He Taught Me Patience

The azure blue water of the Atlantic lapped against the pilings of the antiquated dock as I sat waiting on a boat to fetch me, my overabundant luggage and carry me to my destination – a quiet little island (known as a Cay). I was going where I had never been and there was a mixture of anticipation and consternation. Anticipation that I was embarking on a new adventure and consternation because my mode of transportation was inordinately late. That is a word that absolutely breaks me out in the hives and the itch. To be sure, that might be a slight exaggeration but  I’ve always believed those who do not value my time will certainly not value my wisdom. With each passing tick of the clock, I felt that my patience level was decreasing and my blood pressure was rising. This was not good. I sat awhile on my oversized luggage turned chair. Then I would pace awhile like someone who was making an exit from a very active ant bed.

It was at the apex of that moment that something clicked in my thought processes that really was revolutionary in the sense that I live by it to this day. It was as though God was using this moment to share with me a life-lesson that would last. The dock became my classroom and He was my most valuable teacher. I realized that I could either be perplexed, frustrated and,  not a little bit,  angry at my inconvenience or I could take a deep breath, look around, appreciate my surroundings and, yes, even enjoy the journey.

Finally, in the distance, just at the horizons edge, I saw something approaching at top speed that must surely be my transport to this wonderful hideaway that I would call home for a few days of rest and relaxation. No such luck. My thoughts were racing as quickly as my pulse. I most certainly was not like Peter in the Bible who had the luxury of walking on the water. That was not an option for me. I couldn’t catch a plane to this future haven of mine as there was no landing strip. I definitely  did not want to spend the night under the stars with the tropical bugs on the dock and had not even thought it might be necessary to have made reservations in a local hotel. How long was this test of my “patience quota”  going to last? I was already to my limit. Though not verbalizing it out loud,  I was most certainly having a lively dialogue in my mind as to what I was going to say to the captain of this aquatic invention if and when he finally arrived.

I made a quality decision that day. I chose to take that deep breath and look at my surroundings filtered through the new lens of an inquisitive adventurer looking for exquisite treasure. The water with its various shades and hues of blue was absolutely breathtaking. To the right of the dock it was like a giant fish aquarium with an endless array of species that any fisherman would have thought they were in heaven. The seagulls were taking nose dives trying to find a scrumptious meal to enjoy from the ocean’s diner. I meandered from the dock onto the sandy beach where I began to methodically sift through the most beautiful collectibles of all time – seashells.

As the sun began to slowly set and the stars would not be long in their arrival I returned to my place of waiting with a new frame of mind. I knew the plans had been made and felt certain that the boat would arrive before much longer. In the meantime, I had already begun to enjoy my adventure of a lifetime with a wonderful gift neatly packaged in the word called patience. There it was. The light piercing the darkness like a beacon signaling the next phase of this marvelous journey was about to begin. I responded to the captain’s greeting with a warm, “Hello. I’m looking forward to seeing your beautiful island.” When he saw all my luggage that was to be loaded on his boat, though he never said a word, I’m sure he thought that I must be going to stay for at least a month rather than a few days. Could this have been a slight payback for his tardiness? I don’t really think so. However, I do know that I’ve learned through whatever circumstance I may find myself,  I have the choice to either endure it or enjoy in spite of it. I choose enjoy. Thank you, God, for teaching me patience that day sitting on a dock ….. waiting.

Surviving The Sudden Storm

Engines roared as we took off  in this massive piece of metal called an airplane. By all rights it should be far too heavy to fly. But… Now at thirty seven thousand feet we were soaring like an eagle high above the clouds. With my headset on and listening to the pulsating and moving harmony’s of the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir I was enjoying the ride. What could be better than this? Looking out the window, like huge cotton balls of various shapes and configurations, those clouds hung suspended above the earth in a most majestic fashion.

I knew it was going to be a marathon trip.  From Los Angeles, to Salt Lake City,  to Houston and then on to Fort Lauderdale. I was more than tired and ready to get home even if I had to “puddle jump” to get there. It was early in the morning and I knew I would not be arriving home until late at night but  at least I would be home. The flight from Los Angeles to Salt Lake City had been terrific. And now leaving Utah the take-off roll had been perfect as we once again rose into the heavens. The azure skies glistened with the brightness of the sun as I settled back in my seat to enjoy the ride. We were about forty-five minutes out of Houston airport when what started out as a few bumps began to turn into the roller coaster ride of my life. The “fasten your seat belts” sign came on. The beautiful blue skies were now growing more ominous by the second.  In just a few moments of time, suddenly, from out of nowhere, we were flying through a horrendous storm. All I could see now was the  black clouds that appeared to swallow the wings while, at the same time, the rain beat vehemently against the windows like a fighter in the ring. Of course, the lightning was flashing piercing the darkness for a brief moment and then it would disappear as quickly as it had come.

Obviously, I couldn’t get off and say, “I’ll think I’ll walk.” Those of us on that plane were a captive audience in a real-live drama. There was a grandfather sitting to my right who had enjoyed sharing pictures of his grandchildren with me and telling me wonderful stories of his childhood. I absolutely did not want him to know this “woman of faith and power” was at the moment quite terrified. However, I think he must have known when, as the plane took a major dip, I grabbed his arm with a grip not indicative of my small stature. With a sheepish grin I said, “Oh, excuse me. I think this weather is a bit rough, don’t you?”  This kind grandfather chuckled and said, “That’s quite all right, young lady. I’m a bit scared myself.” What? This mature grandfather afraid. Oh, no. Not good. This must be it or so I thought. In all of my travels I had never been in a storm quite like this one.

