ROCKWALL/HEATH, TX (October 5, 2014) Reading the book of Jonah for the first time troubled me. Not the miraculous aspect; I easily digested the man-gets-swallowed-by-fish part. But Jonah’s stubborn response to God bothered me. I couldn’t relate to the prophet’s attitude. Until the time I found myself following his example.
Our church on the edge ofNew Mexico’s desert mesa held a prayer meeting on Wednesday nights. My husband led the opening worship, while I served to oversee the nursery, slipping into the hour-long service whenever I could.
When our daughter felt sick one Wednesday, I made arrangements for someone to supervise the nursery so I could stay home that evening. But the Lord seemed to have a different plan.
After dinner I went outside to do some gardening while my husband washed his car nearby. Kneeling down to work, I heard the Lord speak in silent, yet crystal clear words: Go to church tonight. I want you to tell someone about Me.
Could I have imagined such a specific message?
I stood up to tell my husband about it before asking: “What would you think of staying home while I go to church?”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll call someone to take my place.”
At church later, I took a seat toward the back of the sanctuary, where I could see those arriving. I wondered what God had in mind.
Half-way through the service, I checked on the nursery, but the teenage workers had taken the kids to the playground. The sinking sun illuminated the desert view as I crossed the courtyard lawn to remind them to come inside before dark. As I turned back, I questioned God’s directive; I hadn’t seen anyone come to church that night seeking to know God.
Then, some movement on the smaller playground by the church caught my eye. Two children enjoyed swinging, while a woman watched them from a bench. I continued straight to the church, even though clear direction came immediately: That’s who I want you to talk to.
Seated in the sanctuary again, I argued with God: I thought you would bring someone into the service, Lord. . . I can’t talk to someone who’s not here to seek you . . . What would I say?
When God’s silence grew too loud, I rose up with Jonah-like enthusiasm and walked out to the small playground. I sat down beside the young woman, a teenager. She looked startled to see me.
“Is it okay to use the playground?” she asked.
“Sure,” I answered.
My reluctance to speak gave way when I noticed that she reminded me of my 16-year-old self. I plunged into an awkward testimony: “When I was your age, I prayed and read the Bible sometimes.”
Her eyes grew round, but not with alarm. So I continued.
“I knew that Jesus died on the cross, but I never took that personally—that he died for me. Some friends helped me to see that I needed to confess my sins and ask Jesus to be my Savior. That changed my life in an amazing way. . . I think God wanted me to tell you that.”
A single teardrop slid down the girl’s cheek as she smiled and said thank you.
At the noise of the nursery kids racing back across the courtyard, I rose to return to the church. And the final rays of light drained over the horizon.
By Blue Ribbon News guest columnist Patti Richter of Heath. Read her Good Faith columns at BlueRibbonNews.com.
Straight ahead in the wrong direction added by Editor on
View all posts by Editor →