In 1986 one of the sports-movies-to-end-all-sports-movies was released. A tiny Indiana town scrapes together a few boys who overcome several hurdles to put together a scrappy season. The town rallies behind the boys and momentum grows until finally the underdog team from a town no one has ever heard of triumphs over a much larger school. Jimmy Chitwood sinks the last second shot to win the 1952 basketball championship. If you know anything about sports movies, you know I'm talking about the movie Hoosiers.
I have watched Hoosiers so many times and I've cried more than once during the pinnacle scene. There's just something about a story of an underdog that moves us, doesn't it? But this movie has always moved me for a different reason, due to the fact that it's a movie not just about a small town team, but it's also a movie about a small town.
I grew up in a small town. Whatever "small town" means to you, think smaller. As you drove into town, there's a population sign and most of my childhood it read "899." Then, at the next census, it jumped. To 901.
My graduating class had 50 students. When I took driver's education, I had to drive to the next town down the road with my instructor to practice driving through a stoplight. Because my town has never had one. Growing up, I could show you where every single classmate of mine lived, I could tell you their pet's name, I could tell you what church they attended, and I could tell you what car they drove when we all got our driver's licenses. I moved away from my hometown 25 years ago when I went to college. My parents still live there and not much has changed. Including that fact that nothing brings our small town together like an exciting sports season with any of the high school's teams.
When I was in high school, I was on the basketball team. My freshman year I was on Junior Varsity (also sometimes known as the "B" squad). I had three friends that were bumped up to Varsity, even though they were only freshmen. With such a young team, our Varsity did not have a winning record that year. My sophomore year I played on both Junior Varsity and Varsity. It was the most physically exhausting time of my life because I practiced with both teams. I played in several Varsity games and that year, due to more experience, we fared a little better. We had a winning record for the first time in a few seasons. We won the first round of tournament play and you would have thought we won the entire championship...we were so excited. We lost the very next game to end our season, but it was an improvement over the previous year. My junior year, we really got rolling. I think our record was something like 22-2.
In my state, the basketball playoffs are Regionals, then you advance to Sectionals, then you advance to the State Tournament. Keep winning, keep playing. Lose and you're done. Schools are matched up by enrollment numbers. So schools play other schools relatively the same student body size.
My junior year, during tournament time we won the first two games to become Regional Champs. We had two games to win in Sectionals to get to the State Tournament in girls' basketball for the first time in our town's history. We won the first Sectional game but lost the game that would have put us in the State Tournament. My senior year, the exact thing happened. Against the same teams. In a wild coincidence, the same four teams made it to Sectionals and the outcome was exactly the same. We beat the same team in the first game, we lost to the same team in the second game. Both years we were so close to making it to the State Tournament! But it was not to be.
What I remember most about those winning years was the camaraderie with my teammates, the butterflies in my stomach at the start of every game, the teams we battled against, and the support from the fans. The support from our small town was incredible. I would go to our local grocery store and people I bumped into would say, "Good game last night," or "You girls are going to win next week." For many games during the regular season, the stands were full. But during tournament time, they were packed. The whole town and then some would show up to support us. Alumni would come back from college to watch. Older alumni would bring their families to watch and cheer. The bleachers would be a sea of blue and white, our school colors. And it would get SO LOUD. Every made basket was celebrated. Students and adults jumped out of their seats multiple times. Cheerleaders rallied the fans in chants of support. At times the volume was so high in the gyms that we could barely hear our coach from the bench or even each other out on the floor.
To this day, twenty-five years later, when I go to a high school basketball game, I still get butterflies in my stomach when the pep band is playing in the gym, the smell of popcorn floats through the air, the players' shoes are squeaking on the floor during warm-ups, and then the warm-up clock buzzes, the players are introduced and the refs assemble the teams on the floor for the opening jump ball. Those butterflies are Pavlovian, I suppose. All those sounds, smells, and sights bring back a lot of memories and feelings.
Seven years after my team got so close to the State Tournament, the girls' basketball team DID make it to State for the first time in our school's history. (The boys' one appearance at State happened in 1972.) You can bet that I was there, cheering on those girls. It was an exciting time and support from the community was out in full-force. Signs in store windows, pep rallies, buses full of students, blue and white shirts on everyone, signs being held up at games, a rowdy and excited student section, a loud and proud pep band giving it their all. And it's all happening again right now.
This time it's the boys' basketball team making a run of it towards the State Tournament. And even though I live 50 miles away and haven't been to a game this year, it's all very exciting all over again. My parents go to just about every basketball game, even though they haven't had a child in the school system in 16 years. That's what you do in a small town. You support every team and cheer on kids you have watched grow up. You watch children of second, third, and maybe even fourth generations of families who have been playing basketball for the school for years. Both my dad and my grandpa played basketball at the same high school I did. At least three of the boys on the team this year has a parent that went to high school with me (man, I'm old). Through my parents being fans, I've heard updates and stories about this year's team. My parents took my daughter to her first basketball game last week to watch this team of boys. She's told me that she wouldn't go again because her "heart was too loud in her chest." That means the bass drum in the pep band was loud and she's four so that's the best way she could explain that. To her, the best part of the game was the bag of popcorn she consumed.
I am loving seeing all of the photos on Facebook of all of the boys' games. I love seeing the sea of blue and white sitting in the bleachers. I love seeing the joy and pride on the faces of the fans, players, and parents as this team takes the whole town on an exciting and wild ride. And it's different when it's your own hometown, versus another team you're rooting for. I have two cousins who grew up in a small town, about the same size as mine. When they were in high school they made it to the State Tournament in both football and basketball. And boy, was that an exciting time. I went to several games, cheered for my cousins, cheered for their friends I had gotten to know. But it just isn't the same as when it's your own town playing.
This is one of the best parts of being from a small town...supporting the local high school team, whether it's basketball, football, volleyball, or wrestling. And when it's a season where the team is really good, it's just so unifying for all those fans. There just isn't really anything else like it.
I won't be able to go to the big Sectional game tomorrow and if the boys win and make it to the State Tournament, I won't be able to go to that either. But I'll be cheering from afar! And maybe I'll pop Hoosiers into the DVD player, just for old times' sake.
Friday, March 9, 2018
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Billy Graham
Billy Graham finally saw the face of his Savior today, when he passed away and entered Heaven. This morning when the news story broke on the TV station I was watching, they ran a piece highlighting his life and ministry and I cried. My husband and I have had the conversation before on the subject of celebrities dying and that people cry over a person they personally never knew. I told my husband I couldn't think of one celebrity that I would cry about when they die. I was wrong. I've been weepy all morning over Billy Graham's death. But it's not tears over the man so much, as tears over what he meant to so many people, worldwide.
Billy Graham was a huge part of the Christian culture where I grew up. Once upon a time, he was the president at the Christian school where I started my college career. He left that position to go into his preaching ministry full-time. His legacy was still felt at that school when I attended over twenty years ago; forty years after he left. Billy's ministry headquarters were also located in the Twin Cities for many years before moving to his home state of North Carolina. He also started the biggest local Christian radio station in the Twin Cities. Yes, the format is very different from when he started it over sixty years ago, but the purpose of the radio station remains the same. To proclaim the gospel. The station reaches millions every day with the good news that Jesus came to save mankind. The ripple effects of Billy's ministry will never be known this side of heaven.