I reached over grandpa and without hesitation pulled the shade down over the window. Out of sight. Out of mind. Well, not quite. I did figure, however, if I didn’t see the dark clouds maybe I could shift my thoughts from the storm to something else a bit more peaceful. Secondly, I fixed my eyes on the pilot. No, more like I stared at the pilot. This is back in the day when they would keep the cockpit doors open. I carefully concluded that as long as the pilot seemed calm and I didn’t see him break a sweat, every thing must be all right. Obviously, we landed safely and I lived to tell the story. Now, I’m a student pilot and I am learning how to fly a plane. Here are some things I learned that day that I could never learn in a text book about surviving the sudden storm. First, I learned that unexpected storms will come. That’s just a fact of life. Secondly, you’ve got to learn the art of shifting  your focus. It could very well be a matter of life or death. When I pulled the shades over the windows I no longer focused on the storm but rather the pilot. He was listening to the tower and he had his eyes on the instruments. I was no longer fixated on the storm with its horrors but rather the performance and precision of the pilot.

If you are experiencing a sudden storm in your life right now pull the shade down. Here’s what I mean. Shut out the doubt and the fear. Tune out all the toxic people who would try to tell you that you’re not going to make it. You make the decision to move your gaze from the storm to the Pilot of all pilots, Jesus Christ. The Captain and the Master of the storm. I’m fully aware of just how rough the storms of life can be. I understand the buffeting winds and the torrential rains of the circumstances you may be facing right now. But because I know the Pilot I have every confidence that not only can you survive this sudden storm but you can thrive in the middle of it. Keep your eyes on the Pilot. He’s got it all under control! Safe landing….

They Taught Me The Difference

The voodoo drums were pulsating their rhythmic cadence with a frenzied pitch echoing through the valley and wafting their way through the windows of our home in Haiti. The mystical mutterings of the voodoo priests invoking the spirits to protect the crops of the people or any number of other requests remained a mystery. The only thing I could hear was the beat of the drums. Should I be afraid? What impact would this religious ritual have on me and my family? The sound of the drums would rise and fall like the ebb and flow of the sea. Loud and then soft. Soft and then loud. No pillow over your ears in the dark of the night could silence the sound of these drums. Believe me I tried.

Living in this new country with our new found friends was both a joy and an adventure. They had so welcomed us and had now become our family. Haiti had become our home. Why were we there? Mom and dad had been assigned as missionaries and we were obviously a willing part of the package. Poised atop a hillside overlooking the city of Port-au-prince, not too far from the Canape Verde Hospital, on this night I learned the real difference between religious ritual and meaningful relationship. Between light and darkness.  It seemed that on this particular evening the drums sounded even louder than before. Or at least that was the way it appeared to me. In the theater of my mind I could only imagine what was going on as these worshipers with a fervor known only to them invoked the spirits.

That was it. I had to know. I threw the covers off, marched like a teenager on a mission into mom and dad’s bedroom across the hall. I said two words that, as far as I was concerned, was really the understatement of the year.  ”I’m scared.” I think my heart was beating in my chest as loudly, if not louder, than those drums.  How could they possibly sleep with all this going on? It was beyond me.  What about all those spirits that were floating around? Would one of them find their way up the hill and through one of our windows? Dad and mom realized that I, with my most inquisitive mind, needed some answers.  Dad slowly sat up on the side of the bed and patiently posed this question, “Diane, what do you hear?” Now what kind of question was that? I was in their room in the middle of the night because I was hearing the sound of the voodoo drums. I know he had to hear it, too. He continued his discourse with mother in her quiet gentle way lending her support to this most important “teaching moment.”  I responded, “Dad, I can’t sleep because those voodoo drums are keeping me awake. It’s just plain scary.”

Dad was such a wise man and I will always be grateful for this moment because it was then he taught me a powerful truth that to this day I live by it. He posed yet another question, “Is that the only thing you are hearing? Listen closely.”  Next door at the Bourdon Church of God on the campus of our mission compound there was an all night prayer meeting going on. You could hear the people praying. Yes. There it was like a light bulb being turned on in a darkened room filled with scary images being dispelled by the light. Prayer. It was an all pervading force that drove back the fear that I felt. It brought a calm and a courage into my spirit. Their prayers filled the atmosphere and invaded the valley impacting not only me but I believe an entire nation. Suddenly, the sound of faith began to grow louder than the sound of those fear invoking drums. Those precious ones gathered in that little church on a hillside in Haiti were a mighty force in God’s plan to teach me a life-changing truth.  Dad said, “When God’s people pray it moves heaven and invades the powers of darkness with the light of His power which is far greater.” He continued, “Diane, you never have to fear because it is impossible for anyone to curse what God has blessed.” Oh, good. No little evil spirits were going to get through our windows.

To be sure we need not fear the future because God is already there. That’s what a relationship with Him is all about. Not religion. Not ritual. But Relationship. Thank God for the light. Thank you, dad and mom, for teaching me the difference. What’s that I hear? It’s the drumbeat of heaven – prayer.