Not just playing opossum

Look at these opossums!  What a surprise when my neighbor found them behind her back gate!  One mom, at least 5 babies, all taking up residence in an empty flower pot underneath the yard tools.  Makes me think of a certain email the other day.  This email arrived a certain inbox of a certain sweet girl.  Her inbox looked to be nothing unusual, but having been quite stressed just the previous afternoon by the details of planning her wedding, and in particular the task of designing her invitations, this sweet girl was about to discover something huge within that little email.  That previous day’s frustration had led to prayer.  That previous day’s prayer led to those moments when we wait.  How would the Lord answer?  And yet here came this simple email that advertised some new fonts, with one specific font being a wonderful fit for solving her design woes.  The delivery was actually quite huge.  Such a steep precipice of blessing lends us toward humility all over again.  The impeccable timing is what often sets apart the works of God, and we just never know exactly how, where, and when we’ll see Him during the ordinary day.  Maybe in a family of squiggly baby opossums that prompts us to ponder.  Maybe when dredging the deep, dark, endless queue of emails that we thought we would dread.  Acts 1:7 says, “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority.”  And I can see that I wouldn’t want to know everything ahead of time.  That inner gasp of amazement I wouldn’t want to lose.    

Revisiting the old neighborhood

Remember your childhood house?  Mine was near Lackland Air Force Base.  Our little pink asbestos-shingled abode served as shelter for 4, and we played baseball in the front and ate hamburgers at our picnic table in the back.  I've driven by the old place several times since, and actually the notion of revisiting comes to mind because a friend recently revisited his high school neighborhood.  Beginning to miss some of his buddies, he headed toward his old stomping ground after work one night.  Along the way, he talked with the Lord and valued the time.  Then when he arrived, the message hit hard.  Misery set in.  He turned off the ignition, just sat in the car, and felt anger and sorrow refloat to the top.  Seeing the old school reminded him of former drug abuse.  Seeing his apartment brought back the days when his mom supplied alcohol and partied with his friends.  His visit became an hour flooded with heartache from life’s worst times.  Yet there was some good in all this.  As pain can grow humility, all the devastating memories and all the shame and regret served to deepen my friend's gratitude toward the Lord.  If still living in his old ways, he says he might be sitting in jail or maybe even dead, and now how earnestly he appreciates the Lord delivering him.  He was newly inspired to live humbly and take the Lord seriously and not waste his second chances.  No more self-righteousness.  And so my friend poses some questions for all of us, “Is there somewhere we need to revisit today?  Somewhere I need to go?  How about you?"

Along a Certain Road

Think for a minute:  Who is your favorite person to call?  Who do you celebrate with?  Who listens when you cry deep?  This week I studied the word call in Greek, particularly the verb used in John 10:3, which says, “. . . He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”  My dictionary offered a new tinge on the word PHONEO, which is the verb in this particular verse, saying that it implies a pleasure in the calling of each individual name.  It’s not a dutiful calling in anger like “Go clean your room!”  Neither is it a calling to reprimand for having done harm.  Here it is the sounding of a call that’s spoken with delight.  Sometimes I try to imagine hearing the Lord utter my name, and then I realize I have heard Him speak it already.  He has garnered my attention and conveyed different messages for different tasks, yet I don’t remember His pronunciation of the English spelling of L-i-n-d-a.  He understands my English when I pray, yet certainly at His disposal are ways for calling me outside the English language.  The point here is that He takes pleasure in calling us, and however it is that He pronounces our names, we can hear and choose to listen with pleasure as well.  In work, and in rest, and in intrigue and wonder, I worship Him in my decision to follow.  Today I share with you a video I created upon the Lord’s prompting.  I hope it testifies to the blessings of wanting to make my desires secondary to His.  He calls us to travel along His certain road, and I pray you know first-hand the blessings of letting Him lead.  Click Along a Certain Road or search it on YouTube.

