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Psalm 44 reminds me of the account of Job. The wording of the first line is reminiscent of Job's humble confession to the Lord after having the face-to-face for which he had asked, "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes" (Job 42:5a). The author of the psalm contends that Israel had kept the laws of God, that they had worshiped him alone, and that they had not turned away from him, in much the same way that Job contended throughout his discussions with his friends that he was a righteous man and that he had done nothing to deserve what was happening to him.
The biggest difference that I see between the psalmist and Job is that Job did have his face-to-face with the Almighty, resulting in a much more humble and contrite man. The psalmist, on the other hand, ends with a plea for Yahweh to wake up, to do something, to help them.
Most of us will never have a face-to-face encounter with
the Almighty like Job did, and that is probably something for which we ought to be grateful. We are more like the psalmist who acknowledges the
great deeds of Yahweh but wonders why he does not see those deeds happening on behalf
of his people right now, today.
As we walk through difficult times we learn to trust Yahweh on a deeper level
than we have before, we cry out to him for help, courage, and his sustaining
power. Our encounters with God are heart-to-heart rather than face-to-face. And when we do finally “see” God we are changed at the heart level, walking away from the process with a greater trust in God's love and
grace. These moments, in which God reveals himself to us in greater detail, are
always awe-inspiring. We, like Job, get to say, “I had heard of you, but now I
see you. You are great, and I am small.”
It is in these moments that true
gratefulness digs deep roots into our souls and grows us into more humble and
gracious people.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Just Love Each Other
I received an email today from the degree completion program office at my school inviting my husband and I to a free date night. I thought, "Cool!" Then I read a little further and realized they were inviting me to a Relationship Enrichment Seminar, and I thought, I can sum up all that is needed to be said
about relationships in one sentence...
Love each other.
Then the reality of life hit me.
Sometimes we don't know how to love. Laying down our lives for others is not natural to most people, and if we have not been taught what love looks like, how are we to know?
Sometimes we do not love others in the heat of the moment, simply because our own emotions cloud our vision and we cannot see clearly to make the loving choice.
And sometimes, the loving choice is simply not apparent and we are driving in the dark.
It occurs to me that, generally speaking, most people want to do the loving thing. We want to do nice things for other people and we want them to feel better, not worse, after having been around us. So what do we do when we are in those situations that perplex us? What do we do when we want to be loving, but we aren't sure what love looks like right now in this moment?
However, the longer I live the more I am convinced that we can keep these moments to a minimum if we stop and ask guidance each time we face a choice. If we are practicing the presence of God, as Brother Lawrence put it, then it will become second nature for us to ask for God's direction. We can be sure that direction will always be in the way of love.
We are given a picture of what love looks like in 1 Corinthians 13. Even many who have never read the Bible are familiar with verses 4-7:
So, back to my original statement about relationships:
Love each other.
After more than thirty years of marriage, it is pretty easy for me to know what loving my husband looks like. I have learned a lot about him and how he works. So it's easy for me to say, in the context of marriage, "Just love each other." Unfortunately I don't have the luxury of three decades of familiarity with most people in my life. So in every relationship, every encounter with another person, I need to be careful with my attitude, with my words, and my actions.
I wish I could say that I have come a long way down the road toward loving all people at all times. The truth is that I am a pretty selfish person, and it takes constant reminders from the Holy Spirit for me to be thoughtful of others. Sometimes I'm not even civil, much less loving. I am grateful that God is patient and kind, and that His amazing grace is sufficient in my moments of need. I want to be like Him. I want to know, innately, how to just love others.
Love each other.
Then the reality of life hit me.
Sometimes we don't know how to love. Laying down our lives for others is not natural to most people, and if we have not been taught what love looks like, how are we to know?
Sometimes we do not love others in the heat of the moment, simply because our own emotions cloud our vision and we cannot see clearly to make the loving choice.
And sometimes, the loving choice is simply not apparent and we are driving in the dark.
