The following account by Beth Moore is one of my very favorites:
I was in Knoxville airport waiting to board my plane. I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say that because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego......
I tried to keep from staring but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from underneath his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy grey hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long. Clean, but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered reading somewhere that he was dead. So this man in the airport...an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere?....
There I sat trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him. Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.
I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing! I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. "Oh no, God please no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please! I'll do anything! Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!" ...
There I sat in begging His Highness, "Please don't make me witness to this man. Not now! I'll do it on the plane. Then I heard it..."I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair." The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No brainer. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man, now. I'm on this Lord. I'm you're girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am on him. I am going to witness to this man."
Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair." I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush, it's in my suitcase. How am I suppose to brush his hair without a hairbrush?"...
God was so insistent that I involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly finish you unto all good works." (2 Tim 3:7) I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as I retell this story my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man, and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"
He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?" "May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?" To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that. At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?" At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks.
Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to." Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem, I don't have a hairbrush."
"I have one in my bag," he responded. I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing.
I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, and clean smelling, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but I must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair, mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.
A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I--for that few minutes--felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's.
His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's. I slipped the brush back in the bag, went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees, and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?" He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures!
He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior. You see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, "What a mess I must be for my bride."
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft. I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board the plane, an airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said, "That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Can you tell me what made you do that kind act?"
I said "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!"
I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted, or hungry, if you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or, He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way...all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.
John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Faith of Little Children
The past few months have convinced me more than ever - more than the acknowledgement that my waistline will suffer as a result of the Swiss Cake Rolls eaten yesterday, more than the acceptance that those younger than me will continue to irritate me by calling me ma'am - that little children have an internal phone line which connects them directly to the Almighty ears of God. (Should I have capitalized ears? hmmmm)
The pure-hearted calls of a child to the One that they know listens best are never dropped, reception is remarkably clear and infinite minutes are available in their accounts. Pint-sized requests are never followed by the statement, "Can you hear me now? How 'bout now?" and their self esteems never bruised if they don't' find themselves in a Fave Five.
This coverage, so readily available to Pee Wee Believers everywhere, reflects an Almighty response to an innocent request. A request that comes from a place of purity, one that is not yet jaded by self-sufficiency or self promotion, one that is not slowed by hesitancy, doubt or unbelief.
Just like in Gunsmoke, when the Sheriff was quick to the draw with his gun in times of trouble, my children are just as quick to the draw with a prayer to help them in times of need.
A few months ago, God blessed my oldest son with an immediate answer to a pretty desperate prayer. I did not blog about the incident at the time, mainly out of sinful, parental pride and also because it didn't exactly portray us as All-Star Parents. But, since that time, and through my incessant blogging, I believe that I have fully shattered any false images I may have conjured or tricked others into believing, which in reality, is actually a blessing as now I can be more transparent. In Jesus' name, of course.
So, my son was dropped off by my husband at guitar practice,which is held in a neighborhood just off of a busy highway. As my husband was pulling away from the house, he was unaware that there was not anyone home.
I had been told the previous week that lessons would be cancelled, but that tidbit of information only remained in my feeble brain for just a few seconds and,unfortunately, was not communicated to my spouse . Clearly, I dropped the scheduling ball and take full responsibility for the calendar mishap. However, I can not speak for the one who did not glance in his rear view mirror after pulling away to ensure safe entrance to said lesson, thus missing the eight year old boy running desperately behind his father's truck, with backpack and lunchbox in hand.
Ahem.
I have gathered myself.
Chase, the child left behind, later said that when he realized he would not be able to catch up with his dad, he looked around, and realized he was all alone. By himself. My baby.
I have gathered myself again.
Chase decided that he would walk back to school where he knew school personnel would contact his delinquent, irresponsible, calendar-challenged parents. School was several miles away, and Chase knew he would have to navigate through the neighborhood to get to the interstate that would lead him to his desired destination. He said he began walking for several minutes and then became overwhelmed at the task before him.
"I really didn't know what to do except drop to my knees, " he later recounted. "So, I dropped my book bag, my lunchbox and kneeled on the pavement. I prayed to God and told him that these were desperate times and that I was going to need His help."
