Clinging

“Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need; rescue me from those who pursue me, for they are too strong for me.  Set me free from my prison, that I may praise your name.  Then the righteous will gather about me because of your goodness to me.”—Psalm 142: 6-7

“Heavenly Father, please…please…just be here.  Just meet me.  Please come to meet me where I am.  I cling to you.  I need you.  Abba!  Help me, Father.  Let your mercy come speedily to meet me, for I am in desperate need.”

Repeat that prayer all day.  It never gets old out here.  I’ve had my “best week” out here so far, and I didn’t do any of it.  Tuesday around five o’clock I was knocking on empty doors with tears in my eyes.  No one seemed to be home, and I was getting tired of it.  Somehow, no one on the street had kids.  Somehow, no one wanted to hear what I had to say.  After driving past this run-down trailer about three times, I finally was desperate enough to see if they had children.  After a solemn demo of the books, I held a check in my hand and I was completely silenced by God’s grace and mercy. 

“Father…I didn’t do anything for that.”

Wednesday, Michelle welcomed me into her home without knowing I was there to sell her something.  After about twenty minutes of her repeatedly questioning her son Mark, “Mahk, are you actually gonna use this?!” she consented to buy them.  As a going away present, Michelle let me have the Methodist hymnal dated back to 1874 that she found at a flea market.  She wrote, “To Alicia, love Michelle & Mark” on the inside of the front cover.  Never mind that it could actually be worth something, I left with a hug and a prayer that God would help her “drinkin’ prah-blem” as she put it. 

“Lord, thank you for them…”

Thursday, I climbed up a steep stoop and knocked on the ply-wood door of the log cabin.  Meggan, the grandmother opened the door.  I immediately thought, “Oh man, I’m wasting my time, perhaps the neighbors meant the house next to her had kids…”  Twenty minutes later, I filled out her order form and said, “I don’t know what brought me here.” 

“I think you were supposed to be here.”

“Yeah,”  I giggled.  “Meggan, are you a Christian?”

“Yes, are you?  I think I felt it when you came into my house.”

“Awesome, God is so good to us.  What’s your testimony like?”

“Oh my, well that’s a long story.”

“Okay, how about when I deliver your books?”

“God, your grace is overwhelming…”

‘“Is not Ephraim my dear son, the child in whom I delight?  Though I often speak against him, I still remember him.  Therefore my heart yearns for him; I have great compassion for him,’ declares the Lord”—Jeremiah 31: 20