But perhaps the biggest impact of Billy Graham's legacy in my life is the fact that my grandparents went to one of his crusades in 1950 and accepted Christ. Of course, I'm sure that there were many people in my grandparents' lives that contributed to their faith journey. They both grew up going to church. I'm sure their mothers prayed for them. They had Sunday School teachers and pastors who poured into their lives. But Billy Graham was the one that got them to cross the finish line and start their new lives in Christ. The gospel message that Billy spoke that day finally reaped all of the seeds of faith that so many had sown into my grandparents' lives. Because of their decision, they raised six children in a Christian home. My grandma's favorite verse is Joshua 24:15 which says, "But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." And they have served their Savior faithfully together for over 60 years. And because of that, their daughter did the same and raised me in a Christian home that served the Lord. And now, I do the same with my family.
So why am I so weepy today? Good grief, the man was 99. He lived a good, long life. He is in the very presence of Jesus and with his beloved wife, Ruth. I never attended one of Billy Graham's crusades. I did not know the man personally. I think one of the reasons for my tears is because his legacy is part of the fabric woven into my journey of faith. But I think mostly it's because of what he stood for - The Gospel of Jesus Christ. The fact that Jesus left Heaven to come to earth to die on a cross so that sinful mankind can enter into a relationship with God is the most paradoxical event in history. The gospel...so simple a child can understand it. Yet so complicated that biblical scholars have debated it and dissected it for centuries. The gospel...it can humble you to your knees, in a low posture. Yet it can cause you to reach your hands as high as possible, in as big of a posture as you can muster. The gospel...it can make you weep while wearing the biggest smile on your face. The gospel...it brings freedom to those who believe it. Yet some rulers and governments in history have tried to repress it because of their fear. Billy Graham was about one thing - telling as many people as possible around the world the good news of the gospel. His greatest goal was to point others to Christ. He knew that the gospel cannot and will not be stopped. God gave him a giant and far-reaching platform to tell people all over the world. And people listened. They flocked to Billy's crusades by the millions. Because Billy spoke the truth. And it was never about him. It was always about Jesus.
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| In 2015 we took a family vacation to North Carolina. We went to a Billy Graham exhibit at a museum in Raleigh. This was a snapshot I took of one of Billy's Bibles. |
Billy Graham was a huge part of the Christian culture where I grew up. Once upon a time, he was the president at the Christian school where I started my college career. He left that position to go into his preaching ministry full-time. His legacy was still felt at that school when I attended over twenty years ago; forty years after he left. Billy's ministry headquarters were also located in the Twin Cities for many years before moving to his home state of North Carolina. He also started the biggest local Christian radio station in the Twin Cities. Yes, the format is very different from when he started it over sixty years ago, but the purpose of the radio station remains the same. To proclaim the gospel. The station reaches millions every day with the good news that Jesus came to save mankind. The ripple effects of Billy's ministry will never be known this side of heaven.
But perhaps the biggest impact of Billy Graham's legacy in my life is the fact that my grandparents went to one of his crusades in 1950 and accepted Christ. Of course, I'm sure that there were many people in my grandparents' lives that contributed to their faith journey. They both grew up going to church. I'm sure their mothers prayed for them. They had Sunday School teachers and pastors who poured into their lives. But Billy Graham was the one that got them to cross the finish line and start their new lives in Christ. The gospel message that Billy spoke that day finally reaped all of the seeds of faith that so many had sown into my grandparents' lives. Because of their decision, they raised six children in a Christian home. My grandma's favorite verse is Joshua 24:15 which says, "But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." And they have served their Savior faithfully together for over 60 years. And because of that, their daughter did the same and raised me in a Christian home that served the Lord. And now, I do the same with my family.
So why am I so weepy today? Good grief, the man was 99. He lived a good, long life. He is in the very presence of Jesus and with his beloved wife, Ruth. I never attended one of Billy Graham's crusades. I did not know the man personally. I think one of the reasons for my tears is because his legacy is part of the fabric woven into my journey of faith. But I think mostly it's because of what he stood for - The Gospel of Jesus Christ. The fact that Jesus left Heaven to come to earth to die on a cross so that sinful mankind can enter into a relationship with God is the most paradoxical event in history. The gospel...so simple a child can understand it. Yet so complicated that biblical scholars have debated it and dissected it for centuries. The gospel...it can humble you to your knees, in a low posture. Yet it can cause you to reach your hands as high as possible, in as big of a posture as you can muster. The gospel...it can make you weep while wearing the biggest smile on your face. The gospel...it brings freedom to those who believe it. Yet some rulers and governments in history have tried to repress it because of their fear. Billy Graham was about one thing - telling as many people as possible around the world the good news of the gospel. His greatest goal was to point others to Christ. He knew that the gospel cannot and will not be stopped. God gave him a giant and far-reaching platform to tell people all over the world. And people listened. They flocked to Billy's crusades by the millions. Because Billy spoke the truth. And it was never about him. It was always about Jesus.
Was Billy Graham perfect? Nope. Far from it. Because no one is perfect. Did Billy realize that he was a sinner and only the saving grace of Jesus Christ could rescue him and give him life? Yes. Does God love Billy Graham more than He loves you? Nope. Will we ever have the scope of ministry Billy was given? Nope. In Mark 25 Jesus told a parable of what Heaven is like. This is the passage of scripture where Jesus is quoted as saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Those are the six words that every Christ follower longs to hear when they enter Heaven. I am certain that Billy Graham heard those precious words today. Not because of the number of people he brought to Christ (I don't think God really cares about stats). But rather because he was obedient to God's calling on his life and he did his best for Jesus with what he was given. May we all do the same.
Friday, April 21, 2017
A $3150 ripple effect
Last week I got a front row seat to a HUGE answer to prayer, thanks to a Facebook post by a friend. I just delight when God answers a prayer with a resounding, "Yes. I've got this," and last week there was encouragement when an answer like that was shared on social media.
I have two friends from my college days. Let's call them Eric and Jen (not their real names since I'm going rouge and didn't ask permission to write about this event. Ha!). Eric and Jen met in college and married one another. They have both always had a heart for teenage students and helping them cultivate a personal relationship with Jesus. Eric was a youth pastor for many years. He moved from being a youth pastor within the church to working with a ministry that reached teenagers. Through all those years, Jen was by his side, being a part of the ministry with him. Now, Eric works in a ministry that does not include students, but adult athletes. (And Jen is still by his side, as a part of the ministry.) However, Eric and Jen still have a passion for reaching students for Christ.
Eric and Jen have two teenage children. So currently, they host what they call "Breakfast Club." Once a week Jen makes breakfast and a pile of teenagers cram into their house before school to eat and have a Bible study led by Eric. Jen has the gift of hospitality - seriously, she will welcome anyone in her home. And she will feed them. And she's one of those rare gems who can rock it, cooking for the masses. It does not phase her when multitudes of people stream through her door and into her kitchen. So Eric and Jen always say that Breakfast Club is "feeding their tummies and feeding their souls." She cooks, he teaches. Kingdom teamwork!