Chase walked for several more minutes and a mini-van that seemed out of nowhere pulled up beside him. An older woman ("Someone even older than you, Mom") asked him if he needed help and my son explained his situation. She was familiar with his school and offered him a ride.
While this scenario left me numb for days and prompted repeated discussions with my children about getting into the car with strangers who may offer puppies, candy and Pokemon cards, I can't discount the immediate assistance provided on the heels of a child's plea for help from his God. Chase said he was never scared and the lady was very kind, and in his words, "like somebody's grandma who didn't like seeing a little kid on the side of the road."
Again, All Star parenting at its best.
The Good Samaritan dropped Chase off at the front entrance of his school, where he thanked the lady for her timely rescue, exited the van and walked immediately to the nearest teacher. Fighting back tears, he quickly explained the circumstances, turning to point out the vehicle that had just dropped him off safely.
And there was not anybody there. There was not a car in sight.
(Personally, I believe that the absence of the mini van can be explained by another parent's scheduling mistake. Somewhere in Idaho, Vermont or Switzerland, there was a child of faith praying outside of piano lessons, baseball practice or a clogging demonstration, for a ride home and parents with better memories. God called upon our transportation angel to rescue another one of His children inadvertently left behind.)
Several minutes later, John and I received the call which sent me straight into orbit and later, to my knees. Chase requested that his dad pick him up because "you're just gonna freak out like you do, mom".
A week later Chase shared his experience with about 100 students from his school during chapel, explaining to his classmates how God not only had heard his prayer but He had answered it as well. I watched those children listen to my son speak, nodding their heads in agreement, fully accepting and believing in the true Author of that particular story.For Chase, and little children who believe, faith seems to be instinctive and immediate, and one that I pray I emulate better.
I had planned on including additional examples of the wonder and joy of witnessing the faithful prayers of a little child but I will have to wait until the next post.
Now, I feel an urgent need to lecture my children again about getting into the car of a stranger.
And eat a Swiss Cake Roll.
The pure-hearted calls of a child to the One that they know listens best are never dropped, reception is remarkably clear and infinite minutes are available in their accounts. Pint-sized requests are never followed by the statement, "Can you hear me now? How 'bout now?" and their self esteems never bruised if they don't' find themselves in a Fave Five.
This coverage, so readily available to Pee Wee Believers everywhere, reflects an Almighty response to an innocent request. A request that comes from a place of purity, one that is not yet jaded by self-sufficiency or self promotion, one that is not slowed by hesitancy, doubt or unbelief.
Just like in Gunsmoke, when the Sheriff was quick to the draw with his gun in times of trouble, my children are just as quick to the draw with a prayer to help them in times of need.
A few months ago, God blessed my oldest son with an immediate answer to a pretty desperate prayer. I did not blog about the incident at the time, mainly out of sinful, parental pride and also because it didn't exactly portray us as All-Star Parents. But, since that time, and through my incessant blogging, I believe that I have fully shattered any false images I may have conjured or tricked others into believing, which in reality, is actually a blessing as now I can be more transparent. In Jesus' name, of course.
So, my son was dropped off by my husband at guitar practice,which is held in a neighborhood just off of a busy highway. As my husband was pulling away from the house, he was unaware that there was not anyone home.
I had been told the previous week that lessons would be cancelled, but that tidbit of information only remained in my feeble brain for just a few seconds and,unfortunately, was not communicated to my spouse . Clearly, I dropped the scheduling ball and take full responsibility for the calendar mishap. However, I can not speak for the one who did not glance in his rear view mirror after pulling away to ensure safe entrance to said lesson, thus missing the eight year old boy running desperately behind his father's truck, with backpack and lunchbox in hand.
Ahem.
I have gathered myself.
Chase, the child left behind, later said that when he realized he would not be able to catch up with his dad, he looked around, and realized he was all alone. By himself. My baby.
I have gathered myself again.
