A Bigger Picture, The End

Of course!  Edgar, the nice mechanic from Puerto Rico would drive me to the school!  No detours to the Funeral Parlor this time.  I am seriously willing to jog the 13 miles to my daughter's school in hot, humid Florida weather at this point.  I am anxious to get to see her off on her trip.  The night before, my daughter and I could not find the clothes she set aside to wear to the airport.  We looked in my room at the place I was staying, in the car, in her neatly packed suitcase, in her carry-on bag and we were getting ready to check the dumpster when I noticed a bag on the floor of her dorm room, next to her computer.  Yup, her clothes were set down right next to her "where she wouldn't lose them".  I am thinking that if I don't get to the school before she leaves, who knows what else my daughter may misplace or forget!  I get into the truck and Edgar has a sheepish grin on his face.  He says, "Guess where I am going?"  I say, "To the school!"  He says, "No, guess where I am going?"  I'm thinking, he better be going to the school or I'll have a heart attack on the spot!  So, I say, "To my daughter's school, right?."  I see he is smiling and I guess he may be trying to make a joke about the Funeral Parlor, so I said, "Not to the Funeral Parlor again, right?."  He sees I don't understand what he is saying so he speaks louder and slower, he says, "Guess.  where.  I.  am.  going.  in August?"  Now, I am so wrapped up in the events of my own life and the life of my daughter, I frankly didn't  much care where Edgar was going in August.  I am sitting in the passenger seat, pushing an imaginary gas pedal to the floor, leaning on the dashboard, trying to get the truck to move a bit faster.  I politely say, "I have no guesses, Edgar, where are you going in August?"  He smiles broad and answers proudly, "To see my son in Puerto Rico.  I made reservations to see him.  I am going to Puerto Rico in August."  I understand now.  He took to heart what I said about a boy needing his father.  It was a casual statement on my part, but God uses everything!  Broken a/c, a feeble attempt by the enemy to thwart plans with a broken brake line, Christian radio, even my impatience; He uses for His good. Four days later when I am back in NJ, on Mother's Day, I received a text message from Edgar wishing me a Happy Mother's Day.  What God allows, He uses.  The End or Amen.

A Bigger Picture, Part III

At noon the next day, my daughter was to begin her mission trip.  Her team will have to drive over an hour to the airport, take a 10 hour flight, a 2 hour flight and another 2 hour flight.  Her destination, Malta.  She will be working with refugees who have fled Africa for a better life and somehow, either because of pirating or a shipwreck, they ended up on this little Island in the Mediterranean Sea.  The Island is 316 miles long (“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16 - just saying).  It houses 3 refugee camps (tent communities) that house between 800 and 1,000 refugees per camp.  Many of the refugees are without loved ones and live with no hope of leaving Malta.  One of the workshops my daughter wrote was a job skills workshop.  Teaching the refugees how to fill out a job application, how to talk about their talents, and how to prepare for an interview.  A missionary couple on the island has been trying to find a way into the men's camp, but up until now were unsuccessful.  The missionaries received my daughter's workshop proposal, it was posted at the men's camp and a sign-up sheet was filled with names.  It was an "in" to the men's camp.  The missionaries are the hands and feet of Jesus as they minister to the needs of these forgotten people.  With acts of kindness and the teaching of workshops, they hope to let the love of Christ shine.  Failed brakes will not thwart the plans of the Almighty!  My daughter's car needed to be fixed and parked in school lot before I hopped back on a plane to New Jersey.  That meant I had to fix the brakes first thing in the morning.  The car was not drivable, so I needed to call a tow truck.  The tow truck driver arrived late, took a wrong turn, got behind a school bus, and spoke a deep south language that was unrecognizable to me.  I just kept nodding my head and looking at  my watch.  When I got to Midas and the car was put up on the lift, Big M showed me where the brake line burst.  I remembered the words that my daughter heard in training.  Big M said it would be a two hour job. "My daughter leaves in a few hours!  Can someone drive me to her school?" I pleaded!  "Sure. Edgar will drive you." . . . to be continued . . .    

A Bigger Picture, Part II

Often we don't know that God has ordained a meeting, or in my case a whole series of events, until after the dust settles.  You don't get to see a bigger picture until you can step away and see it from a different perspective.  After a few trips to the storage unit, the department store, the dumpster, a short (wonderful!!) 2 hour trip to the beach, a very expensive dinner with friends on a marina with yachts (which were all empty btw, just saying), breakfasts served by a man who hated me for no reason that I can fathom - my daughter and I were exhausted.  She was preparing to go on an overseas missions trip for 3 weeks to work in tent communities serving African refugees.  It was a big task for us to move her out of her dorm the day after she completed her finals (all A's btw, just saying), shop and pack for her trip and load her car to drive 1,300 miles to New Jersey when she returns to Florida from overseas.  On top of all that, my daughter had training and the task of writing out workshops to teach the refugees.  Apparently, she was the only one on her team writing the workshops.  The night before my daughter is to leave there is a distant thunder storm.  We watch it from the sliding glass doors in her deserted dorm.  She is spending the night in her dorm with her roommate because they want to be on campus. My daughter is crying.  The training was tough, her team members are dumb, her dorm is empty, her nerves are shot.  I hated leaving her, but we both needed sleep.  It is raining as I drive away.  When I hit the brakes to stop my foot goes to the floor.  There are no brakes in her car.  I still cry when I praise God it was me driving that car and not my daughter.   When I make it to my room, I call my daughter.  She listens to what happens and tells me this: "At training tonight we were told that the enemy will do whatever he can to prevent us from doing God's work overseas. He told us that we will have car trouble and someone will lose their brakes."  We both cry ourselves to sleep . . . to be continued . . .

