Find Meaning.

"Find your meaning in Me." The statement came knocking or maybe dancing into my consciousness as I sat in the Menno Haven chapel service. I repeated it, "Find your meaning in Me."

Noting the depth of the message, I gave credit to God asking, "How am I supposed to find meaning in You, God?"

The conversation continued, "Follow me. I will teach you."

Chapel service over, I wheeled a few residents back to their rooms, popping into a room to see my friend Vern.  We talked about life, God, leaving home. I listened as he reminisced. For me, patience was encouraged as I wait for a formal ministry occupation.  We prayed together. Walking down the hall I noted a nurse I hadn't seen in several months. Her long blonde hair was gone.

I stopped to ask, "How are you?"

She mentioned her diagnosis, "Cancer, but my pet-scan came back clear yesterday." I listened, feeling compassion as she reminisced of the last several months of chemo, pain, surprise even adding humor. Together we cheered the good news.

Back home, while cooking supper, I stopped to ponder, "How will You teach me God?" 

A night and a day passed. While watching Brian Regan on Youtube and applying make-up, (yes, the computer was in the bathroom, balanced on the sink) another phrase came. "You will inspire others. I will inspire you. As I inspire you, you inspire others."

Simple. Sounds simple. I'm going to go get inspired. My questions continue. After getting inspired what occurs next? What inspirational packages are to be created?  Do I box it into a meal? Or bundle it into a Haitian visit? Who are my people to inspire?

Another night. Another day. I wait.

Irresponsible Giving?

Crazy. She seemed crazy. Parking my car at the Toledo, Ohio rest station next to hers was a mistake. She was frantically rummaging through her bags in her car, tossing a few of them out her car door unto the pavement.

Fixing his eyes on her, my passenger questioned, "What's going on here?"

I glanced over, inwardly groaning, "I don't want to get involved. Desiring a quick journey to Michigan and back to Pennsylvania before the blizzard arrived was my goal. Periodic visibility issues due to frozen wiper fluid was enough, no more problems needed.

However, I dutifully walked behind my car to ask, "Are you okay?"

"No! No. I am not okay." She quickly responded. "Where are you going? I may need to ride with you! I don't have my wallet, my license, my I.D." Holding up a neatly folded 20$ she added, "All I have is my emergency 20."

Inwardly my groans grew. I didn't want to add crazy lady to my passenger list. We had 400 more miles of driving.

Inside the restroom, I continued the inner pout, "God I don't want to get involved. I want to get home! You know my needs. Never-the-less please give me your heart."

My mind recalled weeks before giving 8$  to a man in Puerto Rico and being called a fool for believing the ridiculous story. Certainly we must be wise with our money. 

Walking back to the car, my passenger asked,"Would a 20 help her?

Visiting from Haiti, believing he's God's agent, he lives life watching for giving opportunities.  I impatiently respond, " I don't know. I am trying to discern."

Returning to the ram-shackled car, I walked around surveying the inside. Is there a wallet hidden from view? She opened the back hatch: bursting soda cans, and a dog cage. No wallet.

Out of my mouth comes, "Tell you what, I will fill up your car with gas." We drive over to the filling station. Filling up her car, I pay the bill.  She puts a pad of paper in my hand. "Please write your address."

Joyless, I imagine my assistance aiding her in some hidden addiction.

Driving away onto the highway I mention to my passenger, "She needs $25 more dollars to make it home." I fold a 5 and a 20 into my coat pocket.

Hours later we enter Pennsylvania stopping at the another station and eating a light supper. Guess who we see as soon as we exit the building?

Yep! It's the crazy lady with her $20 bill swinging in her hand she exclaims excitedly, "I'm going to take my emergency 20 and see how far I can go! I just got off my cell with my sister. She can't believe there are people like you! I must have known you in another life."

My 6'6" passenger gazed at her with a booming bass voice he said, "My sister." Putting his hand on my shoulder he continued, "My dear sister here is a servant of The Most High God.  She gives to you in the name of Jesus." 