Chase decided that he would walk back to school where he knew school personnel would contact his delinquent, irresponsible, calendar-challenged parents. School was several miles away, and Chase knew he would have to navigate through the neighborhood to get to the interstate that would lead him to his desired destination. He said he began walking for several minutes and then became overwhelmed at the task before him.
"I really didn't know what to do except drop to my knees, " he later recounted. "So, I dropped my book bag, my lunchbox and kneeled on the pavement. I prayed to God and told him that these were desperate times and that I was going to need His help."
Chase walked for several more minutes and a mini-van that seemed out of nowhere pulled up beside him. An older woman ("Someone even older than you, Mom") asked him if he needed help and my son explained his situation. She was familiar with his school and offered him a ride.
While this scenario left me numb for days and prompted repeated discussions with my children about getting into the car with strangers who may offer puppies, candy and Pokemon cards, I can't discount the immediate assistance provided on the heels of a child's plea for help from his God. Chase said he was never scared and the lady was very kind, and in his words, "like somebody's grandma who didn't like seeing a little kid on the side of the road."
Again, All Star parenting at its best.
The Good Samaritan dropped Chase off at the front entrance of his school, where he thanked the lady for her timely rescue, exited the van and walked immediately to the nearest teacher. Fighting back tears, he quickly explained the circumstances, turning to point out the vehicle that had just dropped him off safely.
And there was not anybody there. There was not a car in sight.
(Personally, I believe that the absence of the mini van can be explained by another parent's scheduling mistake. Somewhere in Idaho, Vermont or Switzerland, there was a child of faith praying outside of piano lessons, baseball practice or a clogging demonstration, for a ride home and parents with better memories. God called upon our transportation angel to rescue another one of His children inadvertently left behind.)
Several minutes later, John and I received the call which sent me straight into orbit and later, to my knees. Chase requested that his dad pick him up because "you're just gonna freak out like you do, mom".
A week later Chase shared his experience with about 100 students from his school during chapel, explaining to his classmates how God not only had heard his prayer but He had answered it as well. I watched those children listen to my son speak, nodding their heads in agreement, fully accepting and believing in the true Author of that particular story.For Chase, and little children who believe, faith seems to be instinctive and immediate, and one that I pray I emulate better.
I had planned on including additional examples of the wonder and joy of witnessing the faithful prayers of a little child but I will have to wait until the next post.
Now, I feel an urgent need to lecture my children again about getting into the car of a stranger.
And eat a Swiss Cake Roll.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Fear Not (Part Three)
You may want to read part two before reading the following post:
Enveloped by the empty sanctuary, the young girl sat in the chair selected, waiting anxiously for the doors to open. Questions reverberated through her mind at such a rapid pace it proved difficult to follow each cohesive thought. Who was the man who led her to this place? Where did he go? Why did he choose her?
About ten minutes later, the doors of the church opened to the eager crowd. The young girl curiously observed the other participants file into the aisles until all the seats filled, joy and laughter accompanying each believer as they settled in with friends.
Travis Cottrell and his praise team took the stage, signaling the beginning of the night’s events. From her front row seat, the young girl enviously watched the team sing with sincere, worshipful hearts, wondering if she would ever share a similar heart and desire for Christ.
The praise and worship in song continued, and the young girl observed a woman walking towards her from behind the stage. As the woman stepped closer, it became evident that it was Beth Moore, and it appeared as though she were striding purposefully towards the young girl.
Beth Moore smiled at her as she neared, and what took place next left the girl speechless.
Immediately following behind Beth Moore was the man who approached her in the crowd. It was the same man that led her into the sanctuary that held two thousand, the same man that offered a seat of her choosing.
There were two empty seats directly next to the girl that earlier were occupied. Beth Moore took the seat two places down, and the man took the seat beside the young girl.
The man was Beth Moore’s bodyguard.
The bodyguard did not know the identity of the young girl, or how much tragedy she had suffered. He never spoke to the girl during the remainder of the event, or glanced her way, but his presence provided a sense of security and reassuring safety the girl had not experienced since the horrific morning that changed everything.