An earful of blessing

Listening can be good.  Listening, rather than always talking, that is.  It takes me out of the driver’s seat, presenting opportunity to see into the life of another, offering the reminder that little ol’ me isn’t really at the center of things.  This week I visited 2 friends in the hospital—one who awaits a liver transplant, and another who’s enduring kidney transplant complications.  They’ve both dealt with all kinds of hardships and excruciating pain, yet to hear them talk, it’s their love of the Lord at the forefront.  Seeing Him in their gentle, gracious ways inspires me and has caused me to sit and ponder a number of things.  Not too long ago, I was inspired through another friend as well.  I’d been praying for him to find a job, but somehow we had never talked about houses or apartments or anything.  I had no idea he lived at the Salvation Army shelter.  I’d never heard him complain about living arrangements, and indeed how I admired his mindset to press on and look forward.  In my neighborhood, I've found a wonderful joy in the form of a German shepherd down the street.  Hearing him bark and seeing him wag his tail to greet his master sets my heart afloat.  It takes a few seconds to slow down, listen, and watch this dog, but his utter joy is contagious.  James 1 says we should all be quick to listen and slow to speak.  Some say that’s why the Lord gave us 2 ears and only 1 mouth.  May we seek Him for how to listen today—with the neighbor who's lonely, perhaps with the aunt who so readily criticizes or the guy in the office with the insanely crazy clothes, yet certainly still affording ourselves time to listen for the voice of the Lord himself.  Whether two minutes or twenty or more, blessing lies within.

Teacher vs. teacher

In Matthew 23:10, Jesus cautions the crowds.  The hypocritical ways of the Pharisees are not to be followed.  The teachers of the law had been seeking the attention of men, and Jesus stepped in to encourage everyone to do the opposite.  Respect this role of teacher, He said, but don’t imitate their self-serving ways.  He instructs, “Nor are you to be called ‘teacher,’ for you have one Teacher, the Christ.”  And upon reading that sentence, I suddenly paused.  How do we view this role of teacher?  I have known the role of schoolteacher to be humbling, for I have seen students pose questions for which I had no immediate answer.  I have known the role of parental teacher to be humbling, for when needing to teach my daughters to share their toys, I quickly remembered one time not wanting to share my Hershey's chocolate.  Never do I want to approach a teaching role on the assumption I have a final understanding of any particular subject, for there's always a new perspective to come.  Yet with another kind of humility, I’ve learned also not to automatically decline a teaching role because I lack qualifications on paper.  The Lord may want to teach someone through me, even without formal schooling on my part.  Years ago, some fellow piano players offered me their overflow of piano students, yet I rather quickly declined.  More recently, some friends asked me to teach piano, and I dismissed the notion again.  Yet these friends persisted, and I finally asked the Lord what to do.  I don’t hold a music degree.  Neither did I study at a music conservatory.  The Lord has been my music teacher primarily, and on the occasions I did study through a formal school or private instructor, it was mostly oboe.  Turns out I’ve now been immensely blessed to teach piano, sharing openly about the Lord as our ultimate Teacher.  He guides both me and my dear friends who are students.  And with church, when asked to teach about the Bible and the Lord, I rely on the Lord’s qualifications.  On formal paper, I have only CEUs.  No Bible college degree.  Yet what a joy to share with others my experiences with the Lord.  He is the only One for whom I spell teacher with a capital T.

A different Everest

What is the shape of the human will?  It’s big, I know.  And conquering it can appear exhausting, much like climbing Everest.  Yet Everest always looks like Everest.  The human will seems to adapt in size.  Last week it was rectangularly shaped in the form of a DSW shoe coupon that I insisted on using.  This week it was blue and white and shaped like the blanket I selfishly grabbed for finally catching some sleep.  Ours is a will that is self-centered.  It’s impure.  Sometimes it’s been to my own detriment that I’ve determined to have my way, such as one occasion when I wanted to stay angry at my husband.  The whole scenario backfired on me, leaving my stomach in knots and any sense of a productive day debilitated because I needlessly wanted to prove a point.  We can thank the Lord that while Jeremiah 17 says the human heart is deceitful, we also have Philippians 2 that says He works in us and through us to yield His good purpose.  Our natural condition is fallen and self-destructive, yet the Lord does not leave us alone.  He guides us to discern the many shapes of selfishness.  It's not an insurmountable mountain, and He refreshes us in the climb.  

