Week of June 28
Brad’s celebrity status is that he was the first golfer to lose a national title to Tiger Woods.
The year was 1991 and Brad Zwetschke was ranked number two behind Tiger in the U.S. Junior Amateur golf. In the championship match Brad was three up after five holes, and two up at the turn at Bay Hill in Orlando. It would be the first of many well publicized comebacks for Tiger who tied the match and defeated Brad on the first playoff hole.
“Coming out of school all I wanted to do was play golf and party. I lived the wild life,” Brad says. Along the way he met Christina Mauldin, a preacher’s daughter from the South side of Chicago. Brad is also from Chicago. Within a year and a half they were married. “She thought she was marrying a golf professional and I thought I was marrying an entertainer from Black Television.” (Christina had done a stint on the program Heart & Soul.)
“My wife is a strong Christian and my loyal supporter. She accompanied me on tour, which was arduous, lots of travel and expensive. Sometimes we slept in our van because we couldn’t afford the hotel prices.
“In November 2001 we were touring in Australia and we went into a little church in Brisbane. The preacher’s message was based on John 21. The message spoke to me especially when Jesus asks Peter, ‘Do you love me as much as these’ (referring to the fish Peter and his friends had just caught).“Yes Lord, You know that I love You.”
“Then feed My lambs.” John21:l5
"I identified with Peter who was being asked to give up fishing. I felt I was being asked to put down my clubs.
Three months later I was driving to the Canadian Tour Qualifying Tournament when I heard a message on the radio quoting John 21. Again I felt the message speaking to me. I played in the tournament but I did not qualify. My heart wasn’t in the game anymore. I quit golf.
“With the encouragement of my father-in law I enrolled in New Orleans Theological Seminary.He too had been called to the ministry by John 21.”
In August 2005, four months before Brad was to finish, Katrina devastated New Orleans. With two children and Christina eight months pregnant, Brad borrowed a friend's van and fled to Beatrice Alabama where they knew a pastor who took them in.
“We lost everything to Katrina. Our apartment was completely flooded. But God had spared our family. Then another kind of flood hit. I could not stop the flow of gifts of clothing, food and furniture that poured in on us. It still hasn’t subsided.
“When it was time for Christina to have our fourth child we moved to Bradenton , Florida to be close to the doctor who had delivered our other children. I took a job as student intern in evangelism and finished my final semester at the seminary on line. In December 2006 my classmates and I received our degrees. Later I became the voluntary chaplain to the Cincinnati Reds farm team then in Sarasota.
“God has used everything in my life for His purposes. Golf had been my idol…now I’m pictured in golf magazines holding a Bible. It took a while for me to accept God’s forgiveness and to accept his grace. That has been huge for me.
“Tiger has become the king of golf. My notoriety as being the first to lose a national title to Tiger still brings invitations to speak at golf dinners and men’s retreats where I get to tell people about the King of Kings.”
Brad Zwetschke
(Brad Zwetschke is now a U.S. Army Chaplain on active duty-Ed)
Incredible true stories that touch the heart and tug at the soul. Are they chance or destiny, coincidence or fate? Do you have your own Go Figure story? Want to share it? E-mail us at gofigureamerica@yahoo.com
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Mr. Clarke
Week of June 21
There are some things that just defy logical explanations. This is one of those things for me. I am a mother with a small boy at home. About once a month a Mr. Clarke would stop by, usually late morning, with a suitcase full of small household items for sale. Mr. Clarke, I never knew his first name and he always addressed me as Mrs.Marr. He was an older gentleman of retirement age who was trying to augment his income by going door-to-door selling whatever he could. I felt sorry for him and would always buy something, even if only a pair of shoe strings, so he wouldn’t leave without having sold something.
Mainly we would just chat about the weather or something in the news that week while my little boy played with blocks or some other toy on the living room floor. After several minutes of friendly conversation he would open his suitcase and point out some new item. I would listen to whatever he was promoting and politely say I didn’t think I needed that right now but what we really needed was a box of bandages. I would purchase the item and he was always most gracious as he packed his wares and left.
