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Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
our friend the hitchhiker.
My friend Courtney and I were driving around town the other day in a minivan plastered with Echo Ranch Bible Camp decals, visiting local churches and schools to hang up posters for summer camp. As we drove through one particular neighborhood, we came up on a lady walking, who desperately waved at us to stop. We were a little apprehensive, but Courtney pulled the van to a stop and rolled down her window. The woman was dressed in baggy clothes and looked like a wreck. Her face was blotchy and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her demeanor said she was probably on drugs. In a raspy voice, she pleaded, "I'm really sick and I can't walk far. Can I use your phone?"
Courtney dialed in the number for her and handed over her iPhone. After a brief conversation, the lady returned the phone and, still crying, asked if we could give her a ride.
And there's where faith becomes real, y'all. There's where the love of Jesus means something... something besides crosses and Sunday school and Bible verses and camp posters.
So we let this hurting stranger climb into the back seat of our minivan, with her sniffling and coughing, her tears, and her cigarette smell. She told us where she needed to go, which turned out to be just on the other side of the highway. The short ride there was silent, other than quiet introductions. We asked her name and told her ours. Then we were there, in a dump of a trailer park that reminded me more of a third-world country than rich America. I jumped out of the passenger seat to open the sliding van door for her from the outside. As she got out, mumbling a thank you, I blurted, "Can I give you a hug?"
Probably not the wisest choice. She was dirty, she was sick, and she smelled bad. Who knows where she'd been? But I felt like I had to do something, say something, before she disappeared. Somehow I wanted to infuse life and love and Jesus into her life. So I opened my arms and asked to give her a hug.
She gave me a self-conscious half smile, then said, "I don't want to get you sick" and walked away. And that was it.
I hope and pray that somehow she saw Jesus, that in some way she felt loved, and that one day she might look back and see, not two women picking up a hitchhiker, but Jesus meeting her needs through those two uncertain girls in a minivan.
Courtney dialed in the number for her and handed over her iPhone. After a brief conversation, the lady returned the phone and, still crying, asked if we could give her a ride.
And there's where faith becomes real, y'all. There's where the love of Jesus means something... something besides crosses and Sunday school and Bible verses and camp posters.
So we let this hurting stranger climb into the back seat of our minivan, with her sniffling and coughing, her tears, and her cigarette smell. She told us where she needed to go, which turned out to be just on the other side of the highway. The short ride there was silent, other than quiet introductions. We asked her name and told her ours. Then we were there, in a dump of a trailer park that reminded me more of a third-world country than rich America. I jumped out of the passenger seat to open the sliding van door for her from the outside. As she got out, mumbling a thank you, I blurted, "Can I give you a hug?"
Probably not the wisest choice. She was dirty, she was sick, and she smelled bad. Who knows where she'd been? But I felt like I had to do something, say something, before she disappeared. Somehow I wanted to infuse life and love and Jesus into her life. So I opened my arms and asked to give her a hug.
She gave me a self-conscious half smile, then said, "I don't want to get you sick" and walked away. And that was it.
I hope and pray that somehow she saw Jesus, that in some way she felt loved, and that one day she might look back and see, not two women picking up a hitchhiker, but Jesus meeting her needs through those two uncertain girls in a minivan.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Sunshine at the Right Time
I live in Juneau, Alaska, where the average annual rainfall is 62 inches (but can be up to 92), and it rains, on average, 230 days of the year. This is pretty common:
Well, I'm here to tell you that out of the 135 days of sunshine we can expect here this year, we've seen 5 or 6 of them, consecutively, in the past week! And oh, has it been glorious. Here's a panorama I took from our front porch the other day:
Sunshine and blue skies 5 days in a row, stars out every night, and even a beautiful display of the Northern Lights on Sunday night.... you don't take this kind of stuff for granted when you live in Southeast Alaska. Rain and clouds are the norm; sun and stars are exceptional blessings.
And my Heavenly Father knew exactly the right time to give me a week of beautiful weather. Because, I'll admit, this past week didn't find me in the greatest place emotionally. A few days ago, if I'd sat here in my living room, looking out the window at gray skies and dreary rain falling, it would have matched my mood and dragged me down further. My Abba knew the sunshine would help lift my spirits during those days, and it did. He is SO very gracious!
So today, I'm sitting here in my living room, looking at gray skies and dreary rain falling. Juneau is back to its more normal look. Today, my heart is at peace, and while sunshine is still my favorite, today I find the rain familiar and cozy. And I'm thankful.
(PS: For ladies...you know about those days of emotional fragility. This is something I've been learning about recently -- how our femininity affects our emotional patterns all month long, not just that one week :-) It's really eye-opening, and I think I'm finding it to be true. Maybe we aren't as crazy as we sometimes feel! Check out this web page for more info.)
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