It occurs to me that, generally speaking, most people want to do the loving thing. We want to do nice things for other people and we want them to feel better, not worse, after having been around us. So what do we do when we are in those situations that perplex us? What do we do when we want to be loving, but we aren't sure what love looks like right now in this moment?
- Is it loving to give money to beggars on the street, or is it promoting unhealthy living standards?
- Is it loving to give financially to adult children or will doing so promote an unhealthy dependency?
- Is it loving to let a bullying co-worker continue to make demands of you because you want to be nice to people and don't like to cause arguments, or is that simply feeding the person's unhealthy need to prove their worth?
However, the longer I live the more I am convinced that we can keep these moments to a minimum if we stop and ask guidance each time we face a choice. If we are practicing the presence of God, as Brother Lawrence put it, then it will become second nature for us to ask for God's direction. We can be sure that direction will always be in the way of love.
We are given a picture of what love looks like in 1 Corinthians 13. Even many who have never read the Bible are familiar with verses 4-7:
"Love is patient and kind;
love does not envy or boast;
it is not arrogant or rude.
It does not insist on its own way;
it is not irritable or resentful;
it does not rejoice at wrongdoing,
but rejoices with the truth."
Love each other.
After more than thirty years of marriage, it is pretty easy for me to know what loving my husband looks like. I have learned a lot about him and how he works. So it's easy for me to say, in the context of marriage, "Just love each other." Unfortunately I don't have the luxury of three decades of familiarity with most people in my life. So in every relationship, every encounter with another person, I need to be careful with my attitude, with my words, and my actions.
I wish I could say that I have come a long way down the road toward loving all people at all times. The truth is that I am a pretty selfish person, and it takes constant reminders from the Holy Spirit for me to be thoughtful of others. Sometimes I'm not even civil, much less loving. I am grateful that God is patient and kind, and that His amazing grace is sufficient in my moments of need. I want to be like Him. I want to know, innately, how to just love others.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
So What's the Problem with Universals?
I recently sat outside a coffee shop with my son, who will be thirty in fewer years than I care to think about. As we talked, I had a moment of de ja vue of a moment of de ja vue. Myles has a bright, intellectual mind and a quick, very dry wit that are balanced by, and sometimes at war with, a quite passionate nature. However, it isn't these traits, which are apparent to all who've known him for any length of time, that brought on the de ja vue. Rather, it was that one trait which, because of the moments that it has taken me by surprise, stands out above all others. It is his affection.
Myles is by nature a demonstratively affectionate person. From infancy he was one of those children who enjoyed close physical contact; he would snuggle in when held, even as he grew into his elementary years and sat next to me on the sofa. The surprises have come, however, when Myles has demonstrated affection when one is not expecting it to be shown, or at least not in the manner or to the degree that is it shown. For instance, in his middle-school years when he would say good-bye to his father or me and, with his friends standing by watching, he would lean into the car to give a hug and a kiss on the cheek. After his first year in college Myles began to work in the shop where both my husband and I work. Shortly after he started working there, Myles surprised me once again. He came through the office on his way to or from the lunchroom, stopped, hugged me and said, “Hello Mother, how is your day today?” He was, by all appearances, completely oblivious to both my co-workers and the client standing at the front counter. To this day, I receive a daily hug at the office. This evening, while we were deep in conversation on matters of the heart, Myles reached across the table and held my hand for a rather extended length of time as we conversed. His total lack of concern that anyone may think it strange to see a young man holding his mother’s hand in public touched my soul in a manner too deep for words to express.
I am currently taking a philosophy class, and one of the new concepts I have been taught about is that of universals. I am not sure that this is the place for a deep discussion on the subject and, truth be told, I am not capable of going much beyond the surface of the subject. However, the concept intrigues me. According to DeWeese and Moreland in their book, "Philosophy Made Slightly Less Difficult" universals are “entit[ies] that can be in more than one place at the same time or in the same place at different, interrupted time intervals” (32). The authors spend a great deal of time discussing the fact that there are those who do not believe in the existence of universals and rebutting their arguments.
