Holy Spirit Whispers - Gibson

Inez the Mexican, God-lover and Jesus-follower, stands before me. Red plaid shirt, graying hair, beard. A burly man, with gentle mannerisms and eyes like dark pools. We have not met before, but those eyes tell me something: this man has a story.

I want to hear it. Even more, I feel I’ll want to tell it.

We have a common acquaintance, Inez and I. A man named Doug. Almost every time we meet, Doug brings me a story, and sometimes the people they belong to. True stories. Hard stories. Sad, sad, happy. Happy sad, sad. Like life. This one spins out long. Moisture gathers in the big man’s eyes as he tells it.

Inez and Veronica own a nursery business in Mexico. It makes a little; but not enough. To supplement  their income, Inez works as a long haul trucker.  They have four children, or did until a few years ago.

“God told us,” Inez says. “He told us our son would die two weeks before he did.” On that day Adrian, three-and-a-half years old, the youngest, attended a funeral with his family. At the cemetery, he asked an unusual question. “Mama, do they only bury adults here?”

Shocked, she responded, “No, children are buried here too.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m going to be here soon.”

I wait for the main character to enter the story. God. He always has a part in the stories Doug brings me. I don’t have to wait long.

In the next weeks, little Adrian often climbed onto his mother’s knee. “Hug me, Mama,” he whispered each time. “I will not be long with you. “

We’re on holy ground now. The hurt, the heart, the humanity, and yes, the hope bleeds through his words. One by one, Inez continues to list God’s gentle nudges; the things he used to prepare Adrian’s family for the ending of his short life on earth.

“I recognized the premonitions,” he told me. He begged. Prayed. Agonized. Pled with God, “Please, do not take away my son.” But when the end came, in the form of a horrific vehicle accident, Inez looked back and realized that the Holy Spirit, in love, had repeatedly assured them that God would take care of their beloved Adrian from that point on.

After the accident, Inez, who had not been nearby at the time, had the difficult task of shopping for clothes in which to bury his son. With heavy heart, he selected a checkered shirt and pants.

After the family re-united, his eleven-year-old daughter showed him her latest artwork, inspired by the reassuring words of Psalm 23, which she had copied beside the picture. “The Lord is my Shepherd…”

“Jesus watches over us when we rest,” she had titled it. The picture showed her beloved brother, sleeping. Flowers and loveliness surrounded him.  A blanket covered him. A checkered blanket, very like the fabric in the shirt his Papa bought.

But she had drawn the picture days before her brother died.

God knows. God cares. Adrian is safe, and Inez has peace.

 

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Among other places, author, newspaper columnist and broadcaster Kathleen Gibson ponders faith and life in her newspaper column, Sunny Side Up. The above Sunny Side Up column ran in various Western newspapers earlier this month.

 

No One Should be Invisible - Rose McCormick Brandon

A man dropped in to my blog to read my articles on Joan Sepp. His reason for visiting was the recent death of Joan’s husband, Toivo. (Joan passed away a few years ago.) My visitor left this note - 

"I had a hard childhood and was often upset when I delivered the newspaper (to the Sepp home). On the days when I was most alone, one of them often met me at the door and chatted with me. I can't even count the number of times I didn't do something rash because these strong people had taken time to speak with me."

This caused me to think about the “invisible” people who cross our paths each day. They serve us in restaurants, grocery stores and banks. They deliver mail, parcels, newspapers and fliers, fill our gas tanks, pour our coffee, clean our messes and repair our stuff. They take our complaints, reduce our phone bills, ask us to please subscribe to their magazine, offer us deals on this and that, tempt us to buy chocolate bars and cookies. Mostly, they are front-line people who serve. They don’t control their product. But, often we act like they do.

 

Jesus was always mindful of individuals whether he found them in the synagogue, begging on the street, fetching water, tending sheep, fishing or collecting taxes. He looked past their duties. He spoke to the person behind the job. And because of His approach, lives changed for the good. People realized they mattered to God, that they weren’t invisible.

 

This reader’s comment has stirred me. It has reminded me that it really matters how I treat people, whether I meet them face to face, on-line or talk to them on the phone.

I’ve pledged to be kinder. If a busy man like Jesus always found time for people, can’t I do the same?

Jesus of Nazareth went about doing good and healing all that were oppressed . . . Acts. 10:38

Joan and Toivo Sepp lost two children to murder. They suffered many dark days, yet they took time to notice and talk to a lonely paper boy. Their noticing made a difference in his life. “After everything that happened to them,” my reader says, “they still had time for a chubby kid delivering the paper.”

 

Making it Personal: Lord, forgive me for not following your example of showing kindness to every human being who crosses my path. Make me alert and mindful to do better.

The articles on Joan Sepp: one, two, three

 

My book, One Good Word Makes all the Difference, is available here.