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Feather-n-INK
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Rebecca Britt, Oregon
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The Refining Fire Needs Fuel.
On Wednesday, May 19, I left for work
about fifteen minutes early. After a couple minutes driving, I caught up to a
battered old pickup toddling down the road. Something in my head said,
"Maybe you shouldn't pass this guy."
"Well duh," I
responded. "I'm not going to pass him on all these curves. I'll wait until
I have a good quarter mile of clearance, scoot on by, and be on my merry
way."
Sure enough, my rationalization paid off.
The opportunity presented itself and, ZOOM, I'm in cruise mode. Less than a
mile later, I'm confronted with a monster grill filling my lane on a blind
curve. In a millisecond (played out in slow motion) I'm party to a ninety mile
an hour head on collision. In another millisecond (NOT played out in slow mo)
I'm bawling my head off. There was no part of me that was not off the charts
hurt.
After the dust settled, i.e. ambulance,
police, hospital, et al, I'm driven home by my Pastor and his wife while the kids
head to the pharmacy to load up on pain killers. I'm blessed to be alive with
no broken bones. It's truly a miracle and a testimony of our heavenly Father's
care for His children.
However, I was to learn over a period of
weeks that God's care was just beginning. Dealing with pain was the least of my
battles. Dislocations of numerous vertebrae, sternum, jaw, nose, rib cage, and
rotator cuff with a serious concussion for dessert, I must also deal with the
war between the insurance companies.
To put this entire ordeal in a nutshell,
I will conclude with the crux of the matter; my sin nature rising up in yet
another of its innumerable facets.
How many nights had I prayed
for the young man in the other vehicle and his family. And what a brave face I
put on in the midst of my suffering. There was no question of fault except the
insurance companies agreed that twenty percent of the liability was mine for
passing that old truck a couple miles prior to the collision. I could have
raised such a stink over that and an incorrect police report and, and, and ad
infinitum. After night upon sleepless night, I'm staring my angst in the face
AGAIN!
Now I'm bawling my head
off because there is no part of my spirit that is not off the charts hurting. I
scramble out of bed, grab my prayer blanket out of the closet, and throw it and
myself on the floor. There is no peace. All I want is peace. God has me
where He wants me.
"When I warned you
not to pass the truck, you snubbed me," He said to me. "It hurt
that you didn't even think to ask, "Is that you God?" You broke the
law of the land when you passed that truck on a double solid line," He
continued. “Though you could legally contest it and win, don’t. Twenty percent
is My judgment.
“Lastly, you disobeyed your daughter’s directive not
to pass when driving her