Personally, I am simply too pragmatic to NOT believe that logic can exist in my brain, in my professors brain and in my cousin's brain at the same moment. I also believe that logic can exist in any one of those brains today, and again tomorrow, and again a week later. So, yes, I fall into the camp of those who believe that there are such things as universals.
But what, you may ask, do universals and my son's affection have to do with each other?
Glad you asked.
It was after that coffee date with my son that I began to have an understanding of universals. The affection that Myles showed as a middle schooler, the affection he shows regularly at work, and the affection he showed as we sipped iced coffee drinks on a summer evening, are one and the same. If Myles can be affectionate at different times, that is half the definition of a universal.
I submit that it is also possible for multiple people to show affection at the same time. Myles is not the only person who shows affection toward others. At the same time that he was showing affection toward me that evening, I observed a mother showing affection toward her small child in the manner in which she held and spoke to the child. I also observed a man and woman showing affection toward each other through the interactions and looks that passed between them as they walked along the sidewalk. All these expressions of affection happened simultaneously
So affection can be in multiple places at the same time, or at the same place at different, separated, times. Therefore affection fits the criteria of a universal.
Because universals are in existence, one can see that the sky is blue, whether living in Oregon or Nairobi; know that water is wet whether in Bangladesh or Venezuela; be the recipient of comfort in Hawaii or Iran. We have name words for these properties so that we can communicate with one another about them. If there were no universals, those concepts to which we attach words (love, red, hungry) would have no meaning. Words themselves would have little or no meaning, and communication would be nearly impossible because one person might call an entity green, while another might call the same entity hope, and still another might call it dry. There would be no common ground for discussion of ideas or patterns in nature.
I love that God created an orderly universe in which there are concepts that we can understand and agree upon. Universals, those properties that can be in multiple places at the same time, or in the same place at different times, are a part of that order. Whether we say red stick or baton rouge, those who speak our language understand the concept about which we are speaking: the color property of a piece of wood. God created the cosmos in such a manner as to be knowable, and He created humans in such a manner as to be curious about the cosmos.
Personally, I think that is universally cool.
Monday, June 24, 2013
A Greater Purpose
On Saturday the first of June this year, I was attending a bridal shower for the future daughter-in-law of my friend, Sue. My phone rang with the distinctive whistling tone I have set for my husband, but I was unable to answer before it went to voice mail. I waited, but no message came through and I had just about come to the conclusion that Dick had pushed my number on accident when he called again. It was 12:49 p.m. I answered, could not make out the first half of what he said, and was sure I misunderstood the last half, so I replied with a confused, "What?"
My sharp intake of breath and rushed, "I'm on my way," caused every woman in the room to go silent and look my way. After hanging up the phone, I relayed Dick's words to the ladies, "Meet me at St. V's. I cut my left thumb off."
I apologized to the bride-to-be for such an interruption to her shower and began to head for the door. Thankfully, the other ladies in the room had the presence of mind to stop me long enough for prayer before I left.
As I walked toward my car I placed a call to my dad and asked that he and my mom be in prayer as well. It so happened that they were at a basketball game in which several of my nieces were playing, so both of my sisters and their families were there. Those who were not playing prayed together right there in the gym.
Upon arriving at St. Vincent's Hospital, I let the ER admittance nurses know that Dick had cut off his left thumb, was being driven in from the coast range, and would be arriving in approximately 30 minutes. Yes, I assumed that he would be bringing the thumb with him. No I don't know if it was the whole thumb or just a part of it. Yes, I believe it is completely severed as his words were, "I cut my left thumb off." No, I don't know if he was using a chain saw or an axe, it could have been either.
My next thought was to call our pastor who prayed with me over the phone and then asked to be kept updated.
