Please read this whole thing- it was sent to me from a dear friend and it gave me goosebumps!
For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she
is an outstanding Bible teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married
mother of two daughters.
This is one of her experiences:
April
20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to board the plane, I had the
Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous
morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing
to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some
things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous
for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to
keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair,
he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at
least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his
shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked
like tangled masses of veins and bones.
The strangest part of him was his
hair and nails. Stringy, gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of
his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old
man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my
face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself
wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he
was dead So this man in the airport... An impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us
somewhere? There I sat; trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being
concerned about a thin slice of humanity served up on a wheelchair only a few
seats from me. All the while, my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed
with a feeling for him.
Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more
comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for
this bizarre-looking old man.
I had walked with God long enough to see
the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God
feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound
to happen. And it may be embarrassing.
I immediately began to resist
because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in
my mind. 'Oh, no, God, please, no.' I looked up at the ceiling as if I could
stare straight through it into heaven and said, 'Don't make me witness to this
man. Not right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane,
but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking
audience. Please, Lord!'
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His
Highness, 'Please don't make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the
plane.' Then I heard it....'I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to
brush his hair.'
The words were so clear, my heart leap into my throat,
and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair?
No-brainier. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, 'God, as I live
and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this
Lord. I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your
life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed?
I am going to witness to this man.'
Again as clearly as I've ever heard
an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind.
'That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you
to go brush his hair.'
I looked up at God and quipped, 'I don't have a
hairbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair
without a hairbrush?' God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to
walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: 'I will thoroughly
furnish you unto all good works.' (2 Timothy 3:17)
I stumbled over to the
wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as I retell this story, my
pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the
man and asked as demurely as possible, 'Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing
your hair?'
He looked back at me and said, 'What did you
say?'
'May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?'
To which he
responded in volume ten, 'Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're
going to have to talk louder than that'
At this point, I took a deep
breath and blurted out, 'SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?' At
which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in
the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Long Locks. Face crimson and
forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute
shock on his face, and say, 'If you really want to.'
Are you kidding? Of
course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal
preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the
words, 'Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don't
have a hairbrush.'
'I have one in my bag,' he responded.
I went
around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and
unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood
up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was
tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but must admit I've had notable
experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls. Like I'd done
with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very
bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull. A miraculous
thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else
in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that
old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out
of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of
love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I - for
that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken
my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at
home for a short while.
The emotions were so strong and so pure that I
knew they had to be God's. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an
infant's.
I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the chair to
face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knee and said, 'Sir,
do you know my Jesus?'
He said, 'Yes, I do'
Well, that figures, I
thought.
He explained, 'I've known Him since I married my bride. She
wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior.' He said, 'You see, the
problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heart surgery, and
she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a
mess I must be for my bride.'
Only God knows how often He allows us to be
part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This,
on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had
intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll
never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same
plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so
proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft.
I still had a few
minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from
the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said, 'That old man's sitting
on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?'
I
said, 'Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!'
And we got to
share.
I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're
exhausted, you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to
move on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or
feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of
temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an
individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my
throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along
the way ... all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't
send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.
John 1:14 'The Word
became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory
of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and
truth'
Life shouldn't be a journey to the grave with the intention of
arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in
broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, 'Wow! What
a ride! Thank You, Lord!'