God placed the bodyguard next to this spiritually damaged and heartbroken girl to demonstrate that she no longer had to fear. It was a physical reminder that He had never left her side, not during the shooting that claimed the innocent faithful, not during the years of struggle that threatened to claim her faith, and not now, as she wholeheartedly sought to reclaim what had always been hers. He would always be there.
That night the young girl prayed with her eyes closed for the first time in ten years. She was able to sing joyfully and with a heart full of praise, and participated in unabashed worship absent of any fear. She was finally safe.
Listening to this young girl share her story, I was overcome with the realization that it was meant for me to hear. Through the encounter on the plane, the shared taxi ride, and the placement of our seats together on two occasions, I knew our meeting wasn’t a coincidence.
Underlying fear permeated almost every aspect of this young girl’s life and with good reason. Fear comes in many forms, some more dramatic and painful than others, but we all will experience its devastating and paralyzing effect at some point. Those fears that have come in and out of my life aren’t nearly as comprehensive as those experienced by my new friend, but they all have impacted me negatively when I thought they were under my control.
What if I were to approach God as though safe, in the same way the young girl did when protected by the bodyguard? What if you did the same? What if we released our fears to Him in such a way it would allow us to move forward through our circumstances in a manner that suggested to others that we believe God is able to overcome all that makes us scared, all that produces anxiety, angst, and immobilization?
What if we decided to fully trust him with our fears when:
....we leave the doctor’s office with the devastating news of serious illness?
.... a loved one leaves us behind with a heart that now only knows bitterness?
.... the bills outweigh the income, and the worry outweighs the joy?
.... a rebellious child disappoints our expectations but delights the crowd that influences it?
.... we desire to step boldly forward when the accepted, popular opinion is to stay put?
While we don’t have a physical bodyguard beside us to convince us of God’s presence, the very assurances offered to the young girl are available just the same. God sat right next to her that night just like He promises to always sit right next to you.
Do not fear.
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)
Enveloped by the empty sanctuary, the young girl sat in the chair selected, waiting anxiously for the doors to open. Questions reverberated through her mind at such a rapid pace it proved difficult to follow each cohesive thought. Who was the man who led her to this place? Where did he go? Why did he choose her?
About ten minutes later, the doors of the church opened to the eager crowd. The young girl curiously observed the other participants file into the aisles until all the seats filled, joy and laughter accompanying each believer as they settled in with friends.
Travis Cottrell and his praise team took the stage, signaling the beginning of the night’s events. From her front row seat, the young girl enviously watched the team sing with sincere, worshipful hearts, wondering if she would ever share a similar heart and desire for Christ.
The praise and worship in song continued, and the young girl observed a woman walking towards her from behind the stage. As the woman stepped closer, it became evident that it was Beth Moore, and it appeared as though she were striding purposefully towards the young girl.
Beth Moore smiled at her as she neared, and what took place next left the girl speechless.
Immediately following behind Beth Moore was the man who approached her in the crowd. It was the same man that led her into the sanctuary that held two thousand, the same man that offered a seat of her choosing.
There were two empty seats directly next to the girl that earlier were occupied. Beth Moore took the seat two places down, and the man took the seat beside the young girl.
The man was Beth Moore’s bodyguard.
The bodyguard did not know the identity of the young girl, or how much tragedy she had suffered. He never spoke to the girl during the remainder of the event, or glanced her way, but his presence provided a sense of security and reassuring safety the girl had not experienced since the horrific morning that changed everything.
God placed the bodyguard next to this spiritually damaged and heartbroken girl to demonstrate that she no longer had to fear. It was a physical reminder that He had never left her side, not during the shooting that claimed the innocent faithful, not during the years of struggle that threatened to claim her faith, and not now, as she wholeheartedly sought to reclaim what had always been hers. He would always be there.
That night the young girl prayed with her eyes closed for the first time in ten years. She was able to sing joyfully and with a heart full of praise, and participated in unabashed worship absent of any fear. She was finally safe.
Listening to this young girl share her story, I was overcome with the realization that it was meant for me to hear. Through the encounter on the plane, the shared taxi ride, and the placement of our seats together on two occasions, I knew our meeting wasn’t a coincidence.