When Dick arrived I was relieved to discover that the thumb was still attached, though barely, and that the injury was at the outer, or distal, knuckle. The next course of action was for the ER doctor to call other hospitals with cardiovascular specialists to ascertain whether the thumb was savable. OHSU said the injury was too far out to try a reattachment. However, the surgeon at Emanuel thought there was a good chance of saving it, so we drove the 15 minutes from one hospital ER to another. There was more discussion as to whether a reattachment was viable, but in the end they decided that it was at least worth the try. It was almost 8:00 pm when they rolled Dick out of his room and down to surgery.
It had been a crazy seven hours of being in emergency rooms, getting Dick into a room at Emanuel, a blur of text messages and phone calls between myself and family members, friends, and our pastor. At one point while we were still at St. Vincent's, the admissions nurse came into Dick's room and said, "You have a growing fan club out here..." as if she weren't quite sure what to do with all the family members who had shown up... the two of our adult children who live locally -- one complete with spouse and baby -- my parents, both sisters, and a niece. Everyone took turns going in to see Dick, pray or chat with him, and assure him that they would continue to pray when they left.
At Emanuel, my friend Sue, her husband Mark, and our pastor, John, all showed up just about the time they moved Dick from ER to a room on the fourth floor. The three of them stayed to pray and trade jokes and puns with us until it was time for Dick to go into surgery.
After the surgery, it was simply a matter of waiting to find out if the blood vessels would do what they needed to do in order for the end of the thumb to survive. Dick was fortunate that the axe had landed right at the knuckle, so there were no broken bones to heal, but it was imperative that the blood vessels work properly. Otherwise the end would have to be removed. Friends and family from Washington to Florida were praying that those vessels would do just that, and that Dick would experience a full recovery. I was optimistic that the end of the thumb would survive.
However, on Sunday afternoon when Katy, the Physician's Assistant, did an inspection of the thumb, she was not optimistic. She said that the vessels leading to the thumb were carrying the blood there, but the capillaries were not working, so the blood was pooling in the tip of the thumb and would begin to coagulate there because it could not move back toward the heart like it should. She said there was still a slim chance that the capillaries could decide to start working, but she was putting Dick on the standby list for removal surgery the next day.
I went home that afternoon to shower and get what I needed for another night at the hospital and work the next day, made a stop at the grocery store, and headed back to the hospital. At some point in my driving around and constantly praying for God to work a miracle so that Dick could keep the end of his thumb, I suddenly began to feel that perhaps that was not how I should be praying.
I know that sounds strange.
It felt strange.
So I ignored the thought.
The next morning as I drove the 5 minutes from hospital to work, I again had the distinct impression that I should not be praying for the thumb to heal intact. I did not understand that, but at the same time I remembered a passage in the Psalms that speaks of the Israelites complaining because they were tired of eating manna while wandering in the wilderness. They begged God for meat. Psalm 106:15 says,
"And he gave them their request;
but sent leanness into their soul." (KJV)
While I do not feel as though it were a selfish desire to want Dick to be able to keep the full length of his thumb, I realize that God often sees things very differently than do we. Sometimes He has a greater purpose that we are unable to see from our vantage point. So, I prayed a different prayer as I finished my drive to work and got settled in at my desk: "Lord, may Your will be done and may whatever happens bring glory to You." It was a prayer of letting go of my desire and choosing to trust in Him.
I had been at work for two hours when the call came that that I had 20 minutes to get there, as they would be taking Dick into surgery at that time. I headed back to the hospital, accompanied him to pre-op, and then went into the family waiting room to do some homework while Dick was in surgery and recovery.
Typically, if one wants to do homework, especially if one is somewhat easily distracted by noise and movement, one will choose to sit in the quietest corner she can find. So, in retrospect I find it interesting that I took the two seats between the coffee and the phone, right next to the door as my place to sit and do homework. I had been seated for perhaps 15 minutes when a distraught young woman came in, poured herself a cup of coffee and slowly added sugar and creamer. She stood near the coffee service for a couple of moments then stepped over, picked up the phone, dialed a number and stepped around the doorway into the the hall.