They often post photos on Facebook of how this Bible Study is growing. I have seen photos of their basement FILLED with teenagers. Seriously, they are piled on the furniture, there are folding chairs everywhere, and every space on the floor is occupied. Jen used to post photos of the giant pile of shoes by their front door, in the entryway. Until the shoe pile became too big for the space! Now the shoe pile is out in the garage. The group has grown to over 50 kids showing up in the early morning to eat and hear from God's Word.
Now, feeding 50+ teenagers a few times a month isn't a cheap endeavor. And I would imagine that as the group has grown, the cost has grown. So, Eric and Jen began to pray to ask God if they should continue Breakfast Club or finish out this school year and end the Bible Study. They asked God to make it very clear what He wanted them to do. No ambiguity, please.
About a week after praying about continuing Breakfast Club, Eric had someone ask him about the "pile of shoes" pictures he had been seeing on social media and what that was all about. Eric told him what it was all about and he asked how much it cost each month to make all that food for that many students. Eric told him and that was the end of that.
A few days later, Jen gets an envelope in the mail addressed to her and she opens it and finds this.
A check for $3150, which is enough to cover the cost of Breakfast Club for the entire school year next year. Like Eric said, in his post, "Who does this?" This money is from a couple who live several states away from where these students live. They will never meet these kids. But my guess is that they were being obedient to God and what He asked them to do!
The answer to Eric and Jen's prayer about continuing Breakfast Club was met with a resounding, "Yes!" from God. Wow. What a miracle. What a testimony this will be to those students about the power of prayer. Obviously God has plans for those students and He wants to continue to use the Bible Study to rock their world and create ripple effects for years to come. That personally is one of my favorite aspects of ministering to teenagers - the ripple effects. You know how you toss a rock into the water and the ripples just get farther and farther away from where the rock landed? That happens in ministry too. The way that kids can spiritually grow when taught through God's Word can shape them for years to come. And then sometimes, in their adult years, they turn around and minister to teenagers and the ripples of God's Love just keep reaching out throughout the generations. It's amazing to think about how God is going to multiply this $3150 many times over because of the Truth students will learn though another year of Bible study because someone obeyed and gave.
This world pulls at teenagers in a million different ways and there's a lot of "noise" out there, demanding their attention. This is just one small way God is using a couple to cut through the noise to teach these kids that they matter, they are loved, and they need Jesus.
I have two friends from my college days. Let's call them Eric and Jen (not their real names since I'm going rouge and didn't ask permission to write about this event. Ha!). Eric and Jen met in college and married one another. They have both always had a heart for teenage students and helping them cultivate a personal relationship with Jesus. Eric was a youth pastor for many years. He moved from being a youth pastor within the church to working with a ministry that reached teenagers. Through all those years, Jen was by his side, being a part of the ministry with him. Now, Eric works in a ministry that does not include students, but adult athletes. (And Jen is still by his side, as a part of the ministry.) However, Eric and Jen still have a passion for reaching students for Christ.
Eric and Jen have two teenage children. So currently, they host what they call "Breakfast Club." Once a week Jen makes breakfast and a pile of teenagers cram into their house before school to eat and have a Bible study led by Eric. Jen has the gift of hospitality - seriously, she will welcome anyone in her home. And she will feed them. And she's one of those rare gems who can rock it, cooking for the masses. It does not phase her when multitudes of people stream through her door and into her kitchen. So Eric and Jen always say that Breakfast Club is "feeding their tummies and feeding their souls." She cooks, he teaches. Kingdom teamwork!
They often post photos on Facebook of how this Bible Study is growing. I have seen photos of their basement FILLED with teenagers. Seriously, they are piled on the furniture, there are folding chairs everywhere, and every space on the floor is occupied. Jen used to post photos of the giant pile of shoes by their front door, in the entryway. Until the shoe pile became too big for the space! Now the shoe pile is out in the garage. The group has grown to over 50 kids showing up in the early morning to eat and hear from God's Word.
Now, feeding 50+ teenagers a few times a month isn't a cheap endeavor. And I would imagine that as the group has grown, the cost has grown. So, Eric and Jen began to pray to ask God if they should continue Breakfast Club or finish out this school year and end the Bible Study. They asked God to make it very clear what He wanted them to do. No ambiguity, please.
About a week after praying about continuing Breakfast Club, Eric had someone ask him about the "pile of shoes" pictures he had been seeing on social media and what that was all about. Eric told him what it was all about and he asked how much it cost each month to make all that food for that many students. Eric told him and that was the end of that.
A few days later, Jen gets an envelope in the mail addressed to her and she opens it and finds this.
A check for $3150, which is enough to cover the cost of Breakfast Club for the entire school year next year. Like Eric said, in his post, "Who does this?" This money is from a couple who live several states away from where these students live. They will never meet these kids. But my guess is that they were being obedient to God and what He asked them to do!
The answer to Eric and Jen's prayer about continuing Breakfast Club was met with a resounding, "Yes!" from God. Wow. What a miracle. What a testimony this will be to those students about the power of prayer. Obviously God has plans for those students and He wants to continue to use the Bible Study to rock their world and create ripple effects for years to come. That personally is one of my favorite aspects of ministering to teenagers - the ripple effects. You know how you toss a rock into the water and the ripples just get farther and farther away from where the rock landed? That happens in ministry too. The way that kids can spiritually grow when taught through God's Word can shape them for years to come. And then sometimes, in their adult years, they turn around and minister to teenagers and the ripples of God's Love just keep reaching out throughout the generations. It's amazing to think about how God is going to multiply this $3150 many times over because of the Truth students will learn though another year of Bible study because someone obeyed and gave.
This world pulls at teenagers in a million different ways and there's a lot of "noise" out there, demanding their attention. This is just one small way God is using a couple to cut through the noise to teach these kids that they matter, they are loved, and they need Jesus.
Monday, April 10, 2017
This one's for the moms!
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| Happy Monday, everyone! |
The sun was barely up and I already had a toddler that wasn't obeying, the baby spit up all over my bare foot (being a parent is so gross sometimes), there was laundry to dry, a diaper pail to empty and reload with the bag for it, a full kitchen garbage bag to take out, the baby had a nasty dirty diaper and I had a dreaded sink full of dishes to tackle - in addition to getting myself ready for work and the toddler ready to go to daycare. (How can it be that I get up at 5:00 every day and barely make my 7:30 deadline of getting out of the house?)
We are on day twelve of my husband being gone - I haven't even seen him yet this month and we're ten days into the month. So last night, when I looked at the dishes and bottles that were dirty, I didn't have the gumption to deal with it. I was just too tired to hand wash bottles AGAIN. It's a never-ending chore right now. But that meant that I had to wash them this morning so there were enough to get the baby through the day. The baby sat at my feet and cried the whole time I stood at the sink. Nothing could console him except being held. Which makes washing bottles fairly difficult!
