ICE CREAM
It was a beautiful Tuesday morning in late June several years ago when a delivery truck carrying ice cream to grocery stores made a left turn up a slight incline at a major intersection in Royal Oak, and the rear door suddenly popped open.
Containers of ice cream — not some cheap off-brand stuff, but rather the top-of-line variety, the kind we often ignore because it’s too pricey — came tumbling out in great numbers, rolling on the pavement like giant coins. And in reality, that’s exactly what it was, a windfall of a valuable treat.
People — most dressed in business attire, men in suits and women in dresses and heels — immediately jumped out of their cars and, with smiles and a sense of urgency in this fortunate circumstance, ran down as many containers as they could carry, dumped their haul into their vehicles and then went back to get more, as if this were some kind of after-the-fact Easter egg hunt.
One assistant manager at a corner gas station/convenience store laughingly quipped as he carried a number of cartons across the parking lot and toward the front door of his building, “Gee, you just never know when God is going to show up!”
The thing is, God is always there, no matter where we are or what we’re doing, gathering dessert for the next five months or pulling weeds from our flower beds. If only we would scurry to acknowledge His presence and appreciate His bounty of blessings in those more normal situations, too.
RAIN
Some years ago, when I was volunteering as a greeter at on a summer Sunday morning, a very light, steady rain was falling. A man got out of his car and, with the help of a cane, walked very, very slowly, almost inching along, as it were, toward the front door. He was determined to make it — you could see it on his face — but it was just going to take some time.
As soon as he stepped up over the curb from the parking lot onto the sidewalk encircling the church, another man came up behind him. Then I saw something more than just really cool. Instead, it was spiritual. You could feel and see God’s distinct presence.
The second man, instead of just walking past the man with the cane, smiling at him, offering a hello and continuing his speedwalk to the door, slowed way down and walked right next to him, literally elbow to elbow, immediately engaging him in conversation as they went together, side by side.
The second man had a shaved head, so the rain was rolling off and onto his dress shirt, the color of it gradually turning darker with each step. But he never flinched. He absorbed the water seamlessly. It was a kind of baptismal water. It was good for you. And after all, his new friend was getting a bath, too, and he was OK with it so he could be OK with it as well.
I looked around to see if anybody else was watching this scene play out. No, just me. Whoa! Thank you, God. He had given me a personal, private, front-row seat to something really special, one of the rare and beautiful moments in life that you will always remember. By the time they arrived at the door — I had happened to look at my watch when they started, and it had taken them 18 minutes to go about 50 yards, so those much smarter than me can calculate their speed, as if it really matters — the second man’s shirt was soaked through.
After he had helped the man get into the church, I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “You know that you’ve already done church today, don’t you? That was incredible.” He just smiled, as if to say, “I was simply in the right place at the right time. It was what I was supposed to do. No big deal.”
Yes, it was a big deal. And God, who was right there every single step of the way taking it all in, must have been beaming. This Good Samaritan had indeed done a good job. Instead of walking way, way to the left or right and ignoring the man in need, he took the challenge and got fully involved, refusing to leave the man behind and instead “picking him up” emotionally and spiritually and carrying him forward.
SILENCE
My cousin, Myrna, who is like a sister to me, serves as my spiritual advisor.
When I have struggles and questions, which is more often than I care to admit, she is always there, ready to sort through it all and give me a simple answer that’s easy to understand. She’s like Chevy Chase’s son in the movie, “Christmas Vacation,” who is handed the severely-knotted string of Christmas lights to untangle.
In our discussions over the years, she has often referred to her conversations with God. I finally asked her, “Do you really hear God talking to you?” She answered, “Oh, yes, certainly, all the time.” I told her that I talk to God constantly but never get an answer
It makes sense, for her favorite Bible verse is “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
So I tried. Again. And again. And again. Tens of times. But I heard nothing, not even a busy signal.
“What’s up, sis?”
“Are you really creating a quiet place for Him to enter?” She knows me too well. “Uh, well, maybe not.”
“You can’t be listening to the ball game, or music or anything else on the radio. You can’t be thinking about what you’re going to be doing that day. No noise, no thoughts, nothing.”
The next day, I tried again, this time with much more purpose. “God, I really need for you to talk to me.” Instantly, on the first ring, I heard by far the most beautiful, the most gentle, the most kind and compassionate and yet the most direct and intelligent voice I have ever heard in my life, something that I know no one on this earth could ever utter.
“Steve, I talk to you a lot, but sometimes you don’t listen.”
Gosh, Myrna was right. Every time I think about that moment, I feel a chill go up my spine, just as I did that day. And it makes my eyes moist as well. God was really, truly talking to me, and He continues to do so.
It changed my life. It connected me to God in a way I never thought possible. It showed me that He is listening and watching 24/7/365, and that He cares deeply about me. He cares deeply and unconditionally about you, too — all of us, to be sure. We just need to turn off the volume, which isn’t easy by any means in this busy, crazy world of ours, but I can assure you that it’s definitely worth it.
Less really is more — a whole lot more, in fact. Try it.
