Testimony
Today I told a very special little girl that she shouldn't be shy about telling this story to as many people as she wanted, because it is a story about a living God, and a lot of people thirst for such stories. Thinking on it just now, I realized... I should take my own advice.
I won't even put it behind a friends lock, though it contains personally sensitive matters that would ordinarily qualify.
A lot of my friends know that things have been hard the last couple of years with respect to my parents and my dad's conduct. He's still in a really bad place, behaving in ways that are hard for us, as a family, to know how to respond to. For the past few church services, dad has been showing up, which might seem like a positive sign, except that we know from long, hard experience, that his motivations are not truly repentant (and I hate to say it, but they're probably monetary at their root). This has been causing us considerable distress and today it just hit me so hard-- mostly from having a clearer understanding of truly how hard it was on my mother.
I was so angry that the entire church service became like a twisted mockery of itself. I was seriously having trouble breathing, and when it was finally over and I was leaving, something happened that made me just snap. I got in my car, and tore off down the road in real, honest to goodness hysterics. Not very wise. In fact, quite dangerous. I didn't even have my seatbelt on, which was deliberate. I think I wanted to do every little thing I could to lash out. Including screaming, sobbing, and throwing my garage door opener at the windshield, which fortunately ended badly for the garage door opener, NOT the windshield.
If this behavior sounds alarming and out of character, well, yes. I knew I needed someone. Someone in person and far, far removed from the pain and the problem (in other words, no one in my immediate family). And since part of the problem was that I was feeling a very immediate lack of charity for the people at my church (also highly uncharacteristic), my choices were severely limited.
My mind cast about and settled almost immediately on Mr. and Mrs. Springer the parents of a longtime high school friend, who still lived in my home town, even though their daughter has since married and moved to Columbus (actually, Laura, these would be Sabrina's parents). Though we haven't been in touch as much in recent years, their home was always a place of peace and welcome for me, so I went straight there, pushing aside doubts that they wouldn't be home for a random, unannounced visit by a half-crazy former adopted daughter.
As I approached the Springers' house, I saw that their car was in the driveway, and felt a rush of relief. I also noticed that Mr. Springer was getting in the car, and that Mrs. Springer was already inside, so I parked mine in the road as quickly as possible, and rushed over before they drove off without seeing me. Of course, they immediately rolled down their windows, looking curious and then concerned to see me standing there, a tearstained, exhausted mess (having not seen me face-to-face in probably six years).
Once I was able to spit out some words, I was like, "I really need to talk to someone; can I go with you guys wherever you're going?"
"Yes, yes, honey. Get in the car."
So I get in the back with their granddaughter, Lauren, whom they've been raising basically her whole life (their younger daughter gives them a lot of grief and heartache much the same way my dad has been doing for our family-- maybe that's why I fixed on them for this outreach of solace; I'm not sure). Then, while we take off for I didn't know where, I start half spitting, half blubbering everything that had gone wrong that day, and every negative emotion I had been feeling about it. Mrs. Springer held my hand, and their words of comfort and of Scripture reassured me that none of my beliefs or conduct about the situation were out of line, and I finally started to calm down and just... not crazy anymore.
Finally, when peace had more or less returned to its proper place in my heart, Mr. Springer told me an interesting story.
Little Lauren had an open house today at her school. Which is, as it turns out, where we were going (with a brief stopover for lunch). Mrs. Springer works at the school, and as an administrator, was involved heavily in the setup for the open house. Because of this, the family had discussed the previous evening foregoing the second half of their usual Sunday morning church routine in order to have plenty of time to eat and go help getting set up for the open house.
Well, Lauren woke up this morning and told Mr. Springer: "Papa, I had a dream last night. And I don't know if it was really from God or if it was just a dream, but the dream said that we should not skip the second half of church today."
So, they all agreed to not leave early.
Between the end of church and leaving for the open house, they had to stop back at their house to let the dog out.
Which is exactly when I arrived.
The natural assumption, considering Lauren's dream, would be to assume that God wanted the Springers to stay over at church because he needed them to be in church for some reason. Which, of course, is what Mr. Springer told me he assumed. It seems straightforward enough. God needs people to be in church for all kinds of things He might have to say to them that particular day. So he was waiting for something particular to come out of the Word, but nothing about the second half of service struck him as any more or less than what it usually was.
No, God needed them to be at their house at the right time. For me. For me.
I love my God who takes care of me. Whose hand I see moving in my life, not just in the lives of people in Bible stories, on really bad days when you need something just a little bit closer to home than the comfort of ancient words on the page. Something that says, "I am alive. I am taking care of you. And I am doing it in such a way that you won't have any doubts."