Guidance . . . why wait? (Part 2)

The Lord had given me Psalm 25 to memorize.  I did start the process from the first verse onward.  Some months later, my principal advised that the school would not renew my teaching contract.  Suddenly I felt bruised and shaky.  My head whirled fast like a tornado was crashing everything inside.  Sometimes I couldn’t sleep at night, and still too I felt sorry for my principal, who had clearly been through a wrestling match himself in preparing to deliver me the news.  Looking at my span of teaching years, I was going from Teacher of the Year at one school to losing my job at another.  Yet soon I began to see the beauty of the Lord’s guidance.  One sleepless night, He reminded me that no one whose hope is in Him will ever be put to shame.  In the midst of my wounds and weakness, He was showing me verse 3 of Psalm 25 all over again.  He knew I would need to rely on those words, and He enabled me to recite that psalm, even amidst the agonizing pain that had swallowed me whole.  I kept asking the Lord to lead me through, and I sensed Him saying to keep in mind these two words: honesty and respect.  And indeed the two words held crucial in dealing with bitterness among students and fellow teachers for all kinds of reasons in the remaining weeks of school.  One weekend, my daughter was checking her financial account online for college, and she asked, “Hey, Mom, what’s all this new money doing in my account?”  I cry still today to realize how the Lord increased her scholarships to compensate for the fact that I wouldn’t be teaching the next year.  And at school I had multiple opportunities to tell my students how the Lord was providing for my family and that He would provide for them too.  The Lord’s blessings were abundant, pouring through words of kindness from many directions.  I pondered whether the Lord could call someone to lose their job, and I knew the answer was ‘yes.’  He calls people to lose their lives sometimes, and certainly He could call someone to testify in losing their job.  Mine was a painstaking experience that is now a favorite story.  The Lord had guided me all along—before the storm and through it as well.

Veering the heart

Last weekend a friend told about visiting a nursing home.  For months she had driven past the campus and wondered about reading Scripture to residents.  Finally one day, she veered into the parking lot, parked the car, stepped out, walked across the front doorway of the nursing home, and quickly found herself greeted by the question, “Are you here to see somebody?”  Her reply: “I’m here to see anybody.”  She stated her case about reading the Bible, to which the staff member responded, “I know just the person.”  What ensued was a sweet encounter with a lady whose eyesight had diminished.  She requested Psalm 23 specifically and explained her difficulty in locating verses amongst all the pages.  My friend read verse to verse and noticed the lips of her new companion joining in.  And this new relationship continued for nearly a year, all set in motion by the Lord, who impacts our thinking and compels the heart.  This week I have delighted over and over in the simplicity of my friend’s words, “I’m here to see anybody.”  Her willingness to serve allowed an elderly lady to relive her joy of Scripture, even in turn blessing me all these days later.

Food, clothes, & a fight

By 7:30 AM, we’d missed it.  We only heard about it.  The fight had been at 6:30 in the parking lot, beginning with an argument over who would be first in line this Saturday.  Our chaplain in charge had the distinct pleasure of addressing the fracas.  Driving up to find police on the premises leads some people to turn around from church and go home, yet really we’re trying to lay out a welcome mat.  Regardless of how the squabble began, the Lord did bring good from it.  “…many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.”  One of our volunteers wisely shared these words from Matthew 19:30.  With our whole group, he traced back the years, recounting that the Lord had always provided for this ministry, and on no occasion had the church ever run out of food or clothes.  No one needed to push his way to the front, and in fact a wonderful gesture would have been for someone to voluntarily exchange his front spot for a place further back in line.  On that note, heads nodded in agreement.  People took turns telling of the Lord’s blessings, praising Him especially for many accounts of healing.  Some took extra time to pray, even praying without concern for losing their turn in the receiving line.  When word of the fight had initially spread amongst our guests, gasps of appallment floated in the air, yet the scenario held a lesson in humility for us all.  Reconsider those other times we want to be first.  We disregard the express checkout sign that designates 10 items or less, just so we can finish quicker.  We drink the last of the orange juice when honestly we knew someone else wanted it.  We edge out a parking slot to the dismay of another driver.  We think again.