As I was washing a bottle for about the 5,000 time in my life, I could feel the frustration rising and my attitude was about to go south pretty dang quick. I didn't WANT to wash another bottle - why does this baby drink so many bottles? I didn't WANT to pack my lunch for the day - why do I have to take leftovers to be heated in a gross microwave in our office break room? I didn't WANT to brush my toddler's hair - what did she get in her hair that was so sticky and impossible to brush? I didn't WANT to deal with a crying baby - what was his deal today? But as the pity party was taking root and I was scrubbing that darn bottle, suddenly this came to mind: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord. Colossians 3:23. Attitude check! I know that I know that I know that in everything I do, I should do it as working for the Lord - especially the mundane everyday things that need to be done. Especially the everyday things that get no accolades. Especially the everyday things that can grind down your joy in the moment. Especially the every day work that no one sees. And most days, I FAIL at working with all my heart, as working for the Lord. It's usually all about poor 'ol me.
Moms, we have a lot of those thankless, mundane moments, don't we? And yes, you are doing it for your kids. Because it's what you signed up for, because they can't wipe their own runny noses, because they can't pour themselves a bowl of cereal, because they can't zip their own jacket, because they can't buy themselves shoes for their never-stopping-growing-feet, because they can't do that science project all by themselves, because they can't drive themselves to soccer practice, because they can't put money in their lunch account, because they can't wrap that friend's birthday present, and on and on. For years and years. But all of those things you're doing? You're working for the One who sees. Who knows there are hard days. Who has asked you to be a steward of these kids and knows you're trying so hard. The Lord has given you these joyful, challenging, giggling, hot-mess little ones. And when you serve the children, you're serving the Lord as well. So, feel encouraged. There are a lot of moms who know what you're going through. There's lots of moms who know how you feel in the thankless moments. And if they could give you a high five, or a hug, or a gold star, or whatever you need, those fellow "moms in the trenches" would.
Keep working. With all your heart. Because your kids will never thank you for washing their bottles over and over and over. Or for any of the other millions of chores you will do just to keep them safe, healthy, and alive! But they will thank you for being their mom.
Do the unnoticed things for the Lord. Because He sees. He notices - because you are taking care of His kids. The gifts that He has entrusted to you for a short time. Take heart, momma. You can do it!
Monday, January 30, 2017
Being an "old" mom
It has been over a year since I lasted posted anything to my blog. What have I been doing in that time? Well, you know - working a full-time job, I worked a part-time job for most of that chunk of time, running my Mary Kay business, raising a toddler, and oh yeah, growing another child inside of me, giving birth, and adjusting as a mom of two kids. Just a couple of things going on. It's that last little part that I've been mulling over and wanting to write about for some time now.
I am an old mom. I got a late start in life when it came to my own family, as that was God's plan for me. I didn't put kids "on hold" for the sake of a career. That's just how it worked out for me. I know there are many women who have children toward the end of their child-bearing years, so I'm certainly not the exception. But I am in the minority. Although, it sounds like maybe it's a growing minority. I saw a news story a couple weeks ago about having babies at 50. And according to the interwebs, one in five women in the US are having their first child at age 35 or older.
Did you know that any woman over 35 is considered a "geriatric pregnancy?" Worst. Medical. Term. Ever. I guess it's more common to hear "advanced maternal age," but I personally heard geriatric pregnancy in my experience. I can't help but think of some old granny with a white bun on top of her head while she has a bun in the oven. For some reason, I picture the old lady from Looney Tunes. Um, so not me. Or any woman who is expecting, no matter her age.
A lot of my friends that are my same age got married in their mid twenties and were having babies while they were in their late twenties or early thirties. I have friends my same age that have children getting their driver's license. I have friends my same age that have children graduating from high school. I have friends my same age who already have kids in college. And here's the real kicker - I have friends my same age that are becoming grandparents. Grandparents! I am a whole generation behind some of my friends. Or they are a generation ahead of me - however you want to look at it.
Being a first time mom at 39, I sometimes wonder about my daughter's future school friends and their parents. More than likely, my husband and I will be two of the oldest parents of the kids in the class of 2032; although, maybe not, since more women are having kids after 35. My daughter will graduate 40 years after I did. My husband and I are both pretty "young at heart" so I have no doubt we won't have any trouble making friends with our kids' friends' parents. It's just strange to think about it - the MOTHER of my daughter's future best friend could've been born when I was in high school.
My grandma was a young mother. She was 20 when she gave birth to my mom. My mom was a young mother. She was 22 when she gave birth to me. I am the oldest grandchild, so that means that my grandma was 42 when I was born, making her a grandma. Guess how old I was when I had my second child - 42. The same age my grandma was when I was born! It's kind of crazy to think about.
The other day I was changing my daughter's diaper and a thought occurred to me. It is very well possible, and most likely, that our son will be about three-years-old or so when he is potty trained. This means I will be changing my son's diapers when I'm 45. Changing diapers at 45 is something some of my friends my age can't even imagine - their kids will be teenagers or out of the house when we hit 45. Several will probably be changing diapers, but it will be their grand kids. Not their own babies.
I'll be honest - being a mom of babies in your forties is hard. I'm tired and often wish I had the energy I had 10 of 15 years ago. There's a reason most people have babies in their twenties and thirties. You're up in the night a lot, you're on the floor a lot, you're lugging around babies in bucket car seats, you're lifting kids into high chairs, car seats, and cribs. It can be exhausting, physically. But it can be empowering too. There are times I honestly think, "A lesser woman couldn't do it. But I can! Thank you God for giving me health to do this. Even if my back is sore. And my knee hurts. And I just want to sleep for more than three hours at a time." You just do what you have to do! Those babies don't care how old you are. All they know is that they need their mama to take care of them.
I have a friend who has a few kids and her youngest is about nine-years-old. When she found out I was having my second child at 42, she said, "I can't imagine." I'm sure there are plenty of people who have thought, "Glad it isn't me. I'm glad I had my kids when I was young." But you know what, I am glad it's me. If I were in charge of my life, I would've been married 10 years earlier and started my family before I was 30. But I'm not in charge. God is. I told Him a long time ago (in high school) that I desired what He had planned for me and He was driving - I'm just along for the ride. Why did I have to wait to become a wife and a mom? I'll never know on this side of heaven. But I'm so happy that it was God's plan for me to become a wife and a mom. The fulfillment of my heart's desires was never a guarantee. It's not a guarantee for anyone. So I'm just so glad that even though I'm an old mom, I am a mom. Even if it doesn't "look" like I thought it would look when I was in my twenties. If you would have told me at twenty-two, "Well, you have to wait fourteen more years before you meet the man you'll marry, and fifteen years from now you'll be the bride, then about the time your friends are entering the teenage years of parenting you will just be getting started. Oh, and when you send your first kid to kindergarten, the majority of your friends will have a kid in college," I would have said, "Shut. Up. That cannot be for real."
If you are at a place in life where you thought, in your younger years, would "look" different than it does, please take heart. When you have an expectation of how you think things should be, it can lead to disappointment. Be patient, be grateful, be willing to obey God's leading. There have been times in my life when I have questioned God's plan for me and so I have repeated, out loud, over and over, "I trust You. I trust You. I trust You." Sometimes that's all the prayer you need to say.
I am an old mom. I got a late start in life when it came to my own family, as that was God's plan for me. I didn't put kids "on hold" for the sake of a career. That's just how it worked out for me. I know there are many women who have children toward the end of their child-bearing years, so I'm certainly not the exception. But I am in the minority. Although, it sounds like maybe it's a growing minority. I saw a news story a couple weeks ago about having babies at 50. And according to the interwebs, one in five women in the US are having their first child at age 35 or older.