Out of my pocket I take the $20 and put it into her hand, "You are going to need this in order to make it home."

Cringing I ponder have I gone nuts? Why am I so naive? I just gave a stranger over $55!

Several days later a letter from New Jersey arrives. Inside were two crisp $50 bills with a note, "even though I am unemployed I wanted to send this thank you for your help."

Finally joy entered my soul as crazy laughter rang out of my mouth.

(Thanks Harry Jarrett for title.)

Scripture Musings

Psalm 119 has been read. I waded through adoration of the law, precepts and statutes. I found myself desiring to skip all the repetition going straight to love, awe and joy. My mind began to form a picture of the poet of the Psalm 119. On his face protrudes a schnozzle with one brown hairy mole on the tip, his chiseled chin has a continual frown. When he speaks his sand paper skinned hand lifts a long pale finger pointing, "I hate wrong paths." The beating of his chest accentuates the message.

My imagination isn't always friendly.

My mind recalled a Haitian friend talking at breakfast last week. I listened as he spoke of his mother's poisoning. With no one being held accountable for her death. Where are you, Justice?

For Justice I contact Jesus. He is always doing what pleases Papa God. I reach out touching his hand amidst his smooth skin I note large ragged scarred bumps. He smiles, while pointing to a cross saying, "For you."

"But God demonstrated his own love for us while we were still sinners, Christ died for us," (Romans 5:8). Jesus, The Law understood.

Prayer: Papa God who gives love in the most unusual ways. You know my confusion between attending to law and walking your grace. Please bring healing, hope and wisdom.

Providing God

"O Lord my God, when I, in awesome wonder," rang out in the languages of English, Creole and French. We all stood at night,  Haitians and Americans,  in a roofless building celebrating God. The sparkling stars appeared to touch the earth. A sense of beautiful Presence came among us. A tear fell on my face and as a plea rose from my heart," O God please, help me never forget this moment."

Many moments later (add twenty five years), I was driving my visiting Haitian friend 490 miles for a weekend to enable him to preach in a small congregation of Briton, Michigan. As I was planning the weekend, thoughts invaded my mind, "Are you sure you should go that far? Is it wise to travel to Michigan in January? You may get caught in a snow storm on route 80. In the midst of doubt we traveled through Pennsylvania, and Ohio to Michigan.

 Upon reaching our destination, I took a walk. Breathing in the crisp 14 degree night air, I noted the rising moonbeams simulating dappled diamonds scattered in the snow. With deep breaths, I thanked God for the trip inhaling the beauty.

The next morning during church I listened as Pastor Laguerre shared of being tenth out of twelve children, raised in a family in which some days he had no rice to eat, his patched tattered clothing left him feeling shamed as he was called names by classmates even having a teacher asking him, "Budlaire what do you have on your feet? Go home until you can find proper shoes!" Poverty of heart and mind grew within him.

He shared how one day an American couple {aka my husband and I} traveled to the Haitian village he called home, spending much time with him, playing with him, teaching him songs about Jesus, telling about a God who loved enough to become poor.  The American man Jack while packing to return to the states called,"Budliare come here." Budlaire ran over.

Jack threw Budlaire Laguerre some type of cloth football. "Merci, Thank you," said Budlaire as he caught it.  He unfolded it to find a pair of pants. Pants with no patches. Pants with no holes. Poverty of heart began to lift. Sauntering around his home town donning his new pants he smiled. He held his head up as he walked to school.  Was shame fleeing?

God had provided for him. Now twenty five years later he reconnected to Jack and I through facebook, he was a pastor, preacher, husband, and father ministering to the poor in Haiti.  Seeking to lift the poverty of heart for an entire nation.

Completing his preaching he sat down. The Michigan pastor stood announcing, " Let's end the service with singing, "How Great Thou Art."

Tears formed as I sang recalling the Haitian night sky, "O Lord my God when I in awesome wonder consider all the universe displayed."