Still in the Palm of His Hand

As an update to the previous post on my granddaughter, I thought you should know that after observing her in the hospital for a couple of days, it was decided that the symptoms that she was exhibiting were not of enough concern to make it necessary to do any kind of emergency surgery. As a result she was released from the hospital and allowed to return home where she will await the originally scheduled surgery on June 25th -- still in the palm of His hand.

Still Under Construction

She was an older woman, though I would have a hard time saying just how old. She was pushing a mostly empty wheelchair that afternoon a few days ago, near the entrance of the parking lot at the shopping center where I work. I saw her there, but initially I didn’t really take notice of her more than to make a brief mental note to avoid hitting her as I drove into the lot on my way to my store. I was very focused on other things. I had things to get done and the day was already wasting away.

It was my day off and I had only come to work to pick up some empty boxes for my daughter who was packing up her household for their upcoming move to another city here in Florida. I had a plan and I was trying to work my plan. I wasn’t prepared for interruptions. So, honestly, I was a bit annoyed by this one.

But how are you going to ignore an older woman who is hunched over, pushing a wheelchair across a parking lot, when she is looking distressed and is trying to flag you down as you are trying to pass to the right side of her without running her over? So I pulled up a little, so as not to block the entrance, stopped and rolled down my passenger side window to find out why she seemed so desperate to get my attention.

She came up to the window and briefly explained her predicament. She was homeless, the shelters were all full, they wouldn’t be feeding until that night, and she was feeling sick from not having eaten. Could I please help her out?

Now, I had long ago decided never again to give money to people in her type of situation, but I did feel prompted to help her get something to eat. Since she was headed in the direction of the Wendy’s restaurant on the corner, I asked her if something from there would be okay. She said that would be fine, so parked my car in a nearby spot and got out. I walked the short distance with her to the restaurant, mostly without speaking other than to ask her if she needed help getting her wheelchair over the curb.

I held the door for her as she entered and held my breath as the rush of cool air from the restaurant left me downwind from her un-bathed body. I followed her to the counter and told her just to order whatever she wanted. She placed her order to go, and I presented my debit card to the cashier and she completed the transaction.

I said, “Okay?”

The lady simply and quietly said, “Thank you,” like she was responding to someone who had stepped out of her way or had held a door for her.

My obligation was complete, so I just walked away and left her to collect her order. I’m embarrassed to admit that I can’t even say for sure that I said, “You’re welcome.”

As I walked away, I was a little bothered by what I perceived as her lack of gratitude. Hadn’t I just interrupted my own plan and gone with her to Wendy’s and let her order the largest combo meal on the menu and paid the bill?

And yet at the same time, I didn't want her to make a big deal over what I had done and bring attention to it. All I really wanted was what I had done to be between her, me and God--and for her to be grateful to God.

I went back to my mission of loading up the boxes and within a couple of minutes I saw her again in the parking lot. The food that I had just purchased for her was no where to be seen, though it may have been tucked away with her few belongings. But what really irritated me was that she had stopped someone else who was getting into their car and was apparently begging off of them, too.

The whole situation started to really get under my skin and so I tried telling myself, “Just let it go. Forget it. What’s done is done. Don’t let it consume your day. You’ve got other things to get done and you sure don’t have time to let this get to you.”

It didn’t help.

Am I the only one that is a little slow to pick up on the fact that sometimes God is trying to show you something?

So I spent a lot of the day considering what had happened and how it made me feel. And slowly, I started to see some pretty powerful messages that I think God especially meant for me.

You see, nearly every morning I take my wife’s hands and we pray together over the day ahead, and over our family and loved ones. I ask God to put people in our path that we can be a blessing to, so that they are touched by the goodness of God and drawn to Him. When I pray it, I mean it with my whole heart. But I have to tell you, I don’t always hold onto that prayer as I get busy in my day.

Still, even though I wasn’t looking for an opportunity at that moment in the parking lot, it didn’t take long for me to know that God wanted me to help that woman. I sensed it deep on the inside and I acted on it. I was obedient.

Do you realize that there is a big difference in being obedient and being willing?

I did it because I knew I was supposed to do it. God let me know that He wanted me to do it. It wasn’t going to take much effort or time or sacrifice. So I just did it and got it over with. I certainly wasn’t excited about doing it. I wasn’t shouting,

“Hallelujah! God answered my prayer!”