This went on for about a year and then one month passed and he hadn’t stopped by. Several months passed and no Mr. Clarke. There was a knock at the door one morning and I opened it to find a thin pleasant looking woman.
“Are you Mrs. Marr,” she asked? I nodded.
“I’m Mrs. Clarke, You were a customer of my husband. He passed on you know.”
“I’m sorry, I wondered what happened to him.”
“I’ve been talking with him and last night he gave me a message for you,” she said.
Before I could collect myself to say anything sensible she must have read the expression of bewilderment and shock on my face and went on talking.
“Oh yes. I talk with him frequently and last night he was very clear that I bring a message to you. He said, ‘tell Mrs. Marr there is going to be an explosion.’ That’s it, that’s all he said. I can’t tell you what it means, just what he said.”
She wouldn’t come in, apologized for upsetting me in any way and thanked me for being kind to her husband and she walked away. I was dumbfounded.
I thought of a hundred questions I wanted to ask her but she had gone. I didn’t know how to get in touch with her, or where she lived and I still didn’t know Mr. Clarke’s first name.
An explosion! What to do? My husband worked at an oil refinery and I impulsively called his office. As the call was going through I thought what on earth will I say to him, that a woman I’ve never met before told me her dead husband gave her a message last night to warn me that there was going to be an explosion…
“Hello.”
“Hi Dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, what’s up?”
I couldn’t tell him at least not now over the phone while he was at work. I would tell him when he got home tonight, besides he would be asking me a ton of questions to which I had no answers. The rest of our conversation was strained and awkward especially on my end. I tried to determine what the rest of his day was like without tipping my hand. I was trying to ascertain that he was going to be right at his desk and not out by the fuel storage tanks or down on the docks where the tankers unloaded. I sensed he was getting curious about my new-found interest in his day. Then he asked the question I was dreading.
“ Tell me is there something on your mind that prompted this call?”
“Oh,” I laughed nervously, “Could you pick up a dozen eggs on your way home?”
When he came home with the eggs I came clean. I was relieved that he was home and we both had a laugh over our cat and mouse phone conversation. He didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Clarke’s message anymore than I did. So we returned to our routine and switched on the evening news.
The lead story was “A Northwest Airliner Exploded Over Lake Michigan Today Killing All On Board.”
I fainted. Our daughter was a flight attendant for Northwest. Bob, after assisting me, called the airline. They wouldn’t give out any information at this time. Our next call was to the Providence Journal. After talking to a few people an editor said he would make inquiries. He did and called us back with the information that our daughter was not on that flight.
We found out later that she was scheduled for that flight but took sick and her roommate had taken her place. It was a sad day for our family and many others.
What about Mrs. Clarke’s message and its source? Was it just coincidence? I wonder? As I said, I have no logical explanation for this.
Caroline Marr
East Providence,R.I.
There are some things that just defy logical explanations. This is one of those things for me. I am a mother with a small boy at home. About once a month a Mr. Clarke would stop by, usually late morning, with a suitcase full of small household items for sale. Mr. Clarke, I never knew his first name and he always addressed me as Mrs.Marr. He was an older gentleman of retirement age who was trying to augment his income by going door-to-door selling whatever he could. I felt sorry for him and would always buy something, even if only a pair of shoe strings, so he wouldn’t leave without having sold something.
Mainly we would just chat about the weather or something in the news that week while my little boy played with blocks or some other toy on the living room floor. After several minutes of friendly conversation he would open his suitcase and point out some new item. I would listen to whatever he was promoting and politely say I didn’t think I needed that right now but what we really needed was a box of bandages. I would purchase the item and he was always most gracious as he packed his wares and left.
This went on for about a year and then one month passed and he hadn’t stopped by. Several months passed and no Mr. Clarke. There was a knock at the door one morning and I opened it to find a thin pleasant looking woman.
“Are you Mrs. Marr,” she asked? I nodded.
“I’m Mrs. Clarke, You were a customer of my husband. He passed on you know.”
“I’m sorry, I wondered what happened to him.”
“I’ve been talking with him and last night he gave me a message for you,” she said.
Before I could collect myself to say anything sensible she must have read the expression of bewilderment and shock on my face and went on talking.
