It’s one of those moments that as a writer, I just start typing. I have no title to my work because I don’t know where this is going to end. All I know is the need to feel my fingers moving across the keys so that I don’t slip into despair or for that matter, deeper into insanity. (You’d have to spend some time with me to appreciate that last part.)
In this moment of time I find myself in a familiar, yet undesired territory. Once again, here I lay motionless on the ground. The wind has been knocked out of me and for all that heaven holds I cannot force myself up. My earthen body cries for me to lay right here.
“Lay here until someone comes to rescue you.
Just give up. Just give in. It will be okay, just this once.”
However, the inner presence of a Holy Spirit I cannot explain challenges me to look up. Keep trusting. Believe, child, believe. He bellows, cheering me on. (Give me a second, these tears have turned cold on my face and I need to wipe them away.)
A few years ago, God began a process of teaching me to simply trust Him. Oh, yea, I know, you already do. So did I. How prideful we are. My first lesson came hard. It will forever be etched in my mind as one of the most terrifying days of my life. Looking back now I laugh at the story as it is somewhat comical…
I had high hopes for this day. It was MY day. You understand, MY day. My day was going to be spent my way. Working in my yard. Fixing my flower beds, planting more flowers, you know—dirt therapy.
Already you are getting the idea, that MY day was not my day, yet it was.
I hurriedly fixed our breakfast—my nine-year-old’s and mine. As I laid the plates on the table, our Ziggy, our new 65 lb four-legged boy, let me know he needed to go out. So I opened the door for him and walked out on the porch and watched him run towards the narrow dirt lane that leads from our house to the cemetery just beyond the woods of our backyard.
Oh, by the way, if you didn’t know already, my husband is the Pastor of our church. Our house sits between the church and the cemetery. I guess you could say we reside between the two—life and death. (chuckle) But, then again, don’t we all.
Ziggy’s disappearance created a little more than panic for my daughter and myself. As I stated, Ziggy was new to our family. Our faithful, however somewhat temperamental, Buddy, had died just a few months earlier and just a few weeks after my husband’s father. So, there you see my dilemma. I had no choice but to chase after this new lovable beast of ours. I could not sit idly by and watch my daughter lose someone else.
So, what does a mom do? She jumps in her husband’s tank, his Nissan Titan, pajama’s and bed head, in hot pursuit of one black canine.
I find the not so adorable creature, (remember this was MY day), at the edge of our very busy highway. It is now eight-thirty in the morning. Traffic is heavy. I push the gear into park while simultaneously opening the massive door of my husband’s tank all the while hollering for Ziggy to come to me.
The next thing I know I am pulling this rather large hunk of what makes up me off the ground. Ziggy oblivious to how irritated I am at this moment begins to dance and prance happily around me. Pointing towards the truck, I tell my canine child to get in, only to realize the truck is still moving.
The tank is headed straight for the highway. The same busy highway, my dog was getting ready to “embark” upon. (Couldn’t resist it.) I try with all my might to climb up in the monster of a vehicle that my husband adores. Remember, I said I was a large hunk. Well, I didn’t exaggerate. Here I am one foot on the ground, one foot inside the door trying to pull myself oversized being up into the moving vehicle. Didn’t happen.
I not only fell backward bouncing off the side of the truck, but my leg fell underneath the thing.
“This is not good. This is not good at all”, I remember saying to myself as I felt the weight of my husband's beloved man toy rolling its back tire over my poor defenseless lower leg.
I lay there flat-backed on the sand watching in horror as the tank made its way to the highway all the while praying “God, please stop it. Please God, stop that truck.” I watched as it ambled its way pass the large oak just feet in front of the busy road. Nothing was going to stop it. MY day was going to end in tragedy and there was nothing I could do to avert it.
I had no control over it.
At that moment I had only one hope. Only one thing that held me.
I knew somehow, someway, HE would get me through this day, regardless of what came of it.
There, flat-back, dirty, tear-stained and wearing my pajama’s, God was teaching me to trust Him. To let it all fall on Him.
There is so much more to the story, but let me finish it by saying this…the truck stopped on the other side of the road, with only a small scratch on the fender. The only person hurt was me. God had stopped all traffic for those few seconds it took the truck to cross the busy highway.
Yesterday, I met with my new Cardiologist. In my “heart” I knew what was coming, but I was not prepared to hear him say it. And this morning, I find myself flat-backed laying on the ground from the fall. Once again, I am in my pajamas! Once again, I am tear-stained and looking upward. Everything within me cries for God to stop this. To change His plans and give me back MY day. My days of youth and my days of better health. MY days. And, sitting here, in my own silent moment, my soul beckons me once again to Trust Him. He is present, listening, working all things for your good, granting your heart’s desire. Just…
“Believe, child, just believe.”
I don't know what tomorrow will bring. The test that are scheduled may turn out good or they may turn out bad. This one thing I do know, He only places me where I need to be. In places where I focus on Him. Places I learn to trust Him. Places that lead to my betterment. One day soon, I will share the sequel to this blog---“My better than ever pajama day.” Until then..."Believe, child, just believe."
“Delight thyself also in the LORD,
and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart."