The imprisoned John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus if He is the One who was to come, or if he should expect someone else. You can read Jesus' response if you're curious about it. As John's disciples were leaving, Jesus turns to the crowd and, in His sly little way, asks loudly enough for all to hear, "What did you go out into the desert to see? A reed swayed by the wind? If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear fine clothes are in kings' palaces. Then what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet."
Anytime Jesus says something more than once: Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Pay attention! This is important!
In less than 72 hours, I would be leading a team to Joplin.
What did you go out to see? Just the tornado damage?
What did you go out to see? Important people like Mercy Me, Mandissa, and Mark Roach at the Restore Joplin Festival?
What did you go out to see? A word from God? Or God Himself.
I shared this God-blessed, housework-avoiding revelation with the mission team in Joplin yesterday morning. I confessed that I fall into all three categories: scenery, people, God. I issued the challenge to expect to see God - and more of Him than you can imagine - as we serve the people of Joplin.
The craziness of organizing 40 people to go to about 6 places all at the same time with the right people, in the right cars, with the right tools and the right directions, had me a bit scatter-brained. Well, more than normal. In the frenzy, I forgot a man from another church that wanted to join my little crew at the house where we were working. Shoot. About 15 minutes into our 20 minute commute to the site, I sucked all the air out of the van when I realized I left my appendage, I mean, phone, back at the church where we were staying. I've only given my number to about 92 people in the last 3 days who are just dying to get ahold of me. There's no way I can go the morning without my phone. There're pics to be uploaded to Facebook at the very least. As I drop off the crew at the work site, I head out for the 20 minute drive back.
A few miles down the busy main road I see a hitchhiker. A lady about my age, with stringy dark hair and unkempt clothes, holding up her hand to every car that speeds past. Including mine. I watch her in my rear view mirror hoping someone picks her up. There is an excessive heat warning. She's gonna get hot. I wonder how far she's walking? I should probably go check. I put my foot on the brake at the next cross street.
Nope. Can't do it.
There's a lot of traffic. And I don't have my phone. What if she needs to make a phone call? I won't be able to help her anyway. And besides, I don't just pick up people off the side of the road, no matter how innocent-looking they are. And without a phone, I can't call 911. But it's hot. I slow at the next street. But I've got to get back to the work site to do the real mission work, so I speed back up.
She fades out of sight in the rearview mirror. Hand-slap to the forehead: "I don't want to be a Levite!" Oh, but I don't do this, God; don't you know that?
What did you go out to see?
Okay, fine. I slow at the next street. Aaaand chicken out again.
I know it sounds crazy, but God really spoke deeply to my spirit and said, "Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?"
Long, slow exhale.
It's now or never. Hard right turn...onto a dead end.
U-turn in the middle of the street. If I can't make a left across these four lanes of traffic, I'm just gonna go on and get my phone.
Not..a...car...either...direction.
If someone has already picked her up (please, dear Lord) I will consider myself obedient and go get my phone and back to work.
Half a mile back down the road, there she is still trying to flag someone down.
Illegal (I'm sure) Uish-turn at the next intersection; she's now walking in a right turn lane; couldn't be an easier way to pull over. I slow to a stop, roll down the window, "Do you need a ride somewhere?"
Hesitantly, barely making eye contact, but checking out my trustworthiness, obviously feeling that this is a great risk, she answers, "To Missouri Southern State University."
"Hi, my name is Jennifer. I'm actually going that direction." It's on the same road as the church where my lonely phone is. "I'd be happy to give you a ride."
"I'm Christy."
We shake hands through the open window. I unlock the door, smile and motion for her to get in.
She slides in barely onto the seat staying as close to the door as she can without even considering putting on the seatbelt. (Uh, I'm a rule-follower. She's a grown woman. Can I tell her to buckle up?)
She fiddles nervously with the colorful folder she's carrying and holds her small purse tight in her lap. She reminds me of child stiff from fear but strong enough to keep moving.
"Are you taking classes at the college?"
"No, I'm going to the FEMA office."
Gulp.
What did you go out to see?
We drive and talk and I find out more of her story. How her trailer and car were destroyed when the storm hit, but she and her 5 and 2 year old daughters (adorable pictures she showed me on her little phone) were safe at the mall. As I near the college I realize that it's been over a four mile drive. And she was walking. We pull into the empty parking lot and drive around every building and see not a hint of FEMA. Until the final roadway that leads us to an angel parked in a blue Element with bleach blonde hair, more makeup than is needed in this heat, and a stack of directions to the FEMA office that has moved to 32nd street. Six miles back the way we came.
What did you go out to see?
This longer journey gives Christy the chance to tell me how she had quit her part time job to pursue her growing cleaning business. And then the storm hit. And destroyed all her customers' houses. And how God had answered so many of her prayers. And how she is almost done filing for everything FEMA can offer and then she will breathe again. In the pauses, the radio plays songs about praising Him in the storm, what if the blessings come through raindrops, and I lift my hands to believe again.