Underlying fear permeated almost every aspect of this young girl’s life and with good reason. Fear comes in many forms, some more dramatic and painful than others, but we all will experience its devastating and paralyzing effect at some point. Those fears that have come in and out of my life aren’t nearly as comprehensive as those experienced by my new friend, but they all have impacted me negatively when I thought they were under my control.
What if I were to approach God as though safe, in the same way the young girl did when protected by the bodyguard? What if you did the same? What if we released our fears to Him in such a way it would allow us to move forward through our circumstances in a manner that suggested to others that we believe God is able to overcome all that makes us scared, all that produces anxiety, angst, and immobilization?
What if we decided to fully trust him with our fears when:
....we leave the doctor’s office with the devastating news of serious illness?
.... a loved one leaves us behind with a heart that now only knows bitterness?
.... the bills outweigh the income, and the worry outweighs the joy?
.... a rebellious child disappoints our expectations but delights the crowd that influences it?
.... we desire to step boldly forward when the accepted, popular opinion is to stay put?
While we don’t have a physical bodyguard beside us to convince us of God’s presence, the very assurances offered to the young girl are available just the same. God sat right next to her that night just like He promises to always sit right next to you.
Do not fear.
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Fear of Prayer (Part Two)
You may want to read Part One before proceeding with the following post:
Eyes shut and heart full, our new friend remembered petitioning God that fateful morning that claimed the lives of three friends and injured eight others. Coming into His presence had always been safe, a place of peace and not fear, a place of security and not chaos. The unimaginable surreal moment of witnessing a horrific attack on faithful friends was an oxymoron of all that prayer represented, and would be a difficult struggle to understand in the years that defined her teenage memories.
The media hounded the families of the victims as well as those of the survivors. This young girl’s identity slowly intertwined with the events of that day, and admittedly, her faith began to waver. Approaching God in prayer no longer seemed safe to her, particularly when the last time she closed her eyes, bullets ricocheted through the foyer halls and into the bodies of those she loved. Any type of sound remotely resembling gunfire sent her scrambling to her knees and another reminder that safety for her seemed not to exist. Fear of crowds, fear of worship, and fear of prayer perpetuated an unstable and distancing relationship with the Lord, and left her questioning everything she had ever believed in.
Ten years would go by before she would try again to approach the One who loves her most.
About four months ago, and several weeks before we met, this young girl decided to attend a Living Proof simulcast in a local church that would broadcast to others nationwide. She was among the joyful thousands in attendance, and hopeful that the teachings over the weekend would jumpstart a restored relationship with God.
She remembers a little about the night’s events, but what she remembers most was the fear. Concentration was difficult, and when the lights dimmed, safety concerns returned. She was unable to close her eyes during prayer and no matter how earnestly she tried, her heart was not in a state to worship. Her attendance appeared to be a wasted effort and all consuming discouragement replaced all spiritual hope.
Later that night and before going to bed, disappointment flooded the wide-eyed conversation and vent session she had aloud with God. She wanted to feel secure with Him, she remembers imploring. She desired a closer relationship, and wanted to live a life absent of the ever-present fear. His Word promised to sustain, comfort and keep her, so where was He when she needed Him most?
She just wanted to feel safe.
The next morning she lined up outside the church hosting the event with about two thousand others. As she was standing among the crowd, a man she had never seen before steadily approached her.
“Come with me,” he said.
“I can’t come with you,” she replied. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m going inside of the church and you’re going to want to go where I am headed,” he responded.
Hesitantly, the young girl followed, somehow more curious than afraid. The man led her into the cavernous sanctuary where Beth Moore and Travis Cottrell led worship the night before. The two thousand seats were completely empty and the man looked at the young girl and said, “You may sit anywhere you would like. Choose any seat.”
“I can sit anywhere?” the girl asked.
“You may sit anywhere,” said the man and then he walked away.
The young girl sat down in her seat, all alone and in the same sanctuary that withheld the coveted security and safety she had been seeking hours earlier.
