Living Here and Now

I re-learned a lesson last March that I’ll continue to learn the rest of my life: A grateful heart changes things.

A well respected author offered to pay my way to a writer’s conference last spring. As my departure drew near, I knew the only way I could manage the cross country trip was to take the red walker. At thirty-eight years of age, I didn’t want to need a shiny red walker, but lengthy airport terminals and steep climbs at the conference center demanded I use  the sturdy handles to keep me safe.

A few days into the conference, I sought out a writer friend at dinner so I could whine. I was tired of wobbly legs and frustrated with my slow accent as a writer. As we nibbled our deserts, she  listened intently before putting it on the line, ” Susan, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I just don’t think you’re thankful enough.”

Not thankful enough?

“God has been good to you,” she continued, “ You’ve recorded two CD’s. You’re a published author. You have two great boys and a husband who loves you. You need to thank God for your blessings.”

She was right. There was only one way out of the mental muck I fought: Gratitude; Thankfulness; Praise to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

I left dinner with the red walker and made my way to the evening worship service. There, I began a litany of praise that ended with a heart of thanks… that included the red walker. A friend had given it to me a year before my trip west. God had provided before my need.

I left the auditorium with a light heart and ran into another writer friend who assisted the director of the conference. They were together at that moment and the guy I knew told the conference director that I sing. Before we parted ways, they invited me to sing on the platform before one of the large group gatherings. We agreed I’d sing, “How Great Thou Art”.

The next morning, as my heart soared with thankfulness, I learned that Jerry Jenkins of the Left Behind series had arrived and requested that someone sing, “How Great Thou Art” before his last keynote address. That someone was me.

I actually cracked on the last note because I don’t quite have the vocal chords I used to… or maybe it had to do with the fact Jerry Jenkins was on the front row with his wife. It doesn’t matter. A thankful heart changed things. A series of friends reaching out to me led me to the foot of the cross and an open door of opportunity.

Here’s a photo of the conference director, David Talbott, with Jerry Jenkins and the piano I played:

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee; How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

Happy Thanksgiving.

I tried to write yesterday, on the one week birthday of my blog, but my eyes blurred and my head reeled. I went to bed instead.

Shortly after launching my new web site last week, my right ankle grew increasingly weak. I’ve dealt with weak ankles for a  while now. A neurological oddness affected my mobility almost three years ago. But this was different. After dragging my foot behind for three days, I saw a nurse practitioner who ordered a three day IV Steroid treatment. And the ride began.

I’m still recovering. Pressure builds behind my eyes, leaving me left of center. I can’t handle creamer in my coffee. And bare bagels taste scrumptious. No peanut butter oatmeal. No Luna Bars. Just bland chicken and rice.

It’s hard not to wonder why.

As I laid in bed the other day, I picked up a book a visitor to our store sent me. It’s a short devotional on the life of Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India from 1895 to 1951. I opened to the story where she and a group of workers stood outside a locked door of a  house they’d rented. The caretaker was gone and no key could be found. As twilight approached, and they readied to leave, another man came running with a key from his home. It fit. The door opened, and Amy fell into a pit where no pit was supposed to be. The crippling fall left her in pain for the rest of her life.

She shared that a man back in London had awakened about three weeks before with an urging to pray for her. He sensed danger and prayed through the night until God’s peace came.

She asked,

“Should we have said that prayer was not answered?” 

She replied,

“We see hardly one inch of the narrow lane of time. To our God, eternity lies open as a meadow. It must seem strange to the heavenly people, who have reached the beautiful End, that you and I should ever question what Love allows to be, or that we ever call prayer ‘unanswered’ when it is not what we expect.

Isn’t no an answer? Isn’t heaven an answer?”

Hazard, David. Amy Carmichael. Minnesota: Bethany Publishing House, 2005, pp. 62-63.

What comfort there is in the wee hours as we trust what only Love allows to be. Oh, I’ve battled some doubts. Don’t want to sound as if I deserve the faithful hall of fame. But as I come through, it’s just good to know that the Master Creator of the Universe has plans and purposes beyond my own understanding. And while it seems I simply take two steps forward only to face one wobble back, that’s OK with Him and day by day, it can be OK with me.

Amy Carmichael trusted that love and spent days resting in its embrace. And as she rested, she impacted lives for the Kingdom of God.

Oh to live without questioning what love allows to be.

Last February, Don and I left a meeting on St. Simon’s Island for a few moments on the beach. I needed to touch the ocean before our two day conference ended. With only thirty minutes until dinner, he was hesitant to stay till the sun dropped below the horizon. But I pleaded. I begged. And we watched a practically perfect sunset with my toes free in the water and sand.

The biggest draw back? There was no place to rinse my feet, so I arrived at the business dinner with sand in between my toes. I made my way to the nicely decorated potty room and stuck one foot in the sink. Sand drained with the water that splashed on the marble counter. I lifted my second foot, rid my toes of gritty sand, and cleaned the bathroom with hand soap and paper towels. Then I returned to the dinner like every other normal adult with clean feet.

But I had photos and a memory that pops up on my computer every day.

Sunset on St. Simon's

Was the sunset worth dirty feet at an elegant dinner? You bet it was. And truth is, most things of beauty require getting your feet a little dirty.

Maybe that’s why Jesus washed his disciple’s feet.

“The evening meal was being served, and the devil had already prompted Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin, and began to wash his disciple’s feet.” (Jn. 13:2-5 NIV)

Facing the absolute cruelty of the world, Jesus washed his follower’s feet. They were dirty and were about to get even dirtier. But Jesus washed them clean and dried them with a towel.

I’ve struggled a long time to find my writer self again. The last few years dirtied my feet in ways I’d never experienced. My sandy toes on St. Simon’s paled in comparison. But as I’ve sat at the feet of Jesus, He’s patiently washed me clean and restored my soul.

“Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me and I will be whiter than snow. Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones you have crushed rejoice.” (Ps. 51:7-8)