Let us Consider...

Let’s not bother mentioning how long it’s been since the blog has been updated.... I know that your mouse finger is itching to wheel down and look at the date of the last post, but STOP! Before you make any judgments about my lack-o-bloggage, please consider my lame excuses:

- I'm too lazy
- I'm too busy
- I'm too tired
- My achin' back…

OK... The bottom line is: I haven't felt all that moved to write about anything lately..

Today something happened that was just too encouraging to keep to myself. This last Friday, while I was busted up in a nursing home, and Lisa was at my bedside sniffling her way through seven boxes of Kleenex, Lyn and Miguel were hard at work leading our Jr. High Devo. It somehow got into their heads that Abram and Lisa could use some encouragement, so they did what any good hearted Christians would and resorted to child labor. The resulting stack of handmade get-well-soon cards gave me more fuzzy feelings than a stiff dose of morphine! (these are the jokes…….)

I've heard it said that the reason we can't help but smile when we look into the eyes of an infant, is that the unfiltered, unfettered, and unspoiled soul of the child reaches through the years of scars that cover our own soul, and touches us. We can't help but be ticklish. Let it never be said that the Lord’s work in the Junior High Ministry is thankless, or goes unrewarded…

There is so much in the world to be worried about, and the pains and griefs of this life are like a heavy weight. How refreshing is it then, to be touched in my soul by something as simple as a handmade card. Or a short visit – or an even shorter prayer.

As I lay in a hospital bed with Lisa at my side a week ago, I had the chance to pray through some of my deepest fears. As I asked God to guide the hands of the surgeon and to make the accident “not my fault”(!) I suddenly became overwhelmed with emotion. I hadn't cried when I broke my leg. I didn't cry as I lay on the 10 freeway waiting for the ambulance. I didn't even cry when they tried to stretch my leg straight and 15-20 little pieces of bone played musical chairs beneath my shin (I screamed, like a girl, but I didn't cry). I didn't cry when any of these things happened because somewhere inside I knew that it would soon be over. It was not a test of my faith to break my leg.

Now that I was safe in the hospital bed, veins filled with pain medicine, and a caring, beautiful and well-trained woman by my side. With every part of my body comforted, in my soul I stood before an abyss of fear as I prayed in earnest for God to use his saints to encourage my soul in this difficult time. Somehow, as I said this prayer the fact arose in my mind: Here was a burden that I knew with absolute certainty I could NOT bear alone.

To know that this was now officially more than I could handle on my own was suddenly and intensely humbling.

To know this could invoke only one honest response:

I wept.

It feels good to be able to have an honest and emotional prayer like that. I am ashamed to say that it doesn't happen often. (Maybe that's why I broke my leg?) In any event God has answered my prayer with favor, and has sent plenty of people to visit. There have even been a few people who call me regularly, and a few who refuse to leave without finding some way to help. I chuckle as I write that last part because I know what that feels like, and I often refuse to leave until someone lets me help.

I'm surprisingly ok with not being able to handle this on my own. It's much more fun this way, and I have so much now to be grateful for.

Thank you.