Not nice & neat

Christianity is not nice and neat.  It’s about people’s lives changing and people realizing their need for Jesus.  Often we have to become pained and uncomfortable in order to see our need.  Take the disruptive child who’s starved for attention and makes his occasions unbearable for everyone.  All you want to do is have your kid nice and neat in church choir, and here’s this thorny scenario causing you to dread one rehearsal to the next. Then take the guy who monopolizes the adult study group, and you catch yourself hoping he’s absent next Sunday.  And you’d been so happy to finally be part of Bible study, until he showed up.  What about the time I’d been reading about generosity in 2 Corinthians 8, and the Lord put beside me on the bus a lady whose wonderful generosity challenged me?  Those words in Corinthians weren’t meant to stay nice and neat on the page.  They’re for real life, and the lady with the salsa was the Lord’s way of opening my eyes and stretching me into action.  Following the Lord certainly keeps us from stirring ourselves some additional problems, but sometimes He Himself has reason to stretch us beyond our comfort.  One time my husband and I taught a kindergarten class with a rambunctious little boy who we thought never listened, yet later his mom told us how carefully he recited at home the details of our Sunday class, well within earshot of a dad who didn’t attend church.  Suddenly we're so happy for the family's sake, and our classroom frustration didn't seem to matter.  Another time I remember listening to KLOVE radio and contemplating a financial donation, asking the Lord to prompt the same idea out of my husband’s mouth if we were supposed to give.  Shortly thereafter we’re in the car when the radio station again mentions their pledge campaign, and my husband says, “Maybe we should donate to KLOVE.”  Sometimes I hold onto money too tightly, but this time I saw the Lord leading, so we found joy in pulling out the checkbook and putting the envelope in the mail.  When the Lord stretches us, it’s the perfect exercise.  Maybe not our idea of nice and neat, maybe causing us to go cross-eyed in pain, maybe for reason we can't see right then, but still perfect.

A gracious identity

Fill in this blank: “I am a __________.”  For me, I know only one workable word that would tell all about me.  The word Christian speaks for my yesterday, my today, and my tomorrow.  It speaks for where I’ve traveled and where I’m headed.  It acknowledges my intentions and my actuality.  It explains why I laugh and why I cry and why I jump for joy.  Best of all, the word Christian points to Christ.  In Him, I find my whole identity.  It’s interesting that on TV game shows when the emcee asks the contestant to tell about himself or herself, we usually hear about the contestant’s occupation.  “I’m an electrician.”  “I’m a stay-at-home mom.”  “I’m a student.”  Yet these identifiers are incomplete and only temporary.  Students become teachers, subordinates change into managers, and sometimes company presidents lose their jobs and relocate as entry-level employees.  We are more than the sum of our work.  I am so thankful that the Lord’s grace lifts me out of the mire of sin and into a refreshed life of forgiveness.  Our identity lasts humbly in Him.  I am a Christian.  Amen.

Tattooed with compassion

The words of Gregory Boyle have gathered my interest.  A friend pointed me to Boyle's book Tattoos on the Heart: the Power of Boundless Compassion, which wonderfully carries forth the notion that no single life matters less than another.  While some would contend that of course we’re all on equal footing and for anyone to think otherwise is ludicrous, even when media news blasts tend to be quite partial, Boyle’s stories still make me think.  He tells of his experiences as a Jesuit priest stationed within Los Angeles’s heaviest gang territory.  He tells of a boy called George, whose ceremony of baptism contained an especially difficult component in that immediately afterward Boyle would need to tell George about his brother’s death in the streets.  Yet the occasion presented a wonderful view of the Lord at work.  Whereas reaction to death there had always included rage and promises to avenge, this time 17-year-old George appeared different.  Boyle says George’s grief more resembled the heartbreak of God, in that George’s previously hardened gang posture had changed into quiet sobs and tender weeping clutched in his open palms.  Here I see the love of Jesus pouring through a priest whose compassion had room for everybody—gangster and nongangster alike.  Matthew 9:36 says Jesus had compassion on those who were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.  That's all of us.

Jehoshaphat's way

Do you know King Jehoshaphat? He’s the guy in 2 Chronicles 20 whose approach to battle is quite interesting. Upon learning a vast army was coming against his land of Judah, his first move was to inquire of the Lord. Jehoshaphat did hear from the Lord and bowed face-down to the ground, leading his people to worship in the same way. Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and praise Him as they led the army to their battle positions. In the end, on Jehoshaphat’s behalf, the Lord won the battle by setting ambushes against the enemy and even causing them to stir in self-destruction. Upon victory, Jehoshaphat did not forget the Lord, for he led his men to rejoice in the temple. Verse 32 says, “…he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord.” What an amazing mode of operation that doesn’t need to end as strictly history. What would it look like today for entire militaries to sing to the Lord? What if each soldier praised Him in preparation for the battle ahead? What if we supporters praised the Lord faithfully on behalf of our soldiers? And what if we sang in our homes and on our streets for the many inner struggles we face? May we learn from Jehoshaphat.