“Oh yes. I talk with him frequently and last night he was very clear that I bring a message to you. He said, ‘tell Mrs. Marr there is going to be an explosion.’ That’s it, that’s all he said. I can’t tell you what it means, just what he said.”
She wouldn’t come in, apologized for upsetting me in any way and thanked me for being kind to her husband and she walked away. I was dumbfounded.
I thought of a hundred questions I wanted to ask her but she had gone. I didn’t know how to get in touch with her, or where she lived and I still didn’t know Mr. Clarke’s first name.
An explosion! What to do? My husband worked at an oil refinery and I impulsively called his office. As the call was going through I thought what on earth will I say to him, that a woman I’ve never met before told me her dead husband gave her a message last night to warn me that there was going to be an explosion…
“Hello.”
“Hi Dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, what’s up?”
I couldn’t tell him at least not now over the phone while he was at work. I would tell him when he got home tonight, besides he would be asking me a ton of questions to which I had no answers. The rest of our conversation was strained and awkward especially on my end. I tried to determine what the rest of his day was like without tipping my hand. I was trying to ascertain that he was going to be right at his desk and not out by the fuel storage tanks or down on the docks where the tankers unloaded. I sensed he was getting curious about my new-found interest in his day. Then he asked the question I was dreading.
“ Tell me is there something on your mind that prompted this call?”
“Oh,” I laughed nervously, “Could you pick up a dozen eggs on your way home?”
When he came home with the eggs I came clean. I was relieved that he was home and we both had a laugh over our cat and mouse phone conversation. He didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Clarke’s message anymore than I did. So we returned to our routine and switched on the evening news.
The lead story was “A Northwest Airliner Exploded Over Lake Michigan Today Killing All On Board.”
I fainted. Our daughter was a flight attendant for Northwest. Bob, after assisting me, called the airline. They wouldn’t give out any information at this time. Our next call was to the Providence Journal. After talking to a few people an editor said he would make inquiries. He did and called us back with the information that our daughter was not on that flight.
We found out later that she was scheduled for that flight but took sick and her roommate had taken her place. It was a sad day for our family and many others.
What about Mrs. Clarke’s message and its source? Was it just coincidence? I wonder? As I said, I have no logical explanation for this.
Caroline Marr
East Providence,R.I.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Facing Your Mortality at age 45
(Week of June 14)
The disbelief- is this whole God thing a hoax? Is there really a heaven? When this cancer kills me, will I really be with God or is this just something we human make up to feel better?
Answer-forget the feelings, go with the FAITH, what you know about God, what His Word says, what He has done. He has been faithful in the little things and WILL be faithful in the big things.
God's work in my cancer
I remember singing in a small weak, trembling, teary voice, “my hope is based on nothing less then Jesus’ love and righteousness.” Then a chorus of angels sang with me; “On Christ the solid rock I stand all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand.”
God knows about this cancer. He knew about it before I was born. He will use this for His glory and I will be ok, even when I die.
People’s reactions to my cancer varied. “Can I call a prayer meeting at your house and we will all pray for you?” (that was an awesome night)
"Though you slay me, yet I serve you," quoted a friend.
“Wow are you lucky! God must have something really important in mind for you in this trial. He is preparing you for a mighty work.”
“I wish I could take your place. If I could I would, "my mom said this.
I kept track of God’s provision, protection, mercy and lessons in my cancer. God sent me a friend that had chemo,and one who was in healthcare so was not afraid on my cancer and was nonchalant. There were prayer warriors, card senders and one who called every day to check up me and one who came on the darkest day I had and held me as a cried and when I was inconsolable, read scripture to me.
Friends brought me food, took me to chemo, even changed my kitty’s litter. One person asked me if she could see me without my hair and her love and concern was a source of comfort to me. (note: loosing my hair was devastating)
God kept providing and protecting me.
One night I was desperate, alone and scared. I called out to God the way He directs us to call Him in Psalm 50:15.( “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you…”) My fears and confusion were so overwhelming that all I could do was cry out to him like a child waking from a nightmare calls his parents. I cried out GO000D!
