I followed the Lord to a yard sale. It's the only way I know how to describe it. He basically told me where to take my car. I had no idea where I was going or what was going to happen when I got there. But I sensed that I would know when I needed to. I found the yard sale and there were three items I felt strongly I was to purchase for my children, though I did not fully understand their significance at the time. The third item Emily found. (She was three at the time.) I was over on the other side of the lawn and I overheard her talking to the man in charge. She was sitting on a little white wooden rocker and calling me over because she wanted it so badly. The man says to her, "That rocker is for a very special little girl, it's for a special Emily." Emily's looked at him very matter-of-factly and said, "Well, I'm Emily." The man looked at me, stunned, and I nodded. When I walked around to the front, there was Emily's name stenciled at the top. "Well I guess that is your chair then," he said with a laugh. We took the rocker.
The rocker came apart and I put in the trunk of my car and forgot about it. A few days later, I found myself in the midst of the difficult task of withdrawing from seminary. I was also going to meet my Dad who flew into Philly that week because I had asked him to come home to be with me. I had some time on my hands after my meeting with the school before my Dad arrived and the Lord led me to the garden at the house of one of my favorite professors. When I say led, I mean I sort of followed a post man there. The professor was not at home, the Lord had me meet with him at another time, but I sat in his garden anyway. I wish I could describe that whole day to you, but it just seems beyond the realm of words--maybe someday I'll try. I prayed about Emily, and all of a sudden I noticed there was a beautiful off-white butterfly who seemed to be trying to get my attention. It slowly dawned on me, though at the time I wasn't used to it, that the Lord was saying something to me through the butterfly. And then as clearly as you can know the color of the sky by looking at it, I knew that Emily was going to fly again. She would be well. I walked back to the school and my Dad had just pulled up with my Uncle Bill.
"You have perfect timing," he said as he got out of the car. I laughed to myself because it wasn't the first time I had heard those exact words that day. I knew God was ordering my every step. He opened the trunk to put his suitcase in the back and there was the rocker, beaming white with Emily's name on it. The assurance that flooded over my being that Emily was going to have a seat in our house was overwhelming.
It was the first time I remember the Lord showing me the idea of restoration through a butterfly.
3 comments:
My Dad and I had an interesting conversation last night after he read this post. He asked me some very good questions. And I've been wrestling with some possibilities since then.
If you know me even a little, you know that I have never ignored the theological implications my story presents. It is what has made my journey so painful, because I want to understand it, and understand it in a way that is consistent with truth, in particular the truth of Scripture.
So when my Dad asked me these questions with a gentle spirit and a desire to understand my thought process (or you could say my theology)I found it not so difficult to share with him. Perhaps I am becoming stronger in my own faith, and that is helping me.
I sense that there might be some value in sharing those thoughts with others, as I write more about my story.
But there are also many dangers in that. The first and most significant is that the story could very well get lost in a theological discussion. What I have of most value is my witness-- NOT an understanding of what I have witnessed. For many years, I found myself in the illogical position of being asked to prove the actuality of my experiences or in some cases their source by proving their theological validity. What that FELT like to me might have been akin to Noah being asked to prove the flood scientifically and theologically in order for anyone to believe that it occured--or that it was of God. But Noah was neither scientist, nor theologian. God never asked that of Noah. It doesn't mean it wasn't a real occurance. My guess is, Noah spent the rest of his life learning from that experience. This was the reason I felt most strongly that I needed to break most of my ties with the church. As Ted said, I was the little girl trying to hold up the great tree that was crushing her.
The second danger is that I learned early on that there is an unspeakable difference between asking God for understanding and asking God for proof. Often, God gives us the understanding and the reassurance that we need to keep following Him. Rarely does He give us proof, especially the kind we can show with His divine seal of approval.
Often He gives answers. Rarely does He give us a full explanation. If you want a scripture reference for that, it's called The Gospels, or if you are an OT buff, you can read the Five Books of Moses. If I would give you a window into my mind's eye, it would not be for the sake of proof or a fullblown theological defense of any "position". I am smart enough to know that I'm not smart enough for that, nor am I healed enough. AND I'm also smart enough to know that just because someone can outsmart another person, it doesn't mean they are right.
(Trust me, I won an Ohio State Championship in Debate with a ridiculously narrow argument.) Books upon books have been written about the important subjects of Sovereignty, Suffering, the Gifts and Ministry of the Holy Spirit. I have read a few of them and I'm guessing you have too. I'm not interested at this point in arguing different positions because I'm still trying to learn more about what God is saying to me.
Which leads me to the third difficulty.
The third difficulty is that I am the first to admit that I am intentionally still in a very fluid process of understanding, which I hope to be in for the rest of my life. When I stop learning, I stop growing, and when you stop growing, you die.
I have recently been accused of surrounding myself only with people who agree with me. For what it's worth--you don't know my Dad, or Ted, or Rev. Mary. And you might think you know Jean, but I'm guessing you underestimate how much she storms the throne of God on my behalf, and listens to Him. The four of them would probably not agree on A LOT of things. I LOVE that the four closest counselors in my life all have a completely different way of looking at things. I find it extraordinarily enriching. Like dark chocolate. What you may be right about is that I need to listen to them more. Point granted.
Here is the thing, whenever you begin to argue a position--you start to feel the necessity to take and defend one. I'm not sure I'm there. Maybe that sounds inconsistent. I'm OK with that right now. I'm much more interested in opening up ways of understanding than in shutting them off because they don't fit a certain theology. It's what makes my Dad so nervous.
BUT--I do so with a very close communion with the Trinity--and an almost dangerous belief that He means what He says in regard to His promise to give us wisdom if we seek Him with all our hearts, and that He is our counselor, and that He is our gentle shepherd who leads us and will not us fall headlong--if we LISTEN to Him.
So all of that to say that I'm going to ask my Dad to write with me as I write my story. And we'll take one day and one question at a time.
B
So Matt refuses to comment on blogs, but I wanted to tell you what he said when he read my post/comments last night.
"How do you know Noah wasn't a scientist or a theologian?" he said. I gave him a few weak arguments at first like, "He was too busy building the ark to have time for anything else." But eventually I granted he had a good point. Theology in it's most basic meaning is to know about God. Or what we believe about God. I'm sure Noah knew God more than most of us would ever dream of. What I was thinking when I wrote is that Noah didn't have the Scriptures and so he couldn't have tried to reconcile his experience with the Scriptures and the history of God that has been passed down to us. And though Noah may have been an excellent scientist, and the Lord may have given him great insight into creation, I still think the whole "never seen rain" thing could have been a little overwhelming considering the flood problems that resulted. And I can't imagine that seeing every other human being die on planet earth didn't bring up some questions about the character of God. (Even God was grieved over that one.)
Two other things Matt said after he read my comments and our new blog, Conversations with Rev Dad:
"You are so fortunate to have a Dad who is willing to have these kinds of conversations with you like this." I kind of raised my eyebrows because I was thinking sometimes my Dad's challenges can be a bit much. "Oh, come on," Matt said, It wouldn't be nearly as much fun if he agreed with you all the time." I laughed and he continued, "It says a lot about him, and shows how much he loves you."
And then when he was done reading, he kissed me and said, "I love you." I wanted to know what he was referring to in my writing that prompted that. "Nothing," he said, "It's just you."
I'm blessed with a Dad and a husband who though unlike me, love and appreciate my differences, and continue to move toward communion with me.
I am so grateful.
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