Did you know that any woman over 35 is considered a "geriatric pregnancy?" Worst. Medical. Term. Ever. I guess it's more common to hear "advanced maternal age," but I personally heard geriatric pregnancy in my experience. I can't help but think of some old granny with a white bun on top of her head while she has a bun in the oven. For some reason, I picture the old lady from Looney Tunes. Um, so not me. Or any woman who is expecting, no matter her age.
A lot of my friends that are my same age got married in their mid twenties and were having babies while they were in their late twenties or early thirties. I have friends my same age that have children getting their driver's license. I have friends my same age that have children graduating from high school. I have friends my same age who already have kids in college. And here's the real kicker - I have friends my same age that are becoming grandparents. Grandparents! I am a whole generation behind some of my friends. Or they are a generation ahead of me - however you want to look at it.
Being a first time mom at 39, I sometimes wonder about my daughter's future school friends and their parents. More than likely, my husband and I will be two of the oldest parents of the kids in the class of 2032; although, maybe not, since more women are having kids after 35. My daughter will graduate 40 years after I did. My husband and I are both pretty "young at heart" so I have no doubt we won't have any trouble making friends with our kids' friends' parents. It's just strange to think about it - the MOTHER of my daughter's future best friend could've been born when I was in high school.
My grandma was a young mother. She was 20 when she gave birth to my mom. My mom was a young mother. She was 22 when she gave birth to me. I am the oldest grandchild, so that means that my grandma was 42 when I was born, making her a grandma. Guess how old I was when I had my second child - 42. The same age my grandma was when I was born! It's kind of crazy to think about.
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| This is my grandma and me. She is 42, I am 7 days old. |
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| This is my son and me. I am 42, he is five days old. |
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| This is my grandma and my son. She is 84, double the age when I was born. I may have been her first grandchild, but he is not her first great-grandchild. He's number 23, I believe. |
The other day I was changing my daughter's diaper and a thought occurred to me. It is very well possible, and most likely, that our son will be about three-years-old or so when he is potty trained. This means I will be changing my son's diapers when I'm 45. Changing diapers at 45 is something some of my friends my age can't even imagine - their kids will be teenagers or out of the house when we hit 45. Several will probably be changing diapers, but it will be their grand kids. Not their own babies.
I'll be honest - being a mom of babies in your forties is hard. I'm tired and often wish I had the energy I had 10 of 15 years ago. There's a reason most people have babies in their twenties and thirties. You're up in the night a lot, you're on the floor a lot, you're lugging around babies in bucket car seats, you're lifting kids into high chairs, car seats, and cribs. It can be exhausting, physically. But it can be empowering too. There are times I honestly think, "A lesser woman couldn't do it. But I can! Thank you God for giving me health to do this. Even if my back is sore. And my knee hurts. And I just want to sleep for more than three hours at a time." You just do what you have to do! Those babies don't care how old you are. All they know is that they need their mama to take care of them.
I have a friend who has a few kids and her youngest is about nine-years-old. When she found out I was having my second child at 42, she said, "I can't imagine." I'm sure there are plenty of people who have thought, "Glad it isn't me. I'm glad I had my kids when I was young." But you know what, I am glad it's me. If I were in charge of my life, I would've been married 10 years earlier and started my family before I was 30. But I'm not in charge. God is. I told Him a long time ago (in high school) that I desired what He had planned for me and He was driving - I'm just along for the ride. Why did I have to wait to become a wife and a mom? I'll never know on this side of heaven. But I'm so happy that it was God's plan for me to become a wife and a mom. The fulfillment of my heart's desires was never a guarantee. It's not a guarantee for anyone. So I'm just so glad that even though I'm an old mom, I am a mom. Even if it doesn't "look" like I thought it would look when I was in my twenties. If you would have told me at twenty-two, "Well, you have to wait fourteen more years before you meet the man you'll marry, and fifteen years from now you'll be the bride, then about the time your friends are entering the teenage years of parenting you will just be getting started. Oh, and when you send your first kid to kindergarten, the majority of your friends will have a kid in college," I would have said, "Shut. Up. That cannot be for real."
If you are at a place in life where you thought, in your younger years, would "look" different than it does, please take heart. When you have an expectation of how you think things should be, it can lead to disappointment. Be patient, be grateful, be willing to obey God's leading. There have been times in my life when I have questioned God's plan for me and so I have repeated, out loud, over and over, "I trust You. I trust You. I trust You." Sometimes that's all the prayer you need to say.
Friday, October 9, 2015
That time a bird made me punch myself in the face
I hate birds.
Now, before bird watchers, bird lovers, and people who have birds as pets come after me with pitchforks and torches, let me clarify. I hate birds that are in a space I don't feel like they should be in.
For example, I work at a testing lab. And I used to file folders in a room full of filing cabinets. This room had a cement floor (no carpet), and no heating or air-conditioning vented in. Just a ceiling of pipes above my head. The problem with this room was that there was a giant hole in the wall that looked down into my lab's warehouse. The warehouse is where we have our shipping area and many times the "garage door" in our shipping area is open for part of the day. And sometimes, a bird flies in. One day I opened the door to go into the filing room and a bird left the pipe it was sitting on up by the ceiling and flew across the room. Remember that giant hole in the wall? It had flown into the warehouse, flown up into the filing room, and was hopelessly lost. I wasn't expecting to see a bird so I screamed, turned on my heel and SLAMMED the door from our offices into the filing room. I did not want that bird flying through the open door and into the office area! That little sparrow or whatever about gave me a heart attack.
Here's another example of birds in a space that I don't like. I think that birds belong in the sky, in the trees, on rooftops, and on electric wires. I do not like when birds are walking around on the ground. It seems unnatural to me. One of my quirks, I know. But if you want to make me nervous, put me in a city space with pigeons walking around with no fear of people. Geese? Ick, no. Do I get a little skiddish at birds walking around in a petting zoo area? You bet. It does not seem natural to me. Fly away, duck. Get in the water. Please don't walk behind me!
If I were ever to become a spy and were captured by the enemy, all they would have to do to torture me to give up spy secrets is throw me in a chicken coop. I'd sing like a bird. (See what I did there?)
Last week Husby was out of town. One morning I was carrying our daughter out to the car in the garage to leave for the day. Our garage is attached to our house. As I walked around the vehicle to get her into her car seat, a bird swooped down from the wall behind me and flew to the other side of the garage. Heart attack! I have several seasonal wreaths hanging up high on the garage wall and I switch them out on the front door as the seasons change. It had been sitting on one of the wreaths. You have never seen me strap my daughter into her car seat so fast. I was so scared that bird was going to fly into the vehicle. And I don't like being in a confined space with a bird! I had to go back into the house to get the rest of our bags and I turned around and the door into the house was open. I don't always get it all the way shut when going back and forth between the house and the garage. I screamed, "The door is open!" And ran as fast as I could and slammed the door behind me. The whole commotion caused my daughter to start crying in the car. I quickly gathered our bags that were sitting in the entry way and cracked the door, cautiously scanning the entire garage. There it was. Sitting on the garage door track. It was a sparrow or chickadee or something. I don't know. It was small. Which shouldn't be frightening, but small things move fast!