Shortly after this the phone rang. It was a dear sister in the Lord who was out of town but had been thinking of me all day. In the middle of a dinner party with friends, she could no longer resist God’s prompting in her heart, excused herself to call and check on me.
One night I was too sick to make something to eat or even know what I wanted to eat. I just told God ‘if you want me to eat you better bring it to my door or else I will just lie on this couch and not eat.’ Minutes later the phone rang. It was a friend and when she found out how I was feeling she said; “Its time for smoothies.” That night she introduced me to smoothies, which are a must for anyone on chemo.
A week after my first chemo I started teaching a small (church) group. They did not know me before my cancer. They only knew me on chemo and without hair. They ministered to me, prayed over me, laid hands on me, gave me self worth and loved me. We even had a night when we tried on hats together. They were the first to see me when my hair started to grow back.
I knew the cancer was in the lymph nodes even when the doctors did not think so at first.In the recovery room from my second surgery, the hospital chaplain asked me to pray for him. I spent the night in the hospital and the doctor brought all his students in several times. They referred to me as the ‘smiling patient.’
I felt the prayers of others that lifted me up especially when I was too sick and too tired to pray.
On the morning when I was going back to Moffit (Cancer Center) for my first follow-up,I asked God to send me a Christian woman who lived in Sarasota and who had suffered with breast cancer to guide and comfort me. On the way home, my friend who had taken me to Moffit told me she ran into an old friend of hers while she was waiting for me and that this friend had just finished her treatment and was coming back for a check up. (Prayer answered)
Scriptures God sent me to (rhema)
Matthew 26:39 -Three times in the Garden Jesus asked for the cup be taken from Him.
John 17- the last prayer Jesus prayed was for us that we reflect His love, that God protect us from Satan and that we know His love for us. He did not pray for good times and fun here on earth. He actually knew we would suffer because we follow him.
Isaiah 29:15- the pot can not ask the potter why he made the pot a certain way. I can’t ask God why I got cancer-He know everything and I must respect His knowledge despite circumstances or my opinion of them.
2 Corinthians 1:2-5 God will comfort us in our pain and we in turn will comfort those in pain with the comfort God has shown us. Ie use what I learned in my cancer to comfort those in need.
(What she learned:)
freedom from worry, well almost ha ha;
a better focus on what is important-less time working, more time serving, loving and living;
it is ok to be weak, to let others know you are hurting, well almost ha ha;
surrender, surrender, SURRENDER! We really don’t have any power anyway, except through Christ.”
Sheree Motola
Sarasota
(We received this e-mail in 2001. Sheree left this world in June 2006-ed)
The disbelief- is this whole God thing a hoax? Is there really a heaven? When this cancer kills me, will I really be with God or is this just something we human make up to feel better?
Answer-forget the feelings, go with the FAITH, what you know about God, what His Word says, what He has done. He has been faithful in the little things and WILL be faithful in the big things.
God's work in my cancer
I remember singing in a small weak, trembling, teary voice, “my hope is based on nothing less then Jesus’ love and righteousness.” Then a chorus of angels sang with me; “On Christ the solid rock I stand all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand.”
God knows about this cancer. He knew about it before I was born. He will use this for His glory and I will be ok, even when I die.
People’s reactions to my cancer varied. “Can I call a prayer meeting at your house and we will all pray for you?” (that was an awesome night)
"Though you slay me, yet I serve you," quoted a friend.
“Wow are you lucky! God must have something really important in mind for you in this trial. He is preparing you for a mighty work.”
“I wish I could take your place. If I could I would, "my mom said this.
I kept track of God’s provision, protection, mercy and lessons in my cancer. God sent me a friend that had chemo,and one who was in healthcare so was not afraid on my cancer and was nonchalant. There were prayer warriors, card senders and one who called every day to check up me and one who came on the darkest day I had and held me as a cried and when I was inconsolable, read scripture to me.
Friends brought me food, took me to chemo, even changed my kitty’s litter. One person asked me if she could see me without my hair and her love and concern was a source of comfort to me. (note: loosing my hair was devastating)
God kept providing and protecting me.
One night I was desperate, alone and scared. I called out to God the way He directs us to call Him in Psalm 50:15.( “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you…”) My fears and confusion were so overwhelming that all I could do was cry out to him like a child waking from a nightmare calls his parents. I cried out GO000D!
