Thursday, August 7, 2008

a child

during the fall of 1992, i took an evangelism class at a church on monday evenings. in this class we dove right in- memorizing scripture, pairing up, and going out.
yes, every monday that year i could be found knocking on someones door, or stopping somebody on the street, as sharing Jesus and saving lives was the goal. i can't say i am entirely proud of those monday evenings, there was a bit of ignorance and pride in that young girl, but i do miss that girl who was sure of God's love, and wanted more than anything for others to know and live in it.

occasionally our class would go to events. i had signed up to be a "barker" at an upcoming event at the local fair grounds. at that event i stood outside a tent and barked invitations for passers by to come in. on this particular day though i couldn't do it. so much was stirring inside me, my heart was heavy, and i had many questions for God, questions from a little girl reeling with hurt, and i needed Him to be near. so, i asked my teacher if i could take a break.

i walked off to a quiet place alone and let it all out, all my "God why" questions.
"why doesn't my dad love me?
why is my relationship with my mom broken?
why am i struggling?
God am i enough, am i okay with you?"
after i was done praying i looked up and there were children running on the other side of the fence that i was seated next to. i continued, "God, i need to be a child right now, children need their daddy's, and i need to be your child."

i walked back, returned to my place, and began to bark when a man in a booth across the way said he would answer my questionnaire. i walked over and proceeded to ask this stranger, whose name was Gill, a list of questions. mid way through the questions Gill stopped me and said, "Denise, why are you carrying this heavy load? You have got a backpack on your back filled with burdens, you must let them go"... he continued on telling me of my needs, and then telling me that my relationship with my mother is broken because we both desire to be accepted, he expressed hurt that my dad didn't love me, and then at the end of the conversation
he said, "Denise, your alright, your okay, your just fine." already in tears, i said "i was just over there and praying that and.." then he said, "do you know what you remind me of?"
i waited. "you remind me of a child."

when the conversation ended Gill said he had no idea where these words had come from. i did, it was a divine appointment, God showed Himself as Wonderful Counselor and Father to me that day through this strange wonderful man.

today, i was reading once again in My Utmost for His Highest.

The Son of God is born into me by the direct act of God; then i as a child of God have to exercise the right of a child, the right of being always face to face with my Father. Am i continually saying with amazement to my common-sense life - why do you want to turn me off here? Don't you know that I must be about my Father's business? Whatever the circumstances may be, that Holy Innocent Eternal Child must be in contact with His Father.

i want that.



5 comments:

  1. Wow Denise...God loves you so dearly & He took the time to send someone your way to confirm that. The encourager inside of me wants to grab a cup of coffee with you & let you know how precious you are in God's eyes...how much He cherishes you...

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  2. Wow. That is really neat. God speaks through all sorts of people - and you remember it so well. thanks for sharing that.

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  3. I want to be that child about God's eternal business, too! When we're young, we want to grow up, and then when we grow up, we realize what a gift the heart of a child is.

    What a neat experience God gave you in your meeting with Gill. Did you ever see him again?

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  4. amazing. i am getting caught up on posts and this is the third one of yours that had me in tears. thanks for sharing your heart. you are always so honest and transparent. i appreciate that about you.

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  5. That story gave me goose bumps. God is real and alive. I needed to hear that today. Thanks for sharing your story.

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