But you see, I would have been, if I had been willing instead of just obedient. Oh yes, I did it, but how much more of a blessing would I have been to her and just how much more blessed would I have been if I had only done it with a willing heart.

What if I had taken the time to just show a little more kindness, instead of looking at her with mistrust? What if I had made the effort to talk with her, to get to know her, to encourage her, and maybe even find out if she had some other needs? What if maybe I had even said,

“How else can I help you?”

Or what if I had said to her,

“I just want you to know that God Himself spoke to my heart and told me to help you. He sees you, He knows where you are, and He loves you”?

What if?

How much more blessed would I have been in blessing her? And how much more grateful to God might she have been?

And then there’s the other lesson (one that I’m supposed to already know).

I am only responsible to act on what I feel God is telling me to do, to the best of my ability (with a willing heart). I'm not to worry about the results. I’m supposed to leave the results up to Him. If He tells me to do something, He undoubtedly has a good reason for it. I just need to do it and trust Him to make of it what He will.

It could very well be that what happened that afternoon was intended more for me than for her. Maybe it was to see if I would be obedient, and then to show me how obedience is not enough. I must be willing, so that the next time I’m prompted, I will be a much greater blessing and in that blessing, be far more blessed.


"If you are willing and obedient,
You shall eat the good of the land."

--Isaiah 1:19 (NKJ)

From My Heart To My Mouth

The other day I was remembering a time many years ago and many miles away from where I now call home. I was 11 or 12 years old at the time. Life was pretty good as I remember it. My dad was the minister of the Presbyterian church in the small town of Delta, Colorado. We lived a few blocks from the church in a home that was provided for us by the church. It was a mansion, in my eyes, with a large yard and a very tall cottonwood tree off from the back corner of the house.

I have many fond memories of that place, but my favorite memories are all centered around that cottonwood tree. My younger brother, John, and I spent many days climbing and playing in the tree with friends. I can still remember a place in the tree where four branches split off of the main trunk and formed a perfect place for an eleven year old boy to stand, with relative safety, hanging onto the branches as the wind gently pushed the tree back and forth in a two or three foot sway.


From that spot, high in the tree, you could see the top of the chimney on our two story house. It was a perfect lookout spot to keep watch for enemy invaders, and in the summer, when the leaves were full and green, you could easily go unnoticed by the people passing by on the sidewalk below. It was a place where a growing boy could go to be alone and think about stuff.

At some point in time, my friend John Logan and I decided we would like to build a tree house in the tree. We schemed and designed an elaborate plan for an amazing tree house. We searched out the neighborhood for supplies and materials, and when we were confident we could really make it happen, it fell on me, to ask permission.

I figured Mom was the easier one to approach so I tried her first. Mom, however, (more wisely than she realized) told me I should ask my father. A question of this magnitude demanded a face-to-face meeting with Dad, who was at work down at the church. And so I embarked, alone, on one of the longest two or three block walks of my life.

I can still remember walking very slowly, planning my argument, pleading my case over and over in my mind, bracing myself for objections or even rejection, but hoping beyond hope for favor. It was without a doubt the biggest request that I had ever made of my father, at least as far as I could remember. I entered the church in reverential fear.

Somehow, I managed to get my request from my heart to my mouth. I braced myself for the response. The answer came back quickly and simply, “Yes.”

The rest is a blur. I’m sure I must have thanked him and I probably walked quietly out of the church, but the next thing that I actually remember was running and jumping and hollering, with inexplicable joy, all the way back to the house to share the great news with my friend!

Did we build it? Absolutely!

Was it everything we envisioned it would be? Absolutely not!

But that was probably more due to a lack of available materials (or financing to acquire them) rather than a lack of desire or willingness on our part.

I wish I knew how to really explain to you what a great gift my father gave me that day. He probably didn’t (and still doesn’t) fully comprehend it either. But I knew. And even today it means the world to me that he said yes.

So, in reading my little story, you might be able to see why it is easy for me to understand God as a Heavenly Father. You see, I grew up with a natural father who wanted to do good things for me, who took care of me, who disciplined me as I needed it, and who nurtured and loved me. But my dad not only saw to it that I had what I needed, he even allowed me to do things that were desires of my heart! And all I had to do . . . was ask.


“If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!”
--Matthew 7:11 (NKJ)



(Author's note: I left Delta in 1968 and have not been able to go back since. My parent's visited in 2004 and took the pictures that I've included here. The first is of the cottonwood tree, more than 36 years later, and the second, of the church where Dad had ministered.)