Shortly after this the phone rang. It was a dear sister in the Lord who was out of town but had been thinking of me all day. In the middle of a dinner party with friends, she could no longer resist God’s prompting in her heart, excused herself to call and check on me.
One night I was too sick to make something to eat or even know what I wanted to eat. I just told God ‘if you want me to eat you better bring it to my door or else I will just lie on this couch and not eat.’ Minutes later the phone rang. It was a friend and when she found out how I was feeling she said; “Its time for smoothies.” That night she introduced me to smoothies, which are a must for anyone on chemo.
A week after my first chemo I started teaching a small (church) group. They did not know me before my cancer. They only knew me on chemo and without hair. They ministered to me, prayed over me, laid hands on me, gave me self worth and loved me. We even had a night when we tried on hats together. They were the first to see me when my hair started to grow back.
I knew the cancer was in the lymph nodes even when the doctors did not think so at first.In the recovery room from my second surgery, the hospital chaplain asked me to pray for him. I spent the night in the hospital and the doctor brought all his students in several times. They referred to me as the ‘smiling patient.’
I felt the prayers of others that lifted me up especially when I was too sick and too tired to pray.
On the morning when I was going back to Moffit (Cancer Center) for my first follow-up,I asked God to send me a Christian woman who lived in Sarasota and who had suffered with breast cancer to guide and comfort me. On the way home, my friend who had taken me to Moffit told me she ran into an old friend of hers while she was waiting for me and that this friend had just finished her treatment and was coming back for a check up. (Prayer answered)
Scriptures God sent me to (rhema)
Matthew 26:39 -Three times in the Garden Jesus asked for the cup be taken from Him.
John 17- the last prayer Jesus prayed was for us that we reflect His love, that God protect us from Satan and that we know His love for us. He did not pray for good times and fun here on earth. He actually knew we would suffer because we follow him.
Isaiah 29:15- the pot can not ask the potter why he made the pot a certain way. I can’t ask God why I got cancer-He know everything and I must respect His knowledge despite circumstances or my opinion of them.
2 Corinthians 1:2-5 God will comfort us in our pain and we in turn will comfort those in pain with the comfort God has shown us. Ie use what I learned in my cancer to comfort those in need.
(What she learned:)
freedom from worry, well almost ha ha;
a better focus on what is important-less time working, more time serving, loving and living;
it is ok to be weak, to let others know you are hurting, well almost ha ha;
surrender, surrender, SURRENDER! We really don’t have any power anyway, except through Christ.”
Sheree Motola
Sarasota
(We received this e-mail in 2001. Sheree left this world in June 2006-ed)
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Reflections of Grace
Week of June 7
One Woman’s Journey From Complacency to Conviction
“Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
I have been a believer in Jesus since I was a little child. Now, as a maturing Christian, I have chosen to be in living relationship with Him. I have found there is a big difference between the two.
I would like to testify to a short but very intense awakening. These events and the reactions they aroused in me are real. They brought me to my knees in tears of repentance. My soul fought battles between submission to the Light and my own dark desire to be the director of my life. Through it all I have learned a little more about God’s love for His wayward children.
Let me begin...
In late April, 1999, I took a one-week business trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was attending a company-sponsored technical fair in which I would demonstrate our team’s newest Internet initiative. The fair was a huge success. We generated a lot of interest and our product was favorably received. After the fair, the vice president on our team offered to take us all out for a dinner. While some of the folks left to drop their PCs in their rooms the rest of us waited outside.
The weather that evening was perfect. The sun had set about an hour earlier, This is the picture I would like you to see through my words. Envision a group of white, upper-middle-class men and women standing on a Minneapolis sidewalk laughing and talking. Suddenly a stranger walks into their midst. He is a poor man—a poor, disabled black man—and he is drunk. Not mean or sloppily drunk, but happily so.
