I
received this in an email this morning. It
truly moved me and I wanted to share. Be sure to read the whole story because the last line is awesome. I think it just may become my new
mantra.
For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding
Bible teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother of two daughters. This is one of her experiences: April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to board the plane,
I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had
a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it
is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise.
Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons, not the least
of which is your ego. I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped
over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that
obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from
his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in
his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy, gray hair
hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails
were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man. I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face.
As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself
wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he
was dead. So this man in the airport... an impersonator maybe? Was a camera
on us somewhere? There I sat; trying to concentrate on the Word to keep
from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served up on a wheelchair
only a few seats from me. All the while, my heart was growing more and more
overwhelmed with a feeling for him. Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern,
and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man. I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall.
I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary
to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may
be embarrassing. I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my
spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. 'Oh, no, God, please, no.'
I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into
heaven and said, 'Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now.Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get
up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please,Lord!' There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, 'Please don't
make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the plane.' Then I
heard it...'I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair.' The words were so clear, my heart
leaped into my throat, and my thoughts
spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-
brainer. I
looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, 'God, as I live and breathe,
I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord.
I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life.What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed?
I am going to witness to this man.' Again, as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to
write this statement across the wall of my mind. 'That is not what I said, Beth.
I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair.' I looked up at God and quipped, 'I don't have a hairbrush. It's in
my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without
a hairbrush?' God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him
as these thoughts came to me from God's word: 'I will thoroughly furnish
you unto all good works.' (2 Timothy 3:17) I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as
I retell this story, my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies.
I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, 'Sir,
may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?' He looked back at me and said, 'What did you say?' 'May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?' To which he responded in volume ten, 'Little lady, if you expect me to
hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that.' At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, 'SIR, MAY I HAVE
THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?' At which point every eye in the place
darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar
than old Mr. Long Locks. Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat,
I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, 'If you
really want to.' Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem
interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until
I could utter the words, 'Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one
little problem. I don't have a hairbrush.' 'I have one in my bag,' he responded. I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands
and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I
was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was
perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but
must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering
two little girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such
a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands,
remembering to take my time not to pull. A miraculous thing happened to me as I
started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared.
There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed
and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know
this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul
in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I - for that few minutes -
felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for
a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for
a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's.His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's.I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the chair to face him.
I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knee and said, 'Sir, do
you know my Jesus?'He said, 'Yes, I do' Well, that figures, I thought. He explained, 'I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't
marry me until I got to know the Savior.' He said, 'You see, the problem is,
I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and she's
been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess
I must be for my bride.' Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment
when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand,
was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details
only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it. Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was
deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to
have accompanied him on that aircraft. I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the
airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She said, 'That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that?What made you do that?' I said, 'Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!' And we got to share. I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted,you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move
on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or
feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation.
Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual.Tell Him your need! I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how
many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way... all because
I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.Please share this wonderful story.
'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain!
