Eight perfect words
In response to my humble, prayerful petition, “All ducks on deck and in a row, NOW!” the Lord has responded, in spite of my intractable insecurity with process and obsession with outcome, with gentle cascades of marvelous blessings. A friend has offered to drive the U-Haul truck for us, so that we will be able to take all of our worldly vehicles in one trip, rather than my husband flying back and driving our other vehicle to our new location. People have been very good about answering my questions that most people ask a week or so ahead of closing, six weeks ahead, to accommodate my hyper planning nature.
Call me Gideon. After every wonderful boon, I respond with, Yes but, what if something else… or, How will I know whether…? How can I possibly trust that the next thing will go as well as this has? And the Lord continually showers my distrust with more goodwill, just as he drenched and dried Gideon’s pelts. I am indeed a poster child for unmerited grace.
A brother in our soon-to-be new church, who impresses me deeply for his quiet, faithful service and demonstrated can-do, easy-handed attitude, said eight words to which I find myself returning to find rest and assurance in the tumult that is largely sui generis. Some friends are doing us the favor of taking our boat and storing it with him, and it was a simple enough thing to relay, but I had, of course, to emit an extensive narrative to justify myself — I could not possibly accept help without justifying myself — and he said, with warm matter-of-factness, “I’ll take care of things at this end.” More trustworthy or more comforting words have never been spoken.