[Faith-talk] Daily Thought for Monday, March 17, 2014

[Paul]

Hello and happy St. Patrick's Day to you, at least for those of you who celebrate it on the actual day of its official observation.  Whether or not you celebrate this day, I hope that your day is going well.

Marge Pallett of Wappapello, Missouri, contributed today's article which I know I shared with you last year, but as I said previously, not everyone has read it.  So I hope you will enjoy this story entitled "How The Town Dump Helped," rendered as follows:

God had changed my life.  Why couldn't I change my husband's?

Pastor Jack was giving another great Sunday sermon at the podium, but I couldn't concentrate on his words.  I looked around the church.  Every other woman seemed to have a husband with her.  Not me:  My husband was at the town dump.

I was still new at this church-on-Sunday routine, but I couldn't believe the difference it had made in me already.  Turning my life over to God was the best thing I ever did--and it would be the best thing my husband, Richard, could ever do, too.  I had watched him struggle with the mundane problems of everyday life long enough.  Now I had the answer.  I'd found a peace I had never known before.  Richard could know that inner peace, too.  Why wouldn't he listen to me?

"God wants to help you with your troubles," I'd told him the night before, and not for the first time.  "God sure helped me with mine.  Why don't you come along with me to church tomorrow?

"Maybe ..." Richard mumbled

But while I dressed for church, Richard threw on his raggedy old work clothes.  "Let me guess.  You're going to the dump."

"I have to find some bicycle parts," he said.

Richard had a knack for fixing things--and finding what he needed to do it.  Every neighbor on the block had an order in for something or other--just in case Richard happened to come across it at the dump.  But for my husband, every casual request became a challenge.  He also found metal to sell for scrap.  "You'd find something a lot more valuable if you came to church," I said.

Richard shrugged.  "Maybe next week.  The kid next door really needs his bike fixed."

Back at church I turned my attention to Pastor Jack at the podium.  "One of the hardest things to understand," he said, "is that our ways are not always God's ways.  We have to trust Him enough to follow His ways."

I shook my head.  Pastor Jack was speaking right to my hardheaded husband.  Well, if Richard wasn't going to listen to me, it was his loss.  Let him miss out on everything God had to offer.  I'd continue my prayers for God to lead Richard to church, but I vowed then and there not to invite him myself again.  If he decides to come with me, fine.  If not, I've done all I can.

That night I slipped into bed and opened my Bible, pointedly not looking over at my husband.

Richard cleared his throat beside me.  I ignored him, but I could feel him staring at me.  Finally I couldn't stand it any longer and looked at him.  He had a big old smirk plastered on his face.

"What?"

"Found those bicycle parts I was hunting for today.  Found myself a Bible, too."

"You?" I said.  "Where did you come across a Bible?"

"Same place I got those bicycle parts.  The dump," he said with pride.  He opened up a small black Bible.  "It was lying there on a pile of junk.  And it's just like new." Richard quietly leafed through the pages.

The Bible was in good condition.  But that wasn't the point.  To Richard, it was one more great find at the dump.  Much to my horror, I realized he'd surely tell the whole neighborhood about it.  He didn't understand the importance of the words inside.  Richard could fix bicycles, all right, but he obviously didn't have a clue about how to fix his life.

"Pastor Jack delivered a marvelous sermon this morning," I said with a superior sniff.

Richard flipped through the book randomly and stopped in the middle.  "I think I'll read something," he announced.

That's no way to read the Bible! I thought.  You didn't just jump around as if it were a dictionary.  I'd begun at the chapter where I'd left off the night before.  And, of course, I'd started at the beginning.  Richard's ridiculous ways made it hard to concentrate.  "What part are you reading?" I asked at last.

"The Book of Jawb," he said.

I sighed.  "It's Job," I said, correcting him.  "Rhymes with robe." Not the best story in the Bible to start with, in my opinion.

It can be hard to understand why God let Job go through all those trials and tribulations.  The moral of the story was sure to be lost on Richard.  I guess this will be the end of his Bible reading.

In bed the next night, Richard opened his Bible--again to the Book of Job.  On the third night, he did the same thing.  What was it about Job's story that my husband liked so much?

I glanced over at Richard.  He wasn't even reading anymore, just looking thoughtfully into space.  "You know," he said, "that Job felt just like I do sometimes.  I have more troubles than I know what to do with, and I feel powerless to solve them all."

I had never thought about Job that way before.  "Maybe God is trying to tell you that you need Him in your life," I suggested.

"That's just what  I've been thinking," Richard said.

For weeks I had prayed for Richard to ask me about God so I could give him all the answers.  I wanted to tell him to follow God's way instead of his own.  Now I saw that there were times when God's ways came as a surprise.

I kept my vow never to invite Richard to church again.  I never had to.  The next week Richard was right there beside me all on his own.  Just as he's been every week for forty years since then.  It was God who got him there.  His way, via the town dump.

And there you have it for today.  Which proves that we may struggle and toil ourselves to get our loved ones to at least accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior, but in the end God does His thing about it.  This reminds me of the story of Monica in early church history.  She prayed for 30 years that her son would come to the Lord, and at last he did, resulting in one of the great writers at that time.  His name? Augustine.  And, by the way, who was his father? Patrick or, as his Latinized name was, Patricius.  Don't know much about him, but he was what I told some of you as "the other Patrick."

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, in these last days in which we live.  Lord willing, tomorrow there will be another Daily Thought message for you.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul