The Lord gave me a story today. Though dinner dishes and clothes need tending, I believe I'm supposed to share here first.
Sit with me a spell, friend?
A winter storm warning in effect, the forecast promised snow, wind, cold. It delivered, starting early.
Husband left right after breakfast for his half-day Saturday shift at a local church.
Twenty minutes later, the cell phone rings. His 1986 Buick broke down on the corner of a busy intersection. In the driving snow, with a real feel of 2 degrees outside, a mile from the church.
He calls our mechanic and tries to push the car completely off the road. The back end doesn't cooperate.
He'll walk to the church he says. He adds, for the millionth time, that the cursed white stuff from the sky better not show up in Heaven.
My spirit droops at the negativity. And he hangs up.
I pray for him because I know how much he hates snow, and that car, and being American-poor.
Then I remember something else he said. Walk to the church?! He's going to walk to the church in a driving snow in single-digit temps?
I call back, telling him we'll pick him up and drive him to the church. He's too mad to object.
We pile in the van, most of us still in our Saturday pajamas. The roads aren't plowed, so it's slow travel. A couple of the kids sit nervous. They'd looked forward to drawing, coloring, painting, and baking, instead of this.
We find Daddy. The two of us together try to push the entire car off the road. But no, the back end still sits on the road.
Husband, calmer than I expected, drives with us for the mile to the church. The children sit happy and relieved, glad he's not too angry. (Except at the white stuff, which he mentions.)
Before he gets out of the van we discuss going back to the car in a few hours to try starting it again. We hope to save the tow truck costs.
Daddy safely delivered, the kids and Momma travel back home to our Saturday morning pursuits. Me, writing; the kids, creating.
Husband calls about two hours later. I expect to pile back in the van.
Even more distressed, he reports that his 1986 Buick--the ugly one without any paint--got towed away by the State Police according to our mechanic, who thinks he saw the tow truck driving away with it. A member of the church confirms that he, too, saw it getting towed. It's ugly enough that there's no mistaking it. Or shall I say humble enough?
It will cost about two hundred dollars to retrieve it and get it towed to Gary's garage. And that can't happen until Monday night, due to the severe snow this weekend.
Husband tells me about something else, too. A forty-car pile-up on a nearby freeway. He thanks the Lord we weren't in it, repenting about his anger and complaining spirit.
A kind staff member grieves with husband--the one who watched the car get towed. A music banquet going on, the pastor is there too, mingling in between working on his sermon. He walks up to my husband. "The church wants to help you with this."
This isn't our church, mind you. It's a liberal, watered-down gospel church, functioning like a universalist organization. Holiness isn't important to them, but social justice? Very important. They put Christian churches to shame.
My countenance falls at this offer of help. "Do we have to, Lord? I hate accepting help! It's so dreadful, Lord! Please don't make me do this!" (Not that it's my decision anyway.)
But there's something else.
A few days before this minor fiasco, we'd sent $200 to El Salvador for Nelson's family. (Part of tithe on some gift money.)
Did you get that? Because I didn't at first. We sent $200, and now we needed $200--which God graciously and quickly provided. He had a tidy plan the whole time!
When it hit me, I felt such shame.
I wanted Nelson to be blessed by the $200. By blessed I mean happy. Uplifted in spirit. Praising God, from whom all good things flow. Maybe obtaining a mattress with it and enough bedding for all three of them, or something to keep them safer in their urban gang area. I don't know their actual needs.
Just anything that would make daily life better. They need to know God cares. That He loves them!
My Heavenly Father desired the same for me...that I would feel happy and blessed. And yet I grumbled and complained. I didn't want to be that humble. I'm so dirty, still, after three years of American-style poverty. So headstrong and ugly about humility. I'm so sorry, Father. Change me!
For me this story means one thing. But for you, perhaps another?
In telling the boys about the helping hand from Daddy's church, I reminded them that we are to give generously, regardless of what little we have. God is always faithful, just as he was to the Widow of Zarephath, who gave up her oil and flour to feed Elijah.
We needn't fear as we give. We can give from a cheerful, excited heart!
And if you're like me, tell yourself this: When God gives to us through others, we should be wholly grateful and cheerful...not prideful, as I was. He loves to give good gifts to his children!
What about you? Is there a story of God's faithfulness you'd like to share? It will encourage us, friend.
1 Kings 17:8-16
8 Then the word of the LORD came to him: 9 “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” 10 So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” 11 As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”
Sit with me a spell, friend?
A winter storm warning in effect, the forecast promised snow, wind, cold. It delivered, starting early.
Husband left right after breakfast for his half-day Saturday shift at a local church.
Twenty minutes later, the cell phone rings. His 1986 Buick broke down on the corner of a busy intersection. In the driving snow, with a real feel of 2 degrees outside, a mile from the church.
He calls our mechanic and tries to push the car completely off the road. The back end doesn't cooperate.
He'll walk to the church he says. He adds, for the millionth time, that the cursed white stuff from the sky better not show up in Heaven.
My spirit droops at the negativity. And he hangs up.
I pray for him because I know how much he hates snow, and that car, and being American-poor.
Then I remember something else he said. Walk to the church?! He's going to walk to the church in a driving snow in single-digit temps?
I call back, telling him we'll pick him up and drive him to the church. He's too mad to object.
We pile in the van, most of us still in our Saturday pajamas. The roads aren't plowed, so it's slow travel. A couple of the kids sit nervous. They'd looked forward to drawing, coloring, painting, and baking, instead of this.
We find Daddy. The two of us together try to push the entire car off the road. But no, the back end still sits on the road.
Husband, calmer than I expected, drives with us for the mile to the church. The children sit happy and relieved, glad he's not too angry. (Except at the white stuff, which he mentions.)
Before he gets out of the van we discuss going back to the car in a few hours to try starting it again. We hope to save the tow truck costs.
Daddy safely delivered, the kids and Momma travel back home to our Saturday morning pursuits. Me, writing; the kids, creating.
Husband calls about two hours later. I expect to pile back in the van.
Even more distressed, he reports that his 1986 Buick--the ugly one without any paint--got towed away by the State Police according to our mechanic, who thinks he saw the tow truck driving away with it. A member of the church confirms that he, too, saw it getting towed. It's ugly enough that there's no mistaking it. Or shall I say humble enough?
It will cost about two hundred dollars to retrieve it and get it towed to Gary's garage. And that can't happen until Monday night, due to the severe snow this weekend.
Husband tells me about something else, too. A forty-car pile-up on a nearby freeway. He thanks the Lord we weren't in it, repenting about his anger and complaining spirit.
A kind staff member grieves with husband--the one who watched the car get towed. A music banquet going on, the pastor is there too, mingling in between working on his sermon. He walks up to my husband. "The church wants to help you with this."
This isn't our church, mind you. It's a liberal, watered-down gospel church, functioning like a universalist organization. Holiness isn't important to them, but social justice? Very important. They put Christian churches to shame.
My countenance falls at this offer of help. "Do we have to, Lord? I hate accepting help! It's so dreadful, Lord! Please don't make me do this!" (Not that it's my decision anyway.)
But there's something else.
A few days before this minor fiasco, we'd sent $200 to El Salvador for Nelson's family. (Part of tithe on some gift money.)
Did you get that? Because I didn't at first. We sent $200, and now we needed $200--which God graciously and quickly provided. He had a tidy plan the whole time!
When it hit me, I felt such shame.
I wanted Nelson to be blessed by the $200. By blessed I mean happy. Uplifted in spirit. Praising God, from whom all good things flow. Maybe obtaining a mattress with it and enough bedding for all three of them, or something to keep them safer in their urban gang area. I don't know their actual needs.
Just anything that would make daily life better. They need to know God cares. That He loves them!
My Heavenly Father desired the same for me...that I would feel happy and blessed. And yet I grumbled and complained. I didn't want to be that humble. I'm so dirty, still, after three years of American-style poverty. So headstrong and ugly about humility. I'm so sorry, Father. Change me!
For me this story means one thing. But for you, perhaps another?
In telling the boys about the helping hand from Daddy's church, I reminded them that we are to give generously, regardless of what little we have. God is always faithful, just as he was to the Widow of Zarephath, who gave up her oil and flour to feed Elijah.
We needn't fear as we give. We can give from a cheerful, excited heart!
And if you're like me, tell yourself this: When God gives to us through others, we should be wholly grateful and cheerful...not prideful, as I was. He loves to give good gifts to his children!
What about you? Is there a story of God's faithfulness you'd like to share? It will encourage us, friend.
1 Kings 17:8-16
8 Then the word of the LORD came to him: 9 “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” 10 So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” 11 As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”
12 “As surely as the LORD your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.”
13 Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. 14 For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD sends rain on the land.’”
15 She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. 16 For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the LORD spoken by Elijah.
3 comments:
I do have a story, Christine...from Oct. 2010 - Oct. 2011, our oldest daughter and granddaughter moved in with us while our son-in-law was deployed to Afghanistan. So, with 9 people's-worth of clothes to wash, our 20-yr. old washing machine was getting a real work-out. Two days after our daughter and granddaughter moved back to the Army base to wait for her hubby to come home, our washing machine bit the dust. Uh-oh. So my hubby and I began asking the Lord for another washing machine; not necessarily a new one, just a dependable one. My hubby went into Lowe's the next day to price the "scratch and dent" ones. Too expensive. The next evening, he brought home the local want-ads and we found a washer for $100...only one mile from our house!!! The washer had never been used and still had the price/bar code stickers on it, the owner's manual had never been taken out of the plastic, and the dirty laundry didn't even have a chance to pile up before we had the washer in my laundry room - only 2 days after our old one kicked the bucket. :)
What a faithful God we serve, not because of what we have done, but because of who He is!
Rejoicing with you in His faithfulness,
Lisa
Oh, Lisa! I love it. And praise God he came home safely from Afghanistan!
I find so many clothes at thrift stores that have never been worn. It always warms my heart because I know each such garment is a gift from Him!
I love thrift stores, too! We are definitely like-minded. :)
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