Kyrie in the '80s

I’ve been intrigued lately by something from the ’80s. In the middle of the huge world of pop music, and for a while at the top of the pop charts, a group called Mr. Mister sang the words “Kyrie eleison,” which in Greek asks for the Lord to have mercy upon us. What a grand picture to imagine millions of people seeking the Lord through that song. That is…IF they understood what they were singing. I, for one, was pretty much oblivious to the whole thing. I don’t remember my brain being tuned in. And there lies the intrigue: how many times do I overlook evidence of the Lord? Even more, do I ever see evidence of Him but flat-out ignore it? Sometimes I don’t afford Him even 10 minutes. I see the Bible sitting on the table and pass it by. I drive east some mornings and realize afterward that I didn’t even notice the sunrise, which He created. For that matter, we can be aware of a beautiful sunrise but have the audacity to opt for the radio in resistance to quietly pondering the depth of His creation. Evidence of the Lord will never cease, and I ask Him to make me aware of His presence—in music, creation, and all the places He takes me. Still now, decades later, I’m so glad Mr. Mister sang those words.

Kissed so lovingly

He leaned toward her to sing. Each of his phrases seemed to speak from a smile he offered so naturally. I wondered if the whole time he remembered the days when they both could laugh and frolic freely. Now she rests in a bed with her husband sitting near, offering loving nudges to prompt her body to move. With one forefinger, he touches near her eye and finds such joy to see her eyelids lift. He gently touches the side of her mouth, saying, “Come on now. No sugar without singing.” Her lips respond, bidding a faint voice of the brightest hope. And indeed he gladly shares his kisses as soft, little pecks to her forehead. It was a demonstration of love so pure and patient, perhaps more tender than I’d ever witnessed before. Papers and a phone had fallen from his lap, and my entrance into the room was for their retrieval, yet I found myself standing in respect for something we don’t often see. A truly awe-inspiring picture of something God sets within and beyond our human capacities. Thank you, Lord.

Concert + God

My ticket stub listed Casting Crowns as the concert headline. Yet there was also something else happening that night. Even in Lindsay McCaul’s opening songs, the Lord was already at work. He knew her lyrics would touch a particular fear I’d been harboring. The previous day, a friend very sweetly asked if I planned to audition for our next community theater production. This next set of auditions requires Canadian and British accents, and the idea makes me nervous. Playing around with dialects can be fun, yet this next production is not a comedy, and trying to seriously change my vowel tones on stage with everybody watching could be quite uncomfortable. Still the Lord rescued me to reveal how my thoughts had been twisting out of priority. Honestly I don’t want fear of a British accent to inhibit my willingness to answer the Lord's call. Our selfish human nature can present a persistent battle, yet the Lord's ways will thrill the selfless heart. At the concert, as Sanctus Real and the Afters entered, and as Casting Crowns talked about leaving the mindsets of the world behind, I loved the Lord all over again for interceding on my behalf. Joshua 1:9 says, “…do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Indeed the Lord was with me at the concert, with purpose even beyond the imprint on the ticket stub.

Prayer & a movie

Nobody wanted to lead. They quickly surrendered their hands in the air and pleaded “Not me!” The consensus asked to wait for an official person, meaning one whose company nametag spelled out “CHAPLAIN.” The prevailing reluctance to pray caught me off guard because a prayer by one of us regular folk can be just as valid and effective as the clergy’s. Speaking as someone who’s served a few times on church staffs, I attest to my staff-dom itself not suddenly putting me closer to God. And then last night in the movie Have a Little Faith, which I did enjoy very much, one character initially felt unworthy of writing a eulogy for a rabbi who served his congregation for 40+ years. Yet many people not employed as ministers in churches, hospitals, or the military also devote decades to knowing and following the Lord. I respect them all the same—with or without an official nametag. So what is our view of pastors, priests, and those who wear “the cloth”?  As a fellow Christian, I’m grateful for their love of God and for their positions of service. Still the Lord gives us a whole world to impact, and we don’t have to wait till we’re on the payroll to pray and serve freely.