Immediately the mood of our group changes, but the man does not seem to notice. He comments on the beauty of the night and begins a plea for money to take his children to a movie. Someone in the group rejected his request while the rest of us shifted uneasily. Throughout this I was feeling very uncomfortable because I knew I should have been standing separate from my peers by respecting this person’s humanity. I knew what I should be doing, but I didn’t do it because I was afraid that my “friends” would reject me,that they would think me odd.
The man accepted the rebuff with good grace, and then he did something extraordinary. He asked if he could pray for us. Someone in the group said
they did not want a prayer, but he stood in our circle, bowed his head and prayed anyway. He asked God to watch over us and our families. He called us beautiful, although I felt anything but beautiful by then. He closed his prayer with a joyful amen, which I echoed quietly and then our eyes caught and held for just a moment before he turned and made his way up the hill along the well-lit path. As for me and my group, we turned off the path onto a darkened side street, making our way to the restaurant for a well-earned dinner.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometime during the night, I had been convicted of my own careless disregard for one of God’s beloved children. I spent that morning alone in my room, on my knees before God in tears of repentance. I remember feeling completely alone, so far away from the people who knew me and loved me.
As I sobbed in my misery, I “heard” the gentle voice of the Shepherd. “I am here.” Peace flooded through me, and the sobs became gentle, cleansing tears as I knelt by the bed and allowed myself to finally understand God’s grace.
I had sinned. I am the person who meets God unable to say that I had fed Him when He was hungry and clothed Him when He was naked. Despite this I am loved, forgiven and still oh-so-valuable to the Creator. This is grace.
Two weeks later my husband and I traveled to London for our delayed (by 16 years) honeymoon. Sometime toward the middle of the week, I had an incredible urge for spaghetti and sauce. Finding southern Italian cooking in London is a bit of a challenge, but I had my mind set, so my husband and I began searching for my definition of an Italian restaurant.
We had been searching for over an hour, and it was after eight in the evening as we entered the Underground to catch a train. I was tired, hungry, frustrated and feeling very sorry for myself when I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks. Directly across from me a homeless young man was settling in for the night. He was dirty, skinny and sick. He slid his back down against the wall of the station and pulled a filthy, tattered blanket up to his chin. He had a dog, as dirty and underfed as he was, that gently climbed into his lap for the night.
I stood there in silence with the people of London rushing all around me. It seemed I could see Jesus with His arms outstretched in the shadows behind the pair. The story of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) came to my mind. I am the rich man. I have never known a moment of real need or total abandonment in my life, I have always been loved, yet I was upset because I couldn’t find a restaurant that served red tomato sauce. Tears came into my eyes and my heart was humbled once again. Grace.
Back in Connecticut three weeks later, I was asked to travel to New York City to do a presentation. I decided to incorporate a walk to the train station into my lunch hour. It was my habit to pray daily at the Church of St. Patrick/ St. Anthony, so I decided to do that at noon, also.
As I stepped out of the train station, I could see that there was a poor woman begging on the corner and that I would have to walk past her. I was immediately enveloped in a terrible and stubborn frame of mind and I decided before I even stepped off the train station steps that I was not going to help her. I put my head down and watched my own feet, determined not to see her. She saw me, though, and I heard her call after me, “Please, Miss.” Five times she called and with each cry for help I became more determined not to hear her.
Halfway up the street I stopped. There was a war between good and evil going on inside me. “Go back,” whispered Love. “No!” shouted fear. I started walking again.
Three quarters of the way and I stopped again. “You know you need to go back and help her.” Love’s voice was soft but impossible to ignore.
I turned and started back toward the woman. “Stop!” shouted fear stridently, “You don’t need to do this. She’ll want something from you. Who knows where it will lead!” Fear gripped me and I turned away once more.
I made my way to the corner and stopped to hear Love’s last plea. “Melina, you know you need to go back. You cannot ignore this. You chose to listen to fear in Minnesota and it made you sick. Will you choose fear over Love again?”
I knew what I had to do—I had known it all along. My fear was really my ego, which never wants to submit to God and His will for me. I turned and walked back down the street. She was still on the corner, but her back was to me and I could have left
unnoticed. Instead I asked, “What is it?”
She turned with a questioning look on her face, “What?” she asked.
“What is it?” I repeated. “You called me and I ignored you, but I came back.
