the mess they left behind.

Or the few, quiet friends who never left.