Jesus, my theater director

It’s happening again.  Another new thing.  This summer, notions of theater floated through my head.  I asked, “Lord, is that You?”  I searched local auditions, in case I was supposed to show up somewhere.  Kept praying for the Lord to put my steps in place and found one audition that left me curious.  Wrote it on the calendar weeks ahead and thought I’d see if on the actual day I still felt inclined to go.  On that day, 3:00 would be decision time.  Twenty minutes down the road and I was at the theater, without too many thoughts of turning around the car to cancel the whole thing.  The auditions finished, our orientation meeting ensued, and here I am playing an adoption worker, an annoying nurse, and an attorney.  In 2 short weeks, I’ve gone from elated to anxious and all in between.  Yet the Lord has blessed me.  This week, He has calmed the anxieties that nagged my brain.  I still have lines to learn and movements to coordinate, but He’s eased my heart one day at a time.  All along I’ve wondered if this was less about acting and more about meeting a certain someone.  I love to see how God connects people.  I could do without the nervousness that comes with new situations, but even first glimpse of witnessing Him at work makes my heart leap.  Forward march.

Humility & blessing

You’re talking with a co-worker.  The conversation becomes delicate as she mentions a guy who makes her uncomfortable.  This leads to discussion of boyfriends and husbands and how guys and girls interact, and suddenly the subject of divorce is on the table.  When the subject approaches, my heart starts to race, and I imagine nervous red splotches covering my light skin.  Divorce is not my favorite topic, except for the fact that it can combine with the subject of forgiveness.  I shared with my co-worker, “Divorce does not please God, yet I took part in a divorce.  And as my sorrow deepened for what I’d done, my love for the Lord and His forgiveness grew.”  The teacher’s lounge that moment offered not the slightest peep.  Yet soon I heard a story about pregnancy during high school.  Then a separate story about a daughter diagnosed with autism.  All kinds of difficulty and heartache that needed a place to release.  I’m not saying we spill our guts with everyone we meet, yet if God prompts us to share, we can be glad for our testimonies to encourage someone else.  In this case, the humbling topic of divorce served as invitation for others to honestly release their pain.  Not everyone has a home or a friend who listens.  We may be someone’s first awareness of how Jesus saves and forgives and walks with us through pain. 

Kindness at 100 degrees

Two events, six people, and a salute.  I drove to my doctor’s office across town and walked inside to pick up some medicine.  I returned to the car, only to find it dead.  Battery didn’t work—no juice, nothing, nada, zilch.  The key was in the ignition, but the engine wouldn’t turn over.  Eeesh.  On the more trivial side, my hope for this less-than-30-minute trip being my first time for free parking was now looking shattered.  I walked down the aisle to the parking attendant to explain.  She offered that her Security Department could jump my car battery.  With a big sigh of relief, I welcomed her offer.  One worker from Security walked toward me, and the second arrived with a vehicle.  The first man kept me company, and the second brought the hardware.  Two very kind men for whom I was extremely thankful.  I now envisioned myself soon lavishing in the luxury of air conditioning and stepping out of the swimming pool of sweat that comes with 100^o heat.  Thirty minutes and I should be home, except for the fact that the car died again a few miles down the road.  This time, I was in the left turn lane at a very busy intersection approaching the highway.  I stepped out of the car to hand-motion the car behind me to go around.  The driver quickly approached to offer to push my car into the Exxon on the opposite side of the street.  Then came another man to help push.  Then a lady stepped into the street to stop traffic in order for the two men to push the car across.  That’s the abbreviated version of the story, as we endured buckets of sweat while having trouble shifting the car into neutral, and I made numerous phone calls and waited a good while for the tow truck.  What shined very brightly in this story was the kindness of people, starting with the parking lot attendant.  I was humbled.  I could not say for certain that I would have offered to push someone’s stalled car across the street.  I was so immensely thankful for their help that I sat dumbfounded each time the scenes replayed in my head.  And I didn’t even have the opportunity to thank everyone, as I assume the second man who pushed the car and the lady who directed traffic must have left while I situated the car at the Exxon.  There’s something about kindness and how it speaks without expectation of repayment and sometimes in anonymity.  Colossians 3:12 tells us to clothe ourselves with kindness.  All this, and still there was a bigger picture.  I did reach the doctor’s office for my medicine.  I even received free parking.  God surrounded me with kind people and caused me to rethink my own ways.  And still while sitting in the tow truck, I realized the Lord opened a door to talk with the driver about Jesus.  And with a man at our car repair shop, another conversation opened to retell of God’s provision.  I hereby salute the kindness of people and ultimately this call upon God’s people to be kind.