“Lord, please keep me safe,” the girl remembers saying aloud as she waited anxiously in the empty church……
(final part tomorrow)
Eyes shut and heart full, our new friend remembered petitioning God that fateful morning that claimed the lives of three friends and injured eight others. Coming into His presence had always been safe, a place of peace and not fear, a place of security and not chaos. The unimaginable surreal moment of witnessing a horrific attack on faithful friends was an oxymoron of all that prayer represented, and would be a difficult struggle to understand in the years that defined her teenage memories.
The media hounded the families of the victims as well as those of the survivors. This young girl’s identity slowly intertwined with the events of that day, and admittedly, her faith began to waver. Approaching God in prayer no longer seemed safe to her, particularly when the last time she closed her eyes, bullets ricocheted through the foyer halls and into the bodies of those she loved. Any type of sound remotely resembling gunfire sent her scrambling to her knees and another reminder that safety for her seemed not to exist. Fear of crowds, fear of worship, and fear of prayer perpetuated an unstable and distancing relationship with the Lord, and left her questioning everything she had ever believed in.
Ten years would go by before she would try again to approach the One who loves her most.
About four months ago, and several weeks before we met, this young girl decided to attend a Living Proof simulcast in a local church that would broadcast to others nationwide. She was among the joyful thousands in attendance, and hopeful that the teachings over the weekend would jumpstart a restored relationship with God.
She remembers a little about the night’s events, but what she remembers most was the fear. Concentration was difficult, and when the lights dimmed, safety concerns returned. She was unable to close her eyes during prayer and no matter how earnestly she tried, her heart was not in a state to worship. Her attendance appeared to be a wasted effort and all consuming discouragement replaced all spiritual hope.
Later that night and before going to bed, disappointment flooded the wide-eyed conversation and vent session she had aloud with God. She wanted to feel secure with Him, she remembers imploring. She desired a closer relationship, and wanted to live a life absent of the ever-present fear. His Word promised to sustain, comfort and keep her, so where was He when she needed Him most?
She just wanted to feel safe.
The next morning she lined up outside the church hosting the event with about two thousand others. As she was standing among the crowd, a man she had never seen before steadily approached her.
“Come with me,” he said.
“I can’t come with you,” she replied. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m going inside of the church and you’re going to want to go where I am headed,” he responded.
Hesitantly, the young girl followed, somehow more curious than afraid. The man led her into the cavernous sanctuary where Beth Moore and Travis Cottrell led worship the night before. The two thousand seats were completely empty and the man looked at the young girl and said, “You may sit anywhere you would like. Choose any seat.”
“I can sit anywhere?” the girl asked.
“You may sit anywhere,” said the man and then he walked away.
The young girl sat down in her seat, all alone and in the same sanctuary that withheld the coveted security and safety she had been seeking hours earlier.
“Lord, please keep me safe,” the girl remembers saying aloud as she waited anxiously in the empty church……
(final part tomorrow)
Saturday, November 8, 2008
I Don't Believe in Coincidence (Part One)
There is a story I feel compelled to tell. It is not my story, but one that captured my attention in a way that defies any notion of coincidence. For the past few weeks, I have struggled over and questioned the inadequacy of the ordinary words I could offer on behalf of an extraordinary account and it is my sincere hope that my attempt to do so will be worthy.
On the San Antonio flight traveling to a Living Proof event with good friends, I exchanged glances with a young girl on the plane on more than one occasion. I didn’t know the girl, and she didn’t know me, but there was a sense of familiarity I couldn’t quite place. After the flight landed in Texas, this same girl approached our group of four and inquired if we were attending the conference led by Beth Moore. We answered in the affirmative, engaging in small talk as each of us retrieved our luggage. She was from Kentucky and traveling alone but meeting up with friends later, so the five of us shared a taxi ride to our separate hotels. We arrived to our destination, said goodbye to our new friend, not really expecting to see her again.
Later that night, we joyfully lined up at the Alamodome along with thousands of other excited women, positioning ourselves to burst through the doors when they opened, hoping to secure a good seat among the ten thousand available. We managed to grab four seats together in a section that offered a great view and most importantly, easy access to the bathrooms. Diet coke consumption would be at an all time high over the next twenty-four hours, and any “accident” would only dampen our experience. (Get it? DAMPEN? Never mind.)
