By Deborah Howard
You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.
~John 14:14
Our five-bedroom ranch house in the suburbs sold in the divorce proceedings. The boat, motor home and cross-country travels disappeared. My Chrysler LeBaron, the only new car I'd ever owned, was replaced with a rundown twenty-year-old clunker, symbolic of my own life -- nondescript and nameless. The car soon fell apart, along with the dream I cherished. My bank account took a nosedive. Left with few options, I was forced into an efficiency apartment, which created a large gaping hole in my ego.
You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.
~John 14:14
Our five-bedroom ranch house in the suburbs sold in the divorce proceedings. The boat, motor home and cross-country travels disappeared. My Chrysler LeBaron, the only new car I'd ever owned, was replaced with a rundown twenty-year-old clunker, symbolic of my own life -- nondescript and nameless. The car soon fell apart, along with the dream I cherished. My bank account took a nosedive. Left with few options, I was forced into an efficiency apartment, which created a large gaping hole in my ego.
I frequently used the ten-minute walk to my barely-able-to-make-ends-meet job to convey my dissatisfaction to God. I wasn't sure He cared or even if He heard.
One evening at the opening night of a conference held close to my apartment, I bumped into Kathryn. She couldn't find a hotel room so I offered to let her stay at my place. She agreed to drive me back and forth to work during the day and we'd both attend the evening meetings.
The next morning I readied myself for work. As I approached the door, I felt a heavy presence, like a shepherd's staff on my chest, blocking my way. With every step it became weightier. "What is happening to me?"
I heard a still small voice say, "I have something else for you to do today. Go to the conference."
Counting the loss of a day's wages too costly, I resisted. "How can I not go to work?" My question dissolved into repentance. "Lord, I'm sorry for looking to my paycheck as my source of provision."
I phoned work, asking for the day off and received it. This time when I walked toward the door there was no restraint.
Kathryn and I quickly found seats in the second row. Before we sat down, Lois and Cindy from New York introduced themselves to us. Behind me sat Pat, from Indiana. Surprised that everyone around me was from other cities, I thought, "Invite them to lunch."
They all accepted the invitation immediately. When I realized the repercussions of their acceptance, I chuckled. "What will I feed these strangers?"
We ate chicken-broccoli soup left over from the weekend and chatted about family, work, church and life. After lunch, someone suggested we pray.
My own prayer shocked me when I said, "Lord, is there anything You need?"
Someone sang, "I will come and bow down at your feet, Lord Jesus."
"That's what I need," came His response, followed by another instruction. "Just ask."
We exhausted ourselves with asking, then agreed to rest before the evening service. Lois headed to the door, but turned rather abruptly to face me. "What do you need?" she said.
I searched for words but none surfaced.
"Tell me tonight." With that she was out the door.
I turned to the others in disbelief, repeating her question. They laughed. "It's obvious. You need a couch, a car, a better job."
They knew my needs better than I. I stepped outside to conceal the tears. Pacing back and forth in the parking lot, I asked God, "What do You want me to ask for?"
His response startled me. "Tell her you need a car."
I tried to gain composure while combating fear. "How can I tell someone I just met I need a car? I only gave her a bowl of leftover soup and you want me to ask for a car?"
I was still asking that question when Kathryn and I walked through the double doors of the 5,000-seat auditorium that evening. Lois saw us walk in and bolted down the aisle. "Do you know what you need?" she commanded insisting I reply.
I spit out the words. "I... I... need... a... car."
She grabbed my arm, walked me to her front row seat, and turned me to face the judge-like gaze of her three kids and their spouses. "Now, tell them what you need," she demanded.
I fidgeted, wondering if they would criticize me for answering honestly before sputtering, "I need a car."
They all howled with laughter!
I swallowed my tears and embarrassment.
"Let me explain," Lois said. "I didn't have to bring my car on this trip. In spite of the kids' opposition, I drove as well."
Another chimed in. "She told us last night, 'I'm suppose to give my car to the lady behind me.'"
While I was making soup in Kentucky, Lois was driving from New York. Neither of us knew the Lord was stirring our hearts to obey Him or that He would pour us into each other's lives.
Handing me the keys to a late model Ford Taurus, Lois beamed, "Next time, you drive to New York, and we'll have soup at my place."
One evening at the opening night of a conference held close to my apartment, I bumped into Kathryn. She couldn't find a hotel room so I offered to let her stay at my place. She agreed to drive me back and forth to work during the day and we'd both attend the evening meetings.
The next morning I readied myself for work. As I approached the door, I felt a heavy presence, like a shepherd's staff on my chest, blocking my way. With every step it became weightier. "What is happening to me?"
I heard a still small voice say, "I have something else for you to do today. Go to the conference."
Counting the loss of a day's wages too costly, I resisted. "How can I not go to work?" My question dissolved into repentance. "Lord, I'm sorry for looking to my paycheck as my source of provision."
I phoned work, asking for the day off and received it. This time when I walked toward the door there was no restraint.
Kathryn and I quickly found seats in the second row. Before we sat down, Lois and Cindy from New York introduced themselves to us. Behind me sat Pat, from Indiana. Surprised that everyone around me was from other cities, I thought, "Invite them to lunch."
They all accepted the invitation immediately. When I realized the repercussions of their acceptance, I chuckled. "What will I feed these strangers?"
We ate chicken-broccoli soup left over from the weekend and chatted about family, work, church and life. After lunch, someone suggested we pray.
My own prayer shocked me when I said, "Lord, is there anything You need?"
Someone sang, "I will come and bow down at your feet, Lord Jesus."
"That's what I need," came His response, followed by another instruction. "Just ask."
We exhausted ourselves with asking, then agreed to rest before the evening service. Lois headed to the door, but turned rather abruptly to face me. "What do you need?" she said.
I searched for words but none surfaced.
"Tell me tonight." With that she was out the door.
I turned to the others in disbelief, repeating her question. They laughed. "It's obvious. You need a couch, a car, a better job."
They knew my needs better than I. I stepped outside to conceal the tears. Pacing back and forth in the parking lot, I asked God, "What do You want me to ask for?"
His response startled me. "Tell her you need a car."
I tried to gain composure while combating fear. "How can I tell someone I just met I need a car? I only gave her a bowl of leftover soup and you want me to ask for a car?"
I was still asking that question when Kathryn and I walked through the double doors of the 5,000-seat auditorium that evening. Lois saw us walk in and bolted down the aisle. "Do you know what you need?" she commanded insisting I reply.
I spit out the words. "I... I... need... a... car."
She grabbed my arm, walked me to her front row seat, and turned me to face the judge-like gaze of her three kids and their spouses. "Now, tell them what you need," she demanded.
I fidgeted, wondering if they would criticize me for answering honestly before sputtering, "I need a car."
They all howled with laughter!
I swallowed my tears and embarrassment.
"Let me explain," Lois said. "I didn't have to bring my car on this trip. In spite of the kids' opposition, I drove as well."
Another chimed in. "She told us last night, 'I'm suppose to give my car to the lady behind me.'"
While I was making soup in Kentucky, Lois was driving from New York. Neither of us knew the Lord was stirring our hearts to obey Him or that He would pour us into each other's lives.
Handing me the keys to a late model Ford Taurus, Lois beamed, "Next time, you drive to New York, and we'll have soup at my place."
http://www.chickensoup.com
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