So there's a little miracle. Make of it what you will. I certainly know what I make of it.
I won't even put it behind a friends lock, though it contains personally sensitive matters that would ordinarily qualify.
A lot of my friends know that things have been hard the last couple of years with respect to my parents and my dad's conduct. He's still in a really bad place, behaving in ways that are hard for us, as a family, to know how to respond to. For the past few church services, dad has been showing up, which might seem like a positive sign, except that we know from long, hard experience, that his motivations are not truly repentant (and I hate to say it, but they're probably monetary at their root). This has been causing us considerable distress and today it just hit me so hard-- mostly from having a clearer understanding of truly how hard it was on my mother.
I was so angry that the entire church service became like a twisted mockery of itself. I was seriously having trouble breathing, and when it was finally over and I was leaving, something happened that made me just snap. I got in my car, and tore off down the road in real, honest to goodness hysterics. Not very wise. In fact, quite dangerous. I didn't even have my seatbelt on, which was deliberate. I think I wanted to do every little thing I could to lash out. Including screaming, sobbing, and throwing my garage door opener at the windshield, which fortunately ended badly for the garage door opener, NOT the windshield.
If this behavior sounds alarming and out of character, well, yes. I knew I needed someone. Someone in person and far, far removed from the pain and the problem (in other words, no one in my immediate family). And since part of the problem was that I was feeling a very immediate lack of charity for the people at my church (also highly uncharacteristic), my choices were severely limited.
My mind cast about and settled almost immediately on Mr. and Mrs. Springer the parents of a longtime high school friend, who still lived in my home town, even though their daughter has since married and moved to Columbus (actually, Laura, these would be Sabrina's parents). Though we haven't been in touch as much in recent years, their home was always a place of peace and welcome for me, so I went straight there, pushing aside doubts that they wouldn't be home for a random, unannounced visit by a half-crazy former adopted daughter.
As I approached the Springers' house, I saw that their car was in the driveway, and felt a rush of relief. I also noticed that Mr. Springer was getting in the car, and that Mrs. Springer was already inside, so I parked mine in the road as quickly as possible, and rushed over before they drove off without seeing me. Of course, they immediately rolled down their windows, looking curious and then concerned to see me standing there, a tearstained, exhausted mess (having not seen me face-to-face in probably six years).
Once I was able to spit out some words, I was like, "I really need to talk to someone; can I go with you guys wherever you're going?"
"Yes, yes, honey. Get in the car."
So I get in the back with their granddaughter, Lauren, whom they've been raising basically her whole life (their younger daughter gives them a lot of grief and heartache much the same way my dad has been doing for our family-- maybe that's why I fixed on them for this outreach of solace; I'm not sure). Then, while we take off for I didn't know where, I start half spitting, half blubbering everything that had gone wrong that day, and every negative emotion I had been feeling about it. Mrs. Springer held my hand, and their words of comfort and of Scripture reassured me that none of my beliefs or conduct about the situation were out of line, and I finally started to calm down and just... not crazy anymore.
Finally, when peace had more or less returned to its proper place in my heart, Mr. Springer told me an interesting story.
Little Lauren had an open house today at her school. Which is, as it turns out, where we were going (with a brief stopover for lunch). Mrs. Springer works at the school, and as an administrator, was involved heavily in the setup for the open house. Because of this, the family had discussed the previous evening foregoing the second half of their usual Sunday morning church routine in order to have plenty of time to eat and go help getting set up for the open house.
Well, Lauren woke up this morning and told Mr. Springer: "Papa, I had a dream last night. And I don't know if it was really from God or if it was just a dream, but the dream said that we should not skip the second half of church today."
So, they all agreed to not leave early.
Between the end of church and leaving for the open house, they had to stop back at their house to let the dog out.
Which is exactly when I arrived.
The natural assumption, considering Lauren's dream, would be to assume that God wanted the Springers to stay over at church because he needed them to be in church for some reason. Which, of course, is what Mr. Springer told me he assumed. It seems straightforward enough. God needs people to be in church for all kinds of things He might have to say to them that particular day. So he was waiting for something particular to come out of the Word, but nothing about the second half of service struck him as any more or less than what it usually was.
No, God needed them to be at their house at the right time. For me. For me.
I love my God who takes care of me. Whose hand I see moving in my life, not just in the lives of people in Bible stories, on really bad days when you need something just a little bit closer to home than the comfort of ancient words on the page. Something that says, "I am alive. I am taking care of you. And I am doing it in such a way that you won't have any doubts."
So there's a little miracle. Make of it what you will. I certainly know what I make of it.