“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I have no money. Could you give me some money for lunch?” I looked at her closely. She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and her face was scarred by what looked like a knife wound.
I handed her a five-dollar bill as I said, “God bless you.” At those words she looked up at me for the first time. “Will you pray for me?” she asked.
“Yes, I am going to the church to pray now. What’s your name?”
“Denise. My name is Denise. Thank you,” she replied, and we parted ways.
I walked to the church with a million questions running through my head and tears running down my face. I walked into the hushed body of the church and knelt in a pew. I prayed for Denise and then I directed my questions to God, “What is it? What do you want of me?” No answer, just the muted sounds of the street. I knelt in silence for some time and left with no answers, but my heart was quiet.
I did go and get lunch and as I was returning to the Gold Building I was holding a conversation with God in my head.
“Lord, I need a mentor, someone who can tell me what I should do.”
The quiet voice of the Shepherd answered me: “I’ll be your Teacher.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I want someone I can look at and touch.”
“Your heart knows Me and I touch you there,” came the gentle response.
“Yes, I know, thank You.” I smiled as I walked, knowing that I had heard the Truth.
Suddenly a young woman holding a child by the hand approached me. She stopped right in front of me, said “God bless you and your family,” handed me a slip of paper and walked away. I looked down at the paper—it was a religious tract. At the top in large bold letters it read, “Jesus loves you!” Grace.
Melina Rudman
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.
One Woman’s Journey From Complacency to Conviction
“Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
I have been a believer in Jesus since I was a little child. Now, as a maturing Christian, I have chosen to be in living relationship with Him. I have found there is a big difference between the two.
I would like to testify to a short but very intense awakening. These events and the reactions they aroused in me are real. They brought me to my knees in tears of repentance. My soul fought battles between submission to the Light and my own dark desire to be the director of my life. Through it all I have learned a little more about God’s love for His wayward children.
Let me begin...
In late April, 1999, I took a one-week business trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was attending a company-sponsored technical fair in which I would demonstrate our team’s newest Internet initiative. The fair was a huge success. We generated a lot of interest and our product was favorably received. After the fair, the vice president on our team offered to take us all out for a dinner. While some of the folks left to drop their PCs in their rooms the rest of us waited outside.
The weather that evening was perfect. The sun had set about an hour earlier, This is the picture I would like you to see through my words. Envision a group of white, upper-middle-class men and women standing on a Minneapolis sidewalk laughing and talking. Suddenly a stranger walks into their midst. He is a poor man—a poor, disabled black man—and he is drunk. Not mean or sloppily drunk, but happily so.
Immediately the mood of our group changes, but the man does not seem to notice. He comments on the beauty of the night and begins a plea for money to take his children to a movie. Someone in the group rejected his request while the rest of us shifted uneasily. Throughout this I was feeling very uncomfortable because I knew I should have been standing separate from my peers by respecting this person’s humanity. I knew what I should be doing, but I didn’t do it because I was afraid that my “friends” would reject me,that they would think me odd.
The man accepted the rebuff with good grace, and then he did something extraordinary. He asked if he could pray for us. Someone in the group said
they did not want a prayer, but he stood in our circle, bowed his head and prayed anyway. He asked God to watch over us and our families. He called us beautiful, although I felt anything but beautiful by then. He closed his prayer with a joyful amen, which I echoed quietly and then our eyes caught and held for just a moment before he turned and made his way up the hill along the well-lit path. As for me and my group, we turned off the path onto a darkened side street, making our way to the restaurant for a well-earned dinner.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometime during the night, I had been convicted of my own careless disregard for one of God’s beloved children. I spent that morning alone in my room, on my knees before God in tears of repentance. I remember feeling completely alone, so far away from the people who knew me and loved me.
As I sobbed in my misery, I “heard” the gentle voice of the Shepherd. “I am here.” Peace flooded through me, and the sobs became gentle, cleansing tears as I knelt by the bed and allowed myself to finally understand God’s grace.
I had sinned. I am the person who meets God unable to say that I had fed Him when He was hungry and clothed Him when He was naked. Despite this I am loved, forgiven and still oh-so-valuable to the Creator. This is grace.
