Riches in Secret Places (part 2 of 2)

 

If you missed part one of this story you can read it here.  It sets the stage for what follows.

A little after 6:30 the phone rang, it was Jerry’s cell.  I answered “What’s wrong?”  He said, “I am coming home, I have a wheelchair problem and need your help.”

A few minutes later he pulled in the driveway.  The cord that supplies the connection between his wheelchair motors and joystick came apart.  This had happened a few times recently, in fact a new wire was recently ordered.   Today when Jerry tried to plug it back in while sitting in the van in the restaurant parking lot there was a spark.  This is NOT GOOD when he is still sitting in the chair and has no way to get out of the van.

I realized that I would need more light and space to maneuver than I had in the van if I had any hope of fixing this.  Now imagine getting 500 pounds plus of stationary wheelchair and husband out of a full size van under just “wife power.”  I tugged and pulled and grunted, trying to balance the need to use enough force to pull him over the hump and onto the van lift, without so much force that I’d loose my balance and topple over, or more likely plop off the lift.

Jerry on lift

Mission accomplished, now to push him up the ramp, in the door, and to the room where I could transfer him out of the chair so I could safely try to fix the chair without endangering him.  After about 15 minutes it became clear that the spark in the parking lot did more damage and this was not going to simply be a “reconnect the parts” type of job.  We deemed the chair temporarily out of service and I trudged to the garage to get his old back up chair.

I got to the garage only to find a problem there; the large power door would not raise to get the other chair out.  Thankfully adjusting the door sensors was a simple and easy fix I could do.  As I took the old chair to the house I realized that I was now at least 15 minutes behind schedule, MY schedule, for getting to the Y.  Thinking I may have to let that part of the schedule go, I consoled myself with the thought that since Jerry was already up early to go out to breakfast, maybe he would take me to breakfast instead!

At about 7:15 just as I am about to help Jerry into this chair he said, “I don’t think it’s worth going back to the breakfast.  I think I’ll nap for  half an hour before I go to the office.”

How do I respond?  I really wanted a reward for all I had done, and thought that going out to breakfast together was a great plan.  But I also thought about how worn down Jerry’s body was and how early he had gotten up.  After a short debate in my head I replied “Ok” and he shut his eyes and was immediately asleep.

Gathering my wits about me, I headed to the kitchen to make my breakfast and have that quiet time I planned on an hour ago;  all the while muttering to myself, “my life is not my own!”  This is not the first time I’ve uttered those words.  Nor is it the first time I’ve heard the still small voice of God respond with “And the problem with that is? “    Consistent, isn’t He?

And then God reminds me . . . what is it I want my life to be about?  In high school I once had an assignment to write my epitaph.  I wrote “A woman who loved and served God by loving and serving others.”

“So my daughter,” God gently asked, “isn’t that what you are doing?”  He makes a good point!

Could I trust God enough that if I do what He is calling me to do now in this moment, perhaps He could help me find another opportunity to swim?  Would it not follow that if I were truly loving and serving God by loving and serving others that my life would not be my own?  In fact the Bible tells me that I am not my own but have been bought with a price (I Cor 6:19-20).  So yes Lord, my life is not my own, and that’s a good thing.

Nap well sweetheart!  And Lord let me again rest in the assurance that You have bought me and I am Yours.  Thank you for the riches you have stored for me in secret places, that lead me to You.

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