It seems lately that this writer has worn out words like glorious, wonderful, awesome, and, still, this blog entry must begin thusly:
This has been a glorious day! First, there was wonderful worship, then Sunday School (some people call that Sunday morning session where folks go into "classes" and talk about Bible stuff Bible Study, but I am of the other ilk. It was Sunday School when I was a kid, and for me it is still Sunday School.) After a few stops along the route to home, I prepared myself a decent meal, using Italian turkey sans pasta, awesome garlic bread from Barry's Pizza, fresh asparagus and an antipasta salad, chased with two dark chocolate chip cookies made with whole wheat flour and blended oatmeal. Perhaps now I can get to the heart of this writing without repeating the words glorious, wonderful and awesome.
Getting distracted by a favorite word game this afternoon, I was 15 minutes late to leave for the final master's recital of a wonderful (oops) young lady with a glorious (oops again) soprano voice. The car's information center indicated my DTE to be 22, meaning I could drive a distance of 22 miles before the gas tank was empty. Surely, I thought, it's only 7 or 8 miles -- I'll be okay and will get gas after the recital. Just as I arrived on the campus of the University of St. Thomas, the car stopped. I tried to start it Nothing happened. I began to fret, but the thought that I probably had no gas danced into my head to haunt and taunt. For someone with a "half tank" rule, running out of gas simply should never be an option. Well, I blew it. So there.
My options were simple: 1) walk two blocks to the nearest gas station, purchase a gas can and gas, walk back to the car to dispense the gas, probably not without sloshing some on my hand for good measure. After all, since I had run out of gas, it could be argued that I was already in my slapstick mode; or 2) call roadside assistance. My body made the decision for me, reminding me that even on this beautiful, sunny, Sunday, it would give me grief if I walked even that far in the heat of the day. Yes, for someone who lives with Sarcoidosis, even this wondrously, gloriously, awesomely beautiful day with a temperature less than 90 degrees, is HOT! The fact is, I knew better than to try to make that walk, so I opted for number 2.
I escaped the sun pouring into the car and took refuge under a tree that shaded me well. As I stood there, enjoying the light breeze that assured my comfort, a couple of campus police, a guy on a bicycle, a couple in a van and a guy on his afternoon run (he offered to push the car out of the street while I steered!) stopped and offered to assist me. I was reminded that His goodness and mercy are forever following me. Even as I thought of this, relating to Pastor Steve Wells's sermon, yet another stopped to offer his help. Then a woman stopped. Then another woman. In all, nine people stopped, asked if I was okay and what could they do to help. Nine. In just a few minutes. Nine.
So, what's the big deal? Simply, no one had to stop, including the nine who did. They were a mixed bag of folks of all sizes, ages and colors. And the nine were willing to stop, just for me. In each of those nine folks I saw a little bit of my God. He loved the world so much that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life. And He sent His Son, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved. (see John 3:16-17).
This deal is big. It is huge. You see, the world is a big, big picture -- God's creation. And on just one beach of humanity I am but one grain of sand. In the big, big picture, I am but one dot of paint. And even in my foolish negligence of ignoring my own "half-tank" rule, He sent nine of his folks to see about me. Because He loves me. Just as He loves you -- like there is only one to love. He showers us with His joy and peace each and every day. His goodness and mercy follow me each and every moment. Even when I foolishly turned my back on Him, He never left me. He never leaves, nor forsakes me. And why is that? Because He loves me -- this single, solitary grain of sand on just one beach of many beaches of humanity -- this one miniscule dot of paint -- me. And, trust me, it is not that I am so special -- but that He is so loving.
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