A Bigger Picture, Part I

This is one of those stories that I need to add some details, so bear with me.  When I arrived in Florida to help my daughter, the first thing on my long list was to get her car's air conditioning fixed.  I took her car to Midas thinking a little freon was all it needed.  When I was told that it needed a whole new system, I politely said, "Prove it."  Which the very large Midas mechanic did (referred to as "Big M" hereafter).  Big M told me that it would take 3 - 4 hours.  I panicked knowing that the a/c was only the first thing on a list of many.  Big M agreed to let one of his mechanics drive me back to my daughter's school so I could help her clean, sort, pack and store her dorm room.  Edgar, the mechanic who drove me, was a nice man from Puerto Rico.  He was flipping through the radio stations and settled on a Christian music station.  I excitedly said, "You're a believer!!"  To which replied (after he recovered from the shock of my yelling at him on a busy highway), "Yes, with the life I have, it's my only hope."  He told me his life story which includes a hard working man, husband and father of 3.  He worked 3 jobs to support his family.  His oldest child, a son, is 15.  Last year his wife abruptly left him, taking the 3 children to Puerto Rico.  He has not seen his family since then.  Their leaving has left a huge hole in his heart.  I was saddened and spoke of how hard it must be for his son also.  I said, "A 15 year old boy needs his dad."  He assured me that he tries to talk to his son daily.  We were coming up on my daughter's school, but her school is a series of buildings on one way streets and alleys.  After we missed our turn, I said, "Turn here!", which Edgar did . . . right into a Funeral Parlor.  Much to our surprise, a funeral was in session!  Between our intense conversation, my anxiety and being lost, we were ripe for a bit of relief  . . .  we laughed hysterically and tried to disappear under the dashboard of the truck as the mourners poured out of the Funeral Parlor to their cars.  Little did I know that would not be the last time I saw Edgar, nor did I know that our chance meeting was perhaps not chance after all . . .  to be continued . . .

What A Trip It Has Been

I was away for seven days in Florida and I think I have seven stories.  I'll start with the airplane story.  You all know I get travel anxiety.  People with anxiety have a fear of losing control in public.  One of my fears is that I will start to laugh (get hysterical) and not be able to stop.  It's silly, I know, but anxiety is not rational.  I got my ticket late and had no choice but to take a window seat in the back of the plane.  Not the best for someone with anxiety.  In the final minutes of boarding a huge black man sat down in front of me.  He literally spilled over into my lap. The man who had the seat next to him refused to sit there.  The big man had a brief conversation with the Flight Attendant who apologized because she could not get him 2 seats together.  He apparently had ticketed two seats but the airlines messed up (big surprise there).  The Flight Attendant was saying to him, "I'm sorry, but I could not get you another seat, but I have someone who volunteered to sit next to you."  The Flight Attendant was an attractive women of medium height and weight.  As she stepped aside, you could see behind her stood a 5 foot, little old white lady with even whiter hair.  The little lady said, "Oh, I will sit next to him."  And there it was. . . , the one hysterical thing that I thought would be the end of me.  To complete the picture, I must tell you, the biggest thing on the man in front of me was his smile.  His white teeth matched perfectly with the little lady's white hair.  They sat together in perfect harmony for the entire flight; big and small, black and white, young and old.  I noticed that people knew him, talked to him about his football career and that he wore a "Lion of Judah" gold necklace.  Eight days later as my husband was flipping channels I yelled excitedly, "There is the man who sat in my lap on the plane!"  This man, a retired football player, was speaking about his Christian faith, smiling with those pearly white teeth.  This time when I saw him, I laughed hysterically, but without fear!

A Mother's Fruit

God's Word says that a good tree will bear good fruit while a bad tree will bear bad fruit.  The way you recognize a tree is by it's fruit.  If you plant a seed from the fruit of a good tree it will blossom.  However, sometimes, because of things out of the control of the tree (e.g., storms, worms and such), the fruit rots.  And it is only with great care that that tree will ever bear good fruit again.  Do you smell an analogy?  I was a piece of rotten fruit!  Who do you think nurtured me, with great care, to bear good fruit again?  Who do you think continued to love me in spite of the storms and worms and the stench of rotting fruit?  Where do you think I got my strength from?  Not from any sissy.  No, I got my strength from my Italian mother.  Italian mother's are the best of the best.  They love you until you want to scream and feed you until you want to burst.  They fatten you up and then tell you to lose weight.  They say don't talk back to me, but then want to know why you're not talking to them.  They don't tolerate bad behavior, but they love you anyway.  They can produce a great harvest from a bad seed.  They never say I told you so, but they don't need to, you know that they told you so!  It is with great honor and respect that I give a shout out to the best Italian mother I know, my mother.  If I am any good at all, it is to her credit.  If I bear good fruit, it is to her credit.  If I make a good meatball, it is to her credit. She works hard, loves deeply and, of course, cooks superbly.  Italian mother's are like no others.  Love you Mom, Happy Mother's Day!