Journal of a Living Lady #83
I
am glad to have the freedom to write occasionally about spiritual matters.
Indeed, the spiritual matters.
While
in the hospital in 1976, following my third miscarriage, the gynecologist
insisted I have a hysterectomy. I emphatically insisted I would not,
knowing that I had prayed for years that God would give us a son. I remember
the first time I asked God for a son. I was all alone in a thicket of woods
behind our home. The sun streamed through the trees. In exchange for this son, I promised that Buddy and I would give
him the best Christian up-bringing we could. Also, we would never forget that
this boy was a gift on loan from God. We would willingly give this son back to
make a difference anywhere in the world.
Walking
back to the house in full confidence that God would answer that prayer, I added a motherly postscript. Should God
choose to send this coming son of our’s down the Amazon River, would He please
provide a little row boat so his Dad and I could follow behind.
In
1979, the word was that we were again with child. The sonogram confirmed it was
a boy. Our friends called us Abraham and Sarah as Buddy was by then no spring
rooster. The rhythmical kicking in the womb let me know that there were some
music genes in this baby. The doctor callously advised an abortion because of
my age and some potentially serious health problems. I let him know bluntly this baby would never end up in some
butcher’s bucket.
By
the age of two Charlie was reading. By the age of five, he could play Chariots
of Fire on the piano. At the age of twelve, he had his Black Belt in Karate. In
eighth grade he was President of the Student Council.
Skip
forward a few years. Charlie will soon be a senior at Toccoa Falls College.
This is a small, but fully-accredited four- year school in North Georgia.
A couple of weeks ago Charlie told us he
wanted to use his brief fall break to go to Philadelphia to work in the
homeless shelters. I took a deep breath and said “Okay.” Being the most
financially insecure one in the family,
I asked how much the trip would cost. It was a modest amount. Charlie
already had some yard work lined up for the week-end to pay for the trip. No
problem.
Then
a few days ago Charlie announced the “biggie.” I don’t know why it caught us by
surprise. We should have been expecting this. While we may temporarily forget a
twenty year old prayer, God doesn’t. Charlie informed us he would be going to
Zambia, Africa, during his winter break in January to do evangelism work in the
villages along with a professor and some other students from the college.
Practical
me. Knowing what a struggle it has been for us to come up with several thousand
dollars for tuition each semester, I swallowed hard and cleared my throat a
couple of times. Since Charlie had less than $100 in the bank, I casually asked him how he was going to pay
the $2300 it would take for travel and other related expenses. He gave me a
bewildered look. His response was,
“That is God’s problem.”
My
faith wasn’t as strong as his that day.
“I know, Charlie, but…”
“Mom,
raising the money is not my problem. It is not your problem. If God
wants me to go to Africa, He will provide the way.” Case shut.
Charlie
got a letter today. I emailed him at
the dorm and told him there was an envelope on his mail table formally
addressed to Charles E. Kelly. He wrote
back and told me to open it since he wouldn’t be home for several days.
As
I opened the letter, my eyeballs broadened and my faith took a quantum
leap. In the envelope were three,
one-hundred dollars bills with an anonymous note saying to use the money for
up-coming trips. Three-hundred dollars.
This was exactly what he needed to cover the cost of his passport, his deposit
for the Africa trip, and for the inoculations necessary to travel out of the country.
Now,
God, about that row boat.
++++++++++++++
Posted web – Oct. 5, 2000
Newspaper
edition: - Oct. 11, 2000