I did not purposely eaves drop on this young lady, but it was impossible not to hear her side of the conversation. Without going into details, it was obvious that the young lady had called to let her father know that her young daughter was in surgery to have bones in her arm realigned and pinned together. It was also obvious that the call was not a pleasant one and that the little girl's grandfather was looking for someone to blame for the accident that resulted in the broken arm.
After hanging up the phone, this distraught young mama stepped back over to the coffee service to refill her cup. I could tell she was crying, so I looked up at her and asked how old her daughter was, then conveyed my sorrow at her accident and my hope for a quick recovery. I was a little surprised when she replied, "I just wish my dad could believe that I'm a good mom."
At that point, I felt that a hug was in order, and asked if I could give her one. She welcomed that universal sign of comfort then gladly accepted the invitation to sit next to me.
In the course of the conversation that followed, I learned that her name is Heather. Heather has an incredible story of survival. Her mom committed suicide when she was 18 months old, and her dad became an alcoholic afterward. She has older siblings and a step-mom. At the age of 15 she was raped, and realized a few months later than she was carrying a child conceived during that act. She told me that many people simply could not understand why she would have kept her daughter, and followed that up with, "But I believe every child is a gift from God and that He gives every child life for a reason. I believe he gave my daughter to me in order to change my life. And she has changed my life. I am a much different person than I was before she was born."
As her story unfolded, Heather consistently interrupted herself with comments about her concern for her daughter and how worried she was that the 5-year old girl would panic if she woke up in recovery without her mom there. Heather explained that they had always been together. She had chosen to work as a nanny or daycare provider from the time that her daughter was born so that she could always be there to care for her daughter.
It came out that Heather had recently left an abusive relationship because she would not raise her daughter in an environment like that. She was, as of that morning, without a home in which to live and was not sure the hotel where authorities had put her up for a few days would allow her back in to retrieve her things, since her daughter's accident meant that she had missed the checkout time.
In the course of our time together, I was able to give Heather the phone number to an abuse recovery service where she could get a list of shelters. I encouraged her in whatever ways I could and, most importantly, prayed with her for all of the concerns that were weighing so heavily on her young heart.
As we spoke, there were moments when I could barely get words around the lump in my throat and tears constantly threatened to spill over. Not only was I touched by this young lady's story of courage in the face of deep wounds, I could not help but think of the opportunity that would have been missed had Dick not been in surgery at the very moment when Heather needed someone to be there... someone who would love her and, hopefully, be a reminder to her of God's love for her and her daughter.
Chances are that I will never meet Heather again on this earth. I like to think that she was touched by the love of God during our encounter and that, in years to come, she will look back on those moments with a heart that gives thanks worships Him for sending a friendly shoulder to lean on, even if only for a few moments. I pray that she will remember that time as a manifestation of God's great love for her.
For me, the ramifications of that encounter continue to practically overwhelm at times. The lessons learned by letting go of my will and submitting to the Father's will are too numerous to recount here, and are ongoing. Once again I am learning a lesson in trust. Once again I understand, just a little bit better than before, what it means to lay down one's life for another. And, finally, some of my long struggles are no longer such great struggles as I am choosing to relinquish to the Lord those people and those things to which I have clung, believing that I knew best.
More clearly than ever before I see that God's greater purpose cannot be comprehended unless I let go of my lesser purpose.
My sharp intake of breath and rushed, "I'm on my way," caused every woman in the room to go silent and look my way. After hanging up the phone, I relayed Dick's words to the ladies, "Meet me at St. V's. I cut my left thumb off."
I apologized to the bride-to-be for such an interruption to her shower and began to head for the door. Thankfully, the other ladies in the room had the presence of mind to stop me long enough for prayer before I left.
As I walked toward my car I placed a call to my dad and asked that he and my mom be in prayer as well. It so happened that they were at a basketball game in which several of my nieces were playing, so both of my sisters and their families were there. Those who were not playing prayed together right there in the gym.
Upon arriving at St. Vincent's Hospital, I let the ER admittance nurses know that Dick had cut off his left thumb, was being driven in from the coast range, and would be arriving in approximately 30 minutes. Yes, I assumed that he would be bringing the thumb with him. No I don't know if it was the whole thumb or just a part of it. Yes, I believe it is completely severed as his words were, "I cut my left thumb off." No, I don't know if he was using a chain saw or an axe, it could have been either.
My next thought was to call our pastor who prayed with me over the phone and then asked to be kept updated.
When Dick arrived I was relieved to discover that the thumb was still attached, though barely, and that the injury was at the outer, or distal, knuckle. The next course of action was for the ER doctor to call other hospitals with cardiovascular specialists to ascertain whether the thumb was savable. OHSU said the injury was too far out to try a reattachment. However, the surgeon at Emanuel thought there was a good chance of saving it, so we drove the 15 minutes from one hospital ER to another. There was more discussion as to whether a reattachment was viable, but in the end they decided that it was at least worth the try. It was almost 8:00 pm when they rolled Dick out of his room and down to surgery.
It had been a crazy seven hours of being in emergency rooms, getting Dick into a room at Emanuel, a blur of text messages and phone calls between myself and family members, friends, and our pastor. At one point while we were still at St. Vincent's, the admissions nurse came into Dick's room and said, "You have a growing fan club out here..." as if she weren't quite sure what to do with all the family members who had shown up... the two of our adult children who live locally -- one complete with spouse and baby -- my parents, both sisters, and a niece. Everyone took turns going in to see Dick, pray or chat with him, and assure him that they would continue to pray when they left.
At Emanuel, my friend Sue, her husband Mark, and our pastor, John, all showed up just about the time they moved Dick from ER to a room on the fourth floor. The three of them stayed to pray and trade jokes and puns with us until it was time for Dick to go into surgery.
After the surgery, it was simply a matter of waiting to find out if the blood vessels would do what they needed to do in order for the end of the thumb to survive. Dick was fortunate that the axe had landed right at the knuckle, so there were no broken bones to heal, but it was imperative that the blood vessels work properly. Otherwise the end would have to be removed. Friends and family from Washington to Florida were praying that those vessels would do just that, and that Dick would experience a full recovery. I was optimistic that the end of the thumb would survive.
However, on Sunday afternoon when Katy, the Physician's Assistant, did an inspection of the thumb, she was not optimistic. She said that the vessels leading to the thumb were carrying the blood there, but the capillaries were not working, so the blood was pooling in the tip of the thumb and would begin to coagulate there because it could not move back toward the heart like it should. She said there was still a slim chance that the capillaries could decide to start working, but she was putting Dick on the standby list for removal surgery the next day.
I went home that afternoon to shower and get what I needed for another night at the hospital and work the next day, made a stop at the grocery store, and headed back to the hospital. At some point in my driving around and constantly praying for God to work a miracle so that Dick could keep the end of his thumb, I suddenly began to feel that perhaps that was not how I should be praying.
I know that sounds strange.
It felt strange.
So I ignored the thought.
The next morning as I drove the 5 minutes from hospital to work, I again had the distinct impression that I should not be praying for the thumb to heal intact. I did not understand that, but at the same time I remembered a passage in the Psalms that speaks of the Israelites complaining because they were tired of eating manna while wandering in the wilderness. They begged God for meat. Psalm 106:15 says,
"And he gave them their request;
but sent leanness into their soul." (KJV)
While I do not feel as though it were a selfish desire to want Dick to be able to keep the full length of his thumb, I realize that God often sees things very differently than do we. Sometimes He has a greater purpose that we are unable to see from our vantage point. So, I prayed a different prayer as I finished my drive to work and got settled in at my desk: "Lord, may Your will be done and may whatever happens bring glory to You." It was a prayer of letting go of my desire and choosing to trust in Him.
