Jesus, my monologue

Last week I traveled to the Valley.  In Texas, that’s the southernmost portion of the Texas/Mexico border.  There God gave a particular blessing that's continued to amaze me.  Never had I experienced Him in quite this way.  The trip began with a sore throat, a runny nose, and nasal congestion—a common trio in our neck of the woods.  Coughing came, and soon I could hardly breathe without a rattle in my chest.  Ability to sleep was minimal.  By our fifth day when my theatre group had its 3 final performances, the rattle had become a rumble.  I managed to stand but very weak of energy.  All those waking hours through the night, I asked the Lord to cover and protect my body, to provide, to sustain, to prevent me from coughing.  For me to cough once would likely set in motion a whole chain of coughs and certainly a disruption to our theatre story.  I asked the Lord, “How will this work?  How will I perform this monologue?”  Quite possibly this portion could feel a lifetime beyond its actual 7 minutes.  And then it was showtime.  Turning the corner on the backdrop, I entered center stage and saw the children.  Finishing the rhythm-and-rhyme section, I could feel a cough approaching.  Yet it passed.  The next sentence, it returned.  Then it passed again.  The fluctuation I knew was the Lord preventing me to cough, and all the while my heart leaped in amazement to realize this effectual tug-of-war over my throat.  Next came the singing section.  The upper note felt a bit muffled, but I noticed no stir in the audience and still no cough.  The raging battle was coming to quell.  Such a physical experience with the Lord I’d not had before, not in this 1-on-1 way.  And amazingly the monologue finished without incident.  The Lord won.  A testament to how He answers prayer and compels His will to completion.  Just as He breathed life into Adam in Genesis 2, so He was my breath this day.  Back home, a doctor diagnosed me with acute bronchitis, and as I stared at my antibiotic and steroid, I relived my monologue.  I remembered the question “How will this work?”  In this case, the answer didn’t reveal until I stepped out into the open.  The Lord supplied my air.  He kept my airway open.  He was my monologue. 

Tamale treasure

Timing.  Sometimes it’s everything.  We invited some friends for dinner one weekend, and their text said maybe Saturday would work best.  Days passed, and we didn’t hear again.  Saturday arrived, and I assumed something disallowed them to come, so I asked the Lord to show us how to spend the day.  My husband suggested driving to La Vernia, which is a little town less than an hour outside San Antonio, just to get away from the city.  The idea seemed good for our beautiful sunny day, though I still lamented not seeing our friends.  Suddenly my husband’s eyes lit up, “Hey! You know what we’re going to drive by, don’t you?  Ruben’s!”  This was huge.  Actually it was almost earth-shattering because Ruben’s is our all-time favorite tamale place.  But a glance at the clock showed it was already after 2:00, and the likelihood of us arriving Ruben’s before they closed was almost nil.  But we opted to try.  Amazingly we arrived at 2:50, they close at 3:00, and here comes my smiling husband returning to the car with 4 dozen of those delectable tamales.  But 4 dozen, really?  That’s a lot for just 2 people, but thank you, Lord, for the availability.  The rest of the way to La Vernia, we had a hefty tamale aroma wafting from the back seat to the front.  Constant salivating led me to wonder if we should grab some plastic forks and stop at a picnic table to take care of that first dozen.  Turns out we ate at Mr. Tim’s Country Kitchen, and we were grateful to rest our eyes on the cows grazing in the backyard pasture to give us that slow-down respite we had hoped for.  Walking back to the car, I noticed a text from our friends asking what time they should come for dinner.  Uh-oh.  What happened?  Whatever the mix-up, we'd still love to see them, but how could this work?  How could I cook them dinner when we were still out of town?  Then that tamale smell wafted to the front seat again, and suddenly I knew why the Lord gave us 4 dozen tamales.  Better than any meal I could cook, we’d now be serving straight from Ruben’s!  And how thrilling to recount our steps and see the Lord having orchestrated the day.  Not only would we get to see our friends, not only did we get to enjoy a scenic drive, but we also had been handed a very generous portion of one of the tastiest batches of tamales this earth has ever beheld, which was especially amazing, given it was holiday time when people wait in line for hours and hours, even sometimes learning too late that Ruben’s already sold out.  We had enough to give extra tamales for take-home too.  From sad to happy to giddily thrilled, a whole party was happening in my heart—confetti, those pointy party hats, and even the silly honking horns!  How I love the Lord.  His impeccable timing often lets me know He’s there.

Intimacy of December

Is latest always greatest?  Is bigger always better? Here’s a story.  Last month we went to some friends’ house on a Saturday afternoon.  Their home was a new music venue for us, yet it was a long-awaited and exciting occasion of joining their fellowship of musicians.  The sun shone, the air was crisp, and the drive held a serenity we loved.  On their porch sat a chiminea that softly slowed our pace from the city, much like a campfire seems to bring time to think.  My husband and I were among the first to arrive, and as everyone soon filed through the door, we discovered much in common beyond music.  We had shared neighborhoods and traversed the same roads near and far.  We spoke English and Spanish and had attended the same churches without knowing the other was there.  I must've donned a permanent smile from all the laughing and amazement, knowing little about the best part still to come.  Then I heard our friend announce that music would begin.  People stirred.  Guitar cases opened.  The djembe took prominent position.  Uncapping my little film bottle of water to soak my oboe reed, I sensed a tinge of nervousness beginning to creep.  Yet we set out in music to worship the Lord.  How would we experience Him?  How would He touch us and impact the moment?  The songwriting, the instrumentals, the storytelling, the prayer—it all came so sweetly.  Such an abundant presence of God inhabited the room, both for us as individuals and as a group.  Neither was it a big church service nor any high-tech event.  On this little parcel of land outside San Antonio, a small group of Believers was given a hugely amazing experience of the Lord transcending the day.  Covered softly in stillness and calm, my heart was full.  The gift was supernatural, like when the priests of the Old Testament couldn’t enter the temple because the glory of the Lord filled it so completely (2 Chronicles 7).  Fast-forward to 2014, and the Lord filled my heart so full that no want for anything more could enter.  For days and weeks, this aura of peace held.  I write here now to offer encouragement for those times when we’re restless.  We try the pretty things like shopping, we follow the flashy ads for movies, and we tout food as if it quells our unrest.  In actuality our solution lies in pausing to worship the One who created us.  The peace comes first through Him.  Consider the intimacy the Lord can bring to the smaller moment, for the most treasured gifts aren’t always in the biggest boxes.