Most mornings I make at least two trips, sometimes three, back and forth between the car and the house. I call myself the "pack mule." I have a lot of junk to haul around. I have a bag for my daughter's day, with her food, blankie, diapers, wipes, an extra outfit, and maybe a favorite toy. But I also bring her diaper bag back and forth every day. On the days when my sister watches her, they sometimes run errands so a diaper bag is needed. Then I have my laptop in a bag. And my purse. And another bag with stuff I may need for my Mary Kay business or the administrative assistant job I do for my church. And finally, my lunch bag. Like I said, pack mule! Every bag has a place in our car, which is a routine I've perfected - placing each bag in the spot it's going to be easiest to grab when it is time for that particular bag to leave the vehicle. Some go in the back seat. Some go on the floor under my daughter's feet. And some go on the front seat.
But with the bird flying around my garage, the ultimate goal was to get into the vehicle as quickly as possible. There would be no walking around to the back door...walking around to the passenger side. So there I was, standing in the house, watching the bird through the cracked door. It was flying around. I waited until it landed on the garage door track again and made a break for it. I opened the driver's side door and tried to heave my bags into the passenger seat. But I couldn't get enough force, so I got in with the bags in my left hand. I couldn't close my door. The bags were in the way. So I heaved the bags over my body into the passenger seat. In doing so, I punched myself in the face. I slammed my car door and sat there with my heart racing. My daughter stopped crying.
I backed out of the garage and there was the bird. We have a three car garage and it was sitting on the track of the smaller garage door (the third stall). When I hit the button to put the main garage door down, it would fly around and land on a wreath up on the wall. When I hit the button again, it would fly around again. Over and over, every time I moved the garage door it flew. But it wouldn't get low enough to fly out the gigantic hole in the area it was stuck inside! Ack! Dumb bird! Come on! Just fly a little lower and fly out! It was clearly too scared to think reasonably. I sat there for a couple of minutes running the door slightly down and then back up again probably a dozen times. If any neighbors saw, I'm sure they wondered what in the world I was doing.
I finally had to give up and put the garage door down and leave. Later when I was in the office, I called Husby and told him what happened and that I punched myself in the face. He laughed. I laughed. Then I said, "That bird is still in there!" He texted his dad to go over to our house and see if he could let the bird out. My father-in-law went over and reported back, "No bird."
Oh yes, there was a bird in there somewhere. I knew it was still in there. When I got home that night I sat in the car for a good 20 seconds, scanning all areas around the ceiling. The coast looked clear, so I got my daughter out of the car as fast as possible and ran in the house. No bird in sight. That's when I was certain it was dead. But where it was, who knew.
The next morning I walked around scanning the floor and I found the dead bird. It was right under the wreaths. Even though I was looking for it and it was dead, it still scared me. I jumped and yelled to no one, "The bird!" Husby was coming home the next day and so I left it until he could dispose of it. I didn't want to even look at it. And even though it was dead, I gave it a wide birth every time I had to walk to the car.
Sorry you died, little bird. I wish you would have been smart and calm enough to fly out of the garage when the door was up so you could have gone up into the tree in the front yard where you belong! I hope your little birdie friends enjoy the seed we have in our three feeders, where I can watch them from the comfort of behind my house windows. Your birdie friends are cute when they are outside and when I am inside. Not so much when we are sharing a confined space together. Isn't it ironic that I have a graphic of flying birds on my blog page?
Now, before bird watchers, bird lovers, and people who have birds as pets come after me with pitchforks and torches, let me clarify. I hate birds that are in a space I don't feel like they should be in.
For example, I work at a testing lab. And I used to file folders in a room full of filing cabinets. This room had a cement floor (no carpet), and no heating or air-conditioning vented in. Just a ceiling of pipes above my head. The problem with this room was that there was a giant hole in the wall that looked down into my lab's warehouse. The warehouse is where we have our shipping area and many times the "garage door" in our shipping area is open for part of the day. And sometimes, a bird flies in. One day I opened the door to go into the filing room and a bird left the pipe it was sitting on up by the ceiling and flew across the room. Remember that giant hole in the wall? It had flown into the warehouse, flown up into the filing room, and was hopelessly lost. I wasn't expecting to see a bird so I screamed, turned on my heel and SLAMMED the door from our offices into the filing room. I did not want that bird flying through the open door and into the office area! That little sparrow or whatever about gave me a heart attack.
Here's another example of birds in a space that I don't like. I think that birds belong in the sky, in the trees, on rooftops, and on electric wires. I do not like when birds are walking around on the ground. It seems unnatural to me. One of my quirks, I know. But if you want to make me nervous, put me in a city space with pigeons walking around with no fear of people. Geese? Ick, no. Do I get a little skiddish at birds walking around in a petting zoo area? You bet. It does not seem natural to me. Fly away, duck. Get in the water. Please don't walk behind me!
If I were ever to become a spy and were captured by the enemy, all they would have to do to torture me to give up spy secrets is throw me in a chicken coop. I'd sing like a bird. (See what I did there?)
Last week Husby was out of town. One morning I was carrying our daughter out to the car in the garage to leave for the day. Our garage is attached to our house. As I walked around the vehicle to get her into her car seat, a bird swooped down from the wall behind me and flew to the other side of the garage. Heart attack! I have several seasonal wreaths hanging up high on the garage wall and I switch them out on the front door as the seasons change. It had been sitting on one of the wreaths. You have never seen me strap my daughter into her car seat so fast. I was so scared that bird was going to fly into the vehicle. And I don't like being in a confined space with a bird! I had to go back into the house to get the rest of our bags and I turned around and the door into the house was open. I don't always get it all the way shut when going back and forth between the house and the garage. I screamed, "The door is open!" And ran as fast as I could and slammed the door behind me. The whole commotion caused my daughter to start crying in the car. I quickly gathered our bags that were sitting in the entry way and cracked the door, cautiously scanning the entire garage. There it was. Sitting on the garage door track. It was a sparrow or chickadee or something. I don't know. It was small. Which shouldn't be frightening, but small things move fast!
Most mornings I make at least two trips, sometimes three, back and forth between the car and the house. I call myself the "pack mule." I have a lot of junk to haul around. I have a bag for my daughter's day, with her food, blankie, diapers, wipes, an extra outfit, and maybe a favorite toy. But I also bring her diaper bag back and forth every day. On the days when my sister watches her, they sometimes run errands so a diaper bag is needed. Then I have my laptop in a bag. And my purse. And another bag with stuff I may need for my Mary Kay business or the administrative assistant job I do for my church. And finally, my lunch bag. Like I said, pack mule! Every bag has a place in our car, which is a routine I've perfected - placing each bag in the spot it's going to be easiest to grab when it is time for that particular bag to leave the vehicle. Some go in the back seat. Some go on the floor under my daughter's feet. And some go on the front seat.
