I laid out some of my story yesterday as if I were having a picnic on the softest of grass. The words came out like the rattling of bowls together. What gave the strength? Well…
I had questioned whether one could be converted. It was a fine time when I found someone that seemed to need some conversion or a conversion. Shoo I haven’t quite got the terminology but conversion was what was in store….but how? I had never done such a thing. The best converter I knew of was Billy Graham so Google and Billy Graham and most of all God was called upon for the sake of such. This woman knows not to ever start a fight. That is the way in which people stop listening, though I was reminded of the time on an old classic show when the children were playing in the water. The lake was their baptismal dunking site. One child dunks the other and says, “Did it stick”? The child didn’t know so until after a few attempts the baptism stuck because the child finally got tired of being dunked. It was actually my first lesson in conversion, which was, dunk with words then smile, then run (laughingly …in case it didn’t stick).
I may never know if that person “decided” to “accept” the conversion or the gospel or Christ, but I just knew God wanted me to do that.
That small act led to a larger act of telling a fellow team mate about one of my personal traumas. While she was listening I think another was listening. Two less people that have to hear me aggrieve and have to try to find words of solace…I’m just not good with being solaced but you know what? I was wrong and I was surprised. She did not trip on my words and get uncomfortable. She was comforting “to” me. That is probably why I gave her that part of me because there was something trustworthy that let the words just come out.
Though..tonight….ohhh…tonight a different story…tonight I was reminded about 1st Kings 3: 26 where two women were fighting over a baby and the king was going to cut the baby in half (to find out who the real mother was). One mother said give us each a part of the baby but the king knew the real mother would give up the fight to spare her child…hence, she was given the baby because she loved the child. In simplistic form, though the mother I am is resorting to looking in baby books… until my babies were handed to me. The photographs and memories were almost a beautiful torture. Times of my daughters’ first mallow chickies with sugary pinkness running all down her little drooly face or the one of my son in his diaper with a Roy Rogers holster and cowboy boots and hat attached to chunky legs that were barely inches off the ground.
They made it all worthwhile. Would I go back and change it? We hear that all the time that we wouldn’t but I now believe doubtlessly that I wouldn’t. Somehow life plays out and plans out and this free will conception is true had I left earlier I would have spared myself a lot of pain …and yet there is a certain way that God has His timing that it is also true in which everything has a season under God. Thanks be to God…take me where you will.