We find the FEMA office, which is eerily empty except for the dozen or so workers sitting behind computers waiting for storm victims to come and claim their benefits. Christy, shaking, walks to the desk to sign in and I take her hands in mine, lean close and say, "I have to go, but let's pray first." Now, later I realized what a sight that might have been - standing in an empty room surrounded by government employees and a security guard, praying with a stranger. But when I finish, sitting behind the desk is the second angel of the day who goes by the name Jeanine - with equally obnoxious blonde hair and makeup. I grab a FEMA card and write my name and number on the back.
"Now, I don't have my phone right now, but I'm heading back to get it." Yes, I purposely didn't tell her I didn't have my phone until that moment. You know, in case it was all a scam and she really intended to kill me. "But I want to give you a ride home, or wherever you need to go, so please call me when you're done and I can swing back by and get you."
Jeanine smiles at me, winks, and mouths, "Thank you."
The security guard in the corner asks me where I'm from and I explain I'm a volunteer in from St. Louis. He says, "Well, I'd say you did your good deed for the day."
But I don't think this is about what I am doing. This is about what God is doing.
Christy sits on the edge of the chair as cautiously as she slid into my front seat. I release my breath all the way back to my van.
Realizing that I have now been gone for over an hour and my crew is likely wondering where I am, I find my way to the worksite, jump out and proclaim, "I haven't got my phone yet. I picked up a hitchhiker. And God showed up. I'll explain later. Just wanted to let you know I'm alive and going to get my phone now. I'll be back as fast as I can." I think all five of them pretty much went, "Huh?" as I drove away.
I hear His voice all the way back to the church.
Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?
What did you go out to see?
You, God! I want to see You. And yes! yes! yes! I do want to see what You are going to do! Thank you for keeping my eyes open and showing me where You were and what You can do!
My phone is right where I thought it was. On top of my Bible shoved back in my suitcase. Two missed calls and one text. Seriously? Nobody needed me any more than that? Maybe I'm not that big a deal. I return the calls and answer the text, hop back in the car and the phone rings.
"Uh, hi, um, uh, this is Christy. They said I need one more paper from the bank and it's down the street - it's real close - but it's Saturday and they close soon. Do you think you could give me a ride?"
"Absolutely. I'll be there in about 15 minutes."
The drive to the bank is short, there isn't a single line inside. (Seriously? Saturday at 11:00? In what world does that ever happen?) She gets the documents she needs and we return to FEMA. Jeanine whispers to me, "She wasn't going to call you. She was going to walk. I told her, 'She said to call her, now you call her and let her give you a ride.' She needed you today. Thank you."
I think I needed her. Thank You.
This portion of the paperwork was only supposed to take 5 minutes. As with most "won't take no time" projects, I anxiously watched the clock tick closer and closer to the time I needed to pick up my crew and head back to the church for lunch. Thirty minutes later, Christy walks out of the office with the slightest hint of a smile glimmering across her tightly lined face.
"How would you like to join us for lunch? I need to go pick up the rest of my team and get to lunch back at the church. I'm not sure I have time to take you home right now."
"I think I, yes, I think I would like that."
At the worksite, the five of them crawl into my 7-passenger van. Only five, because I forgot the one that wanted to join us. My frenzied morning left an open seat. For Christy.
What did you go out to see?
At the church, we fill our plates with an overgrown vienna sausage on a bun and some chips. The lunch time announcements by the pastor's wife, Judy, always include a moment to share the day's happenings. I had introduced Christy to no one but the van crew, and out of the room of 100 folks, Judy locks eyes with me and says, "Do you have a story to share? What happened with you today?"
I briefly share the story and introduce Christy as our special guest for lunch. Her head hangs low but her eyes twinkle, uncomfortably accepting the applause from the room.
The church has a food pantry and I ask if we can provide her with some groceries even though it is closed today. We walk with her through the aisles as she chooses everything she wants that fits in the grocery cart. A gallon of apple juice. Her girls love apple juice. Ravioli? They are going to love this. Can she get two? Cleaning supplies for the two new customers she secured this morning in her fledgling cleaning business. Mac and cheese, canned veggies, laundry detergent, vitamin-fortified rice, feminine products, toothbrushes and some scented shimmering lotion. As we walk the aisles though, she tells me of her abused past. There is not an inkling of "sob story" in her words. It's more like, "Can I trust you with who I am?" Repeatedly abandoned by her mother, raped by her father whom she never once saw sober, those child eyes of fearful determination that peered through my van window hours earlier sighed with relief that someone knew her story. And she still proclaimed, "But without God, I wouldn't be here. He has gotten me through so much. I don't know what I would do without Him. It's through the struggles that I really lean on Him and know He is here taking care of me." Though unspoken, it's apparent her situation still teeters dangerously close to that childhood cycle.
We load her groceries into the van and her shoulders lift, and the smile is real and full.
After dropping off the crew at the worksite, Christy directs me to her newly rented home (for which God miraculously provided the rent last month) and I carry in the groceries in three heavy loads. Little girl toys neatly line the wall in the living room. On the floor next to the lone chair lays her Bible.
"It's been a pleasure spending the day with you. I'm so glad God had our paths cross. I will continue to pray for you, Christy. God always shows up when we look for Him. Count each of these blessings as you put them on your pantry shelves and expect them to last a long time. He really loves you, Christy."
Do you want to see what I'm going to do, or not?
What did you go out to see?
A word from Me?
Yes, I tell you, and more....
