Most days I long for that moment again. I think about how angry I was at the Lord, and about how frustrated my situation had made me. I remember the way the Lord humbled me. I also remember how in that moment, as I sat on that bright green sleeping bag with a 12 year old little girl named Caitlyn, the only thing that came out of my mouth was a song.
I'm not a singer. I've always wished that I was, but unfortunately my brother got that gene in our family and the rest of us have had to get by in children's choir and middle school choir learning to artfully and gracefully lisping. But as Caitlyn looked at me with those big blue eyes full of tears, and signs of fear and loneliness, all I could do was sing "our God is greater, our God is stronger, our God is higher than any other, our God is healer, awesome in power, our God, our God" over and over again.
By this time, my newfound cabinmates had stopped there game of "let's see who can scream the loudest" and the people who were now passing by our quarantine room gave confused looks as they went about their nighttime activities. For the first time that day, I felt the Lord's peace. In those few moments, I knew I served a faithful God. I knew His plan was perfect. He knew I needed Caitlyn just as much as she needed me.
Sometimes I wish I could relive that moment. I wish I could sit there with Caitlyn again and sing over her. I wish I could feel the Lord's sovereignty again as I did in those moments. I wish I could look into her eyes and find the strength to withstand the storm.
That night as I stopped singing, I apologized to her for my inability to hit any note. She then said to me "No, no, I liked it." So we picked up again together this time. A kind of silence filled the room. The whole atmosphere had changed. The sorrow had gone, the tears had dried up, and we all knew the Lord was watching over us.
The Lord provides. He always provides.
1 comment:
That was a tough and beautiful day. You're the best. That's all.
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