Two weeks later my husband and I traveled to London for our delayed (by 16 years) honeymoon. Sometime toward the middle of the week, I had an incredible urge for spaghetti and sauce. Finding southern Italian cooking in London is a bit of a challenge, but I had my mind set, so my husband and I began searching for my definition of an Italian restaurant.
We had been searching for over an hour, and it was after eight in the evening as we entered the Underground to catch a train. I was tired, hungry, frustrated and feeling very sorry for myself when I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks. Directly across from me a homeless young man was settling in for the night. He was dirty, skinny and sick. He slid his back down against the wall of the station and pulled a filthy, tattered blanket up to his chin. He had a dog, as dirty and underfed as he was, that gently climbed into his lap for the night.
I stood there in silence with the people of London rushing all around me. It seemed I could see Jesus with His arms outstretched in the shadows behind the pair. The story of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) came to my mind. I am the rich man. I have never known a moment of real need or total abandonment in my life, I have always been loved, yet I was upset because I couldn’t find a restaurant that served red tomato sauce. Tears came into my eyes and my heart was humbled once again. Grace.
Back in Connecticut three weeks later, I was asked to travel to New York City to do a presentation. I decided to incorporate a walk to the train station into my lunch hour. It was my habit to pray daily at the Church of St. Patrick/ St. Anthony, so I decided to do that at noon, also.
As I stepped out of the train station, I could see that there was a poor woman begging on the corner and that I would have to walk past her. I was immediately enveloped in a terrible and stubborn frame of mind and I decided before I even stepped off the train station steps that I was not going to help her. I put my head down and watched my own feet, determined not to see her. She saw me, though, and I heard her call after me, “Please, Miss.” Five times she called and with each cry for help I became more determined not to hear her.
Halfway up the street I stopped. There was a war between good and evil going on inside me. “Go back,” whispered Love. “No!” shouted fear. I started walking again.
Three quarters of the way and I stopped again. “You know you need to go back and help her.” Love’s voice was soft but impossible to ignore.
I turned and started back toward the woman. “Stop!” shouted fear stridently, “You don’t need to do this. She’ll want something from you. Who knows where it will lead!” Fear gripped me and I turned away once more.
I made my way to the corner and stopped to hear Love’s last plea. “Melina, you know you need to go back. You cannot ignore this. You chose to listen to fear in Minnesota and it made you sick. Will you choose fear over Love again?”
I knew what I had to do—I had known it all along. My fear was really my ego, which never wants to submit to God and His will for me. I turned and walked back down the street. She was still on the corner, but her back was to me and I could have left
unnoticed. Instead I asked, “What is it?”
She turned with a questioning look on her face, “What?” she asked.
“What is it?” I repeated. “You called me and I ignored you, but I came back.
“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I have no money. Could you give me some money for lunch?” I looked at her closely. She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and her face was scarred by what looked like a knife wound.
I handed her a five-dollar bill as I said, “God bless you.” At those words she looked up at me for the first time. “Will you pray for me?” she asked.
“Yes, I am going to the church to pray now. What’s your name?”
“Denise. My name is Denise. Thank you,” she replied, and we parted ways.
I walked to the church with a million questions running through my head and tears running down my face. I walked into the hushed body of the church and knelt in a pew. I prayed for Denise and then I directed my questions to God, “What is it? What do you want of me?” No answer, just the muted sounds of the street. I knelt in silence for some time and left with no answers, but my heart was quiet.
I did go and get lunch and as I was returning to the Gold Building I was holding a conversation with God in my head.
“Lord, I need a mentor, someone who can tell me what I should do.”
The quiet voice of the Shepherd answered me: “I’ll be your Teacher.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I want someone I can look at and touch.”
“Your heart knows Me and I touch you there,” came the gentle response.
“Yes, I know, thank You.” I smiled as I walked, knowing that I had heard the Truth.
Suddenly a young woman holding a child by the hand approached me. She stopped right in front of me, said “God bless you and your family,” handed me a slip of paper and walked away. I looked down at the paper—it was a religious tract. At the top in large bold letters it read, “Jesus loves you!” Grace.
Melina Rudman
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.