But with the bird flying around my garage, the ultimate goal was to get into the vehicle as quickly as possible. There would be no walking around to the back door...walking around to the passenger side. So there I was, standing in the house, watching the bird through the cracked door. It was flying around. I waited until it landed on the garage door track again and made a break for it. I opened the driver's side door and tried to heave my bags into the passenger seat. But I couldn't get enough force, so I got in with the bags in my left hand. I couldn't close my door. The bags were in the way. So I heaved the bags over my body into the passenger seat. In doing so, I punched myself in the face. I slammed my car door and sat there with my heart racing. My daughter stopped crying.
I backed out of the garage and there was the bird. We have a three car garage and it was sitting on the track of the smaller garage door (the third stall). When I hit the button to put the main garage door down, it would fly around and land on a wreath up on the wall. When I hit the button again, it would fly around again. Over and over, every time I moved the garage door it flew. But it wouldn't get low enough to fly out the gigantic hole in the area it was stuck inside! Ack! Dumb bird! Come on! Just fly a little lower and fly out! It was clearly too scared to think reasonably. I sat there for a couple of minutes running the door slightly down and then back up again probably a dozen times. If any neighbors saw, I'm sure they wondered what in the world I was doing.
I finally had to give up and put the garage door down and leave. Later when I was in the office, I called Husby and told him what happened and that I punched myself in the face. He laughed. I laughed. Then I said, "That bird is still in there!" He texted his dad to go over to our house and see if he could let the bird out. My father-in-law went over and reported back, "No bird."
Oh yes, there was a bird in there somewhere. I knew it was still in there. When I got home that night I sat in the car for a good 20 seconds, scanning all areas around the ceiling. The coast looked clear, so I got my daughter out of the car as fast as possible and ran in the house. No bird in sight. That's when I was certain it was dead. But where it was, who knew.
The next morning I walked around scanning the floor and I found the dead bird. It was right under the wreaths. Even though I was looking for it and it was dead, it still scared me. I jumped and yelled to no one, "The bird!" Husby was coming home the next day and so I left it until he could dispose of it. I didn't want to even look at it. And even though it was dead, I gave it a wide birth every time I had to walk to the car.
Sorry you died, little bird. I wish you would have been smart and calm enough to fly out of the garage when the door was up so you could have gone up into the tree in the front yard where you belong! I hope your little birdie friends enjoy the seed we have in our three feeders, where I can watch them from the comfort of behind my house windows. Your birdie friends are cute when they are outside and when I am inside. Not so much when we are sharing a confined space together. Isn't it ironic that I have a graphic of flying birds on my blog page?
Monday, September 28, 2015
That one time I prayed with a complete stranger in the middle of the post office
Today I had an errand to run on my lunch break. I had to go to the post office to mail a small package. As I pulled into a parking space, I noticed a man lingering by the font door. I saw him drop something and I thought, "I hope he knows he dropped something." I was too far away to even tell what it was. As I got out of my car, I saw him stop and pick it up. He still kind of lingered - nothing out of the ordinary but him hanging around the front door was enough for me to notice him. He went into the post office. Another man with two boxes walked past my car as I was getting out and I followed the second man into the post office.
When I entered the post office, there was a line. The man with two boxes (let's call him Two Boxes from here on out) was immediately in front of me. The man who dropped something by the front door should have been immediately in front of him. There were two women at the head of the line. I was the last one in line.
Two postal workers were each at their stations behind the counter and they each were helping a customer. I saw the man who had lingered by the front door bypass the entire line and get in line directly behind a woman that was being helped at the counter. I have been to the post office enough times to know that if you wait in line and need a form when you get to the counter, most postal workers will tell you to step aside to fill out the form, but when you are done, don't get back in the main line. They usually let you come right back up to the counter. However, this man who cut the line had been outside, so I didn't think he had a form and had been instructed to skip the line.
I heard the postal worker say something to him and then say, "That is the main line back there. You have to wait there." Immediately the line-skipper was agitated. He started mumbling under his breath, his shoulders slumped, and he turned around. There was a gap of space between Two Boxes and the lady ahead of him. I think he had anticipated that the man was going to stop there, in the proper place in line, so he had not moved up yet. The line-skipper turned and started to get into the space where he should have been standing in line. The postal worker said, "No, the back of the line." I saw a flash in the line-skippers eyes and immediately I felt uneasy. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Line-skipper was not happy. A few choice cuss words came out of his mouth. He turned to step out of line and get behind me and I said, "That's okay. You can stand in front of me. You walked in ahead of me." Two Boxes didn't say a word and didn't move. Line-Skipper said, "No I'll go to the back of the line." Except he added a couple of more cuss words.
I don't know if it was because I had spoken to him, or what, but he started to talk to me. He said, "I don't want to wait in line. I'm having a bad day. I just need to change my address because I'm going to jail tomorrow. I'm having a really bad day. I'm having a bad life." It was becoming clear to me that this man may have some sort of mental illness because of his demeanor. That was the impression I was getting. I said, "They can help you at the counter. They will have the right form." He again repeated, "I can't do this. I'm having a bad day." That's when my heart started to pound. Immediately I felt a prompting, "Pray for him. Right now. With him. Out loud." I didn't want to. That's how I knew it was God telling me what to do! Usually He prompts me to do something I don't want to and I resist. But I thought, "No. Obey. Do what you're told." So I turned to the man and said, "Do you want me to pray for you right now?" A look of relief washed over his face and he nodded yes. I said, "What's your name?" He said, "Daniel." I wanted to make sure I heard him right so I said, "Daniel?" And he said, "Daniel Matthew..."and I couldn't catch his last name because he started sobbing. So I bowed my head right there in the post office line and prayed out loud for Daniel while he cried. I said just a few sentences. Something like, "Father, Daniel is having a tough time and we thank you that you are with him. Help him to get done what he needs to get done today. We know that you are here with us right now, in this post office. In Jesus' name, Amen."
Oh my mercy, you guys. My heart was POUNDING out of my chest. I had never prayed for a stranger, with that stranger before! But I knew it was the thing I was put in that line to do. I was there to help Daniel stay calm. Emotions were running a bit high, so as I had prayed, I was trying not to get too choked up.
As soon as I was done praying, I felt like I needed to reassure Daniel to keep him calm. I said, "We'll get you the right form. Look, there's forms right here." I stepped out of line and looked at the forms. I felt as though I was helping a small child who was lost from his mother. I kept repeating, "It's going to be alright. Don't you worry." I couldn't find the dumb address change form. Finally Two Boxes turned around and spoke up and said, "I think that's it right there." (I knew he had heard every word we had said.) I said, "Oh, look! Right in front of me!" Then Two Boxes said, "Or maybe it's just a flyer about doing it online." To which Daniel said, "I don't have internet." With two swear words thrown in for good measure. And he was still crying. I got back in line and said, "Don't worry. The postal workers will get you what you need." It was about this time the line started to move and another woman got behind Daniel in line.
He asked me, "Do you think they'll arrest me if I go up to the counter, crying?" I said, "Nope. It will all be okay." Daniel turned to the woman behind him and started talking to her. I heard him say that he struggles with alcohol, that tomorrow he was going to a workhouse for 105 days, that the cops had beat him up, that he had broken his tailbone and three toes, and that he had a crappy life. Um, that's me really cleaning up what he actually said.