I sat down with my friends and looked to my left. Surprisingly the girl we met earlier was sitting directly next to me. We talked a bit, but then the music began, signaling the start of the night’s events. After it was over, we left for our hotel to get much needed rest for the full schedule planned the next day.
The following morning, we again lined up outside of the Alamodome. The doors opened, and thousands of women ran like gazelles in wobbly wedge high heels to reserve good seating. As I grabbed my seat, I noticed that the one next to me had a purse and a Bible laying claim to that particular chair. A few moments later, the same girl from the night before plopped down next to me, glancing at me with the same confounded expression I offered her.
This girl was on my same plane, shared a taxi, and among ten thousand women, ended up sitting directly next to me – TWICE.
The concurrent circumstances could not be coincidental and I was about to find out why.
My traveling companion Emmy and I engaged in deeper conversation with this girl and discovered that she was a survivor of a horrific school shooting. As a freshman in high school, this young girl was praying with an assembly of students in the foyer of the school, gathered in a circle, hands clasped and heads bowed, when an armed young man entered the school and sprayed bullets upon this group deep in prayer.
The girl recounted turning to look at the gunman straight in the eye as he fired on the unsuspecting group of students, shooting from left to right and then back left again. Gunfire hit eight of the students, three of them fatally, one a paralytic for life. The girl that spoke to us miraculously escaped injury, but suffered emotional and spiritual damage that would follow her for the next ten years.
The event that would happen ten years later would stun her even more……
(2nd part tomorrow)
On the San Antonio flight traveling to a Living Proof event with good friends, I exchanged glances with a young girl on the plane on more than one occasion. I didn’t know the girl, and she didn’t know me, but there was a sense of familiarity I couldn’t quite place. After the flight landed in Texas, this same girl approached our group of four and inquired if we were attending the conference led by Beth Moore. We answered in the affirmative, engaging in small talk as each of us retrieved our luggage. She was from Kentucky and traveling alone but meeting up with friends later, so the five of us shared a taxi ride to our separate hotels. We arrived to our destination, said goodbye to our new friend, not really expecting to see her again.
Later that night, we joyfully lined up at the Alamodome along with thousands of other excited women, positioning ourselves to burst through the doors when they opened, hoping to secure a good seat among the ten thousand available. We managed to grab four seats together in a section that offered a great view and most importantly, easy access to the bathrooms. Diet coke consumption would be at an all time high over the next twenty-four hours, and any “accident” would only dampen our experience. (Get it? DAMPEN? Never mind.)
I sat down with my friends and looked to my left. Surprisingly the girl we met earlier was sitting directly next to me. We talked a bit, but then the music began, signaling the start of the night’s events. After it was over, we left for our hotel to get much needed rest for the full schedule planned the next day.
The following morning, we again lined up outside of the Alamodome. The doors opened, and thousands of women ran like gazelles in wobbly wedge high heels to reserve good seating. As I grabbed my seat, I noticed that the one next to me had a purse and a Bible laying claim to that particular chair. A few moments later, the same girl from the night before plopped down next to me, glancing at me with the same confounded expression I offered her.
This girl was on my same plane, shared a taxi, and among ten thousand women, ended up sitting directly next to me – TWICE.
The concurrent circumstances could not be coincidental and I was about to find out why.
My traveling companion Emmy and I engaged in deeper conversation with this girl and discovered that she was a survivor of a horrific school shooting. As a freshman in high school, this young girl was praying with an assembly of students in the foyer of the school, gathered in a circle, hands clasped and heads bowed, when an armed young man entered the school and sprayed bullets upon this group deep in prayer.
The girl recounted turning to look at the gunman straight in the eye as he fired on the unsuspecting group of students, shooting from left to right and then back left again. Gunfire hit eight of the students, three of them fatally, one a paralytic for life. The girl that spoke to us miraculously escaped injury, but suffered emotional and spiritual damage that would follow her for the next ten years.
The event that would happen ten years later would stun her even more……
(2nd part tomorrow)
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