I had been at work for two hours when the call came that that I had 20 minutes to get there, as they would be taking Dick into surgery at that time. I headed back to the hospital, accompanied him to pre-op, and then went into the family waiting room to do some homework while Dick was in surgery and recovery.
Typically, if one wants to do homework, especially if one is somewhat easily distracted by noise and movement, one will choose to sit in the quietest corner she can find. So, in retrospect I find it interesting that I took the two seats between the coffee and the phone, right next to the door as my place to sit and do homework. I had been seated for perhaps 15 minutes when a distraught young woman came in, poured herself a cup of coffee and slowly added sugar and creamer. She stood near the coffee service for a couple of moments then stepped over, picked up the phone, dialed a number and stepped around the doorway into the the hall.
I did not purposely eaves drop on this young lady, but it was impossible not to hear her side of the conversation. Without going into details, it was obvious that the young lady had called to let her father know that her young daughter was in surgery to have bones in her arm realigned and pinned together. It was also obvious that the call was not a pleasant one and that the little girl's grandfather was looking for someone to blame for the accident that resulted in the broken arm.
After hanging up the phone, this distraught young mama stepped back over to the coffee service to refill her cup. I could tell she was crying, so I looked up at her and asked how old her daughter was, then conveyed my sorrow at her accident and my hope for a quick recovery. I was a little surprised when she replied, "I just wish my dad could believe that I'm a good mom."
At that point, I felt that a hug was in order, and asked if I could give her one. She welcomed that universal sign of comfort then gladly accepted the invitation to sit next to me.
In the course of the conversation that followed, I learned that her name is Heather. Heather has an incredible story of survival. Her mom committed suicide when she was 18 months old, and her dad became an alcoholic afterward. She has older siblings and a step-mom. At the age of 15 she was raped, and realized a few months later than she was carrying a child conceived during that act. She told me that many people simply could not understand why she would have kept her daughter, and followed that up with, "But I believe every child is a gift from God and that He gives every child life for a reason. I believe he gave my daughter to me in order to change my life. And she has changed my life. I am a much different person than I was before she was born."
As her story unfolded, Heather consistently interrupted herself with comments about her concern for her daughter and how worried she was that the 5-year old girl would panic if she woke up in recovery without her mom there. Heather explained that they had always been together. She had chosen to work as a nanny or daycare provider from the time that her daughter was born so that she could always be there to care for her daughter.
It came out that Heather had recently left an abusive relationship because she would not raise her daughter in an environment like that. She was, as of that morning, without a home in which to live and was not sure the hotel where authorities had put her up for a few days would allow her back in to retrieve her things, since her daughter's accident meant that she had missed the checkout time.
In the course of our time together, I was able to give Heather the phone number to an abuse recovery service where she could get a list of shelters. I encouraged her in whatever ways I could and, most importantly, prayed with her for all of the concerns that were weighing so heavily on her young heart.
As we spoke, there were moments when I could barely get words around the lump in my throat and tears constantly threatened to spill over. Not only was I touched by this young lady's story of courage in the face of deep wounds, I could not help but think of the opportunity that would have been missed had Dick not been in surgery at the very moment when Heather needed someone to be there... someone who would love her and, hopefully, be a reminder to her of God's love for her and her daughter.
Chances are that I will never meet Heather again on this earth. I like to think that she was touched by the love of God during our encounter and that, in years to come, she will look back on those moments with a heart that gives thanks worships Him for sending a friendly shoulder to lean on, even if only for a few moments. I pray that she will remember that time as a manifestation of God's great love for her.
For me, the ramifications of that encounter continue to practically overwhelm at times. The lessons learned by letting go of my will and submitting to the Father's will are too numerous to recount here, and are ongoing. Once again I am learning a lesson in trust. Once again I understand, just a little bit better than before, what it means to lay down one's life for another. And, finally, some of my long struggles are no longer such great struggles as I am choosing to relinquish to the Lord those people and those things to which I have clung, believing that I knew best.
More clearly than ever before I see that God's greater purpose cannot be comprehended unless I let go of my lesser purpose.
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