When I got to the front of the line the postal worker said, "Did I hear you say you need an address change form?" I said no, the gentleman behind me needs it. He handed it to the other postal worker, who handed it to Daniel as he approached the counter for his turn. He kind of chuckled that he didn't even need to ask - what he needed was handed right to him. They had him move to the side to fill out his form, so when I left, I stopped beside him and said, "Daniel, God bless you. I will continue to pray for you." Again, my heart was pounding because all of this was out of my comfort zone. He nodded and said, "Thank you," and that was that. The whole thing from start to finish took about three minutes but a lot happened in that three minutes!
I'm not writing about this so that I can say, "Look what I did." Because really, I didn't do much. But rather, I'm writing this to encourage someone today to listen to that inner voice. Whether you believe it's your "inner voice" or God telling you something, I encourage you to obey. Especially when it's a thought that you are maybe a little scared to take action on. I'm trying to be better at obeying the Holy Spirit when He asks me to do something spur of the moment. It's too easy to ignore it, or rationalize and think, "Oh that's silly. I don't need to do that." Or even, "Why would I do that?" How easy would it have been for me to think, "I'm not going to pray for this stranger," and just turn my back on Daniel? What if I had asked him if I could pray and he became more upset, cussing even more? But he needed someone to talk to and he needed some understanding. And it cost me nothing to give him a little encouragement.
Chances are I'll never see Daniel again or know his story. But if you think of it, could you say a prayer for him? It was so obvious that he is a hurting man who needs hope.
And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 1 Thessalonians 5:14
When I entered the post office, there was a line. The man with two boxes (let's call him Two Boxes from here on out) was immediately in front of me. The man who dropped something by the front door should have been immediately in front of him. There were two women at the head of the line. I was the last one in line.
Two postal workers were each at their stations behind the counter and they each were helping a customer. I saw the man who had lingered by the front door bypass the entire line and get in line directly behind a woman that was being helped at the counter. I have been to the post office enough times to know that if you wait in line and need a form when you get to the counter, most postal workers will tell you to step aside to fill out the form, but when you are done, don't get back in the main line. They usually let you come right back up to the counter. However, this man who cut the line had been outside, so I didn't think he had a form and had been instructed to skip the line.
I heard the postal worker say something to him and then say, "That is the main line back there. You have to wait there." Immediately the line-skipper was agitated. He started mumbling under his breath, his shoulders slumped, and he turned around. There was a gap of space between Two Boxes and the lady ahead of him. I think he had anticipated that the man was going to stop there, in the proper place in line, so he had not moved up yet. The line-skipper turned and started to get into the space where he should have been standing in line. The postal worker said, "No, the back of the line." I saw a flash in the line-skippers eyes and immediately I felt uneasy. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Line-skipper was not happy. A few choice cuss words came out of his mouth. He turned to step out of line and get behind me and I said, "That's okay. You can stand in front of me. You walked in ahead of me." Two Boxes didn't say a word and didn't move. Line-Skipper said, "No I'll go to the back of the line." Except he added a couple of more cuss words.
I don't know if it was because I had spoken to him, or what, but he started to talk to me. He said, "I don't want to wait in line. I'm having a bad day. I just need to change my address because I'm going to jail tomorrow. I'm having a really bad day. I'm having a bad life." It was becoming clear to me that this man may have some sort of mental illness because of his demeanor. That was the impression I was getting. I said, "They can help you at the counter. They will have the right form." He again repeated, "I can't do this. I'm having a bad day." That's when my heart started to pound. Immediately I felt a prompting, "Pray for him. Right now. With him. Out loud." I didn't want to. That's how I knew it was God telling me what to do! Usually He prompts me to do something I don't want to and I resist. But I thought, "No. Obey. Do what you're told." So I turned to the man and said, "Do you want me to pray for you right now?" A look of relief washed over his face and he nodded yes. I said, "What's your name?" He said, "Daniel." I wanted to make sure I heard him right so I said, "Daniel?" And he said, "Daniel Matthew..."and I couldn't catch his last name because he started sobbing. So I bowed my head right there in the post office line and prayed out loud for Daniel while he cried. I said just a few sentences. Something like, "Father, Daniel is having a tough time and we thank you that you are with him. Help him to get done what he needs to get done today. We know that you are here with us right now, in this post office. In Jesus' name, Amen."
Oh my mercy, you guys. My heart was POUNDING out of my chest. I had never prayed for a stranger, with that stranger before! But I knew it was the thing I was put in that line to do. I was there to help Daniel stay calm. Emotions were running a bit high, so as I had prayed, I was trying not to get too choked up.
As soon as I was done praying, I felt like I needed to reassure Daniel to keep him calm. I said, "We'll get you the right form. Look, there's forms right here." I stepped out of line and looked at the forms. I felt as though I was helping a small child who was lost from his mother. I kept repeating, "It's going to be alright. Don't you worry." I couldn't find the dumb address change form. Finally Two Boxes turned around and spoke up and said, "I think that's it right there." (I knew he had heard every word we had said.) I said, "Oh, look! Right in front of me!" Then Two Boxes said, "Or maybe it's just a flyer about doing it online." To which Daniel said, "I don't have internet." With two swear words thrown in for good measure. And he was still crying. I got back in line and said, "Don't worry. The postal workers will get you what you need." It was about this time the line started to move and another woman got behind Daniel in line.
He asked me, "Do you think they'll arrest me if I go up to the counter, crying?" I said, "Nope. It will all be okay." Daniel turned to the woman behind him and started talking to her. I heard him say that he struggles with alcohol, that tomorrow he was going to a workhouse for 105 days, that the cops had beat him up, that he had broken his tailbone and three toes, and that he had a crappy life. Um, that's me really cleaning up what he actually said.
When I got to the front of the line the postal worker said, "Did I hear you say you need an address change form?" I said no, the gentleman behind me needs it. He handed it to the other postal worker, who handed it to Daniel as he approached the counter for his turn. He kind of chuckled that he didn't even need to ask - what he needed was handed right to him. They had him move to the side to fill out his form, so when I left, I stopped beside him and said, "Daniel, God bless you. I will continue to pray for you." Again, my heart was pounding because all of this was out of my comfort zone. He nodded and said, "Thank you," and that was that. The whole thing from start to finish took about three minutes but a lot happened in that three minutes!
I'm not writing about this so that I can say, "Look what I did." Because really, I didn't do much. But rather, I'm writing this to encourage someone today to listen to that inner voice. Whether you believe it's your "inner voice" or God telling you something, I encourage you to obey. Especially when it's a thought that you are maybe a little scared to take action on. I'm trying to be better at obeying the Holy Spirit when He asks me to do something spur of the moment. It's too easy to ignore it, or rationalize and think, "Oh that's silly. I don't need to do that." Or even, "Why would I do that?" How easy would it have been for me to think, "I'm not going to pray for this stranger," and just turn my back on Daniel? What if I had asked him if I could pray and he became more upset, cussing even more? But he needed someone to talk to and he needed some understanding. And it cost me nothing to give him a little encouragement.
Chances are I'll never see Daniel again or know his story. But if you think of it, could you say a prayer for him? It was so obvious that he is a hurting man who needs hope.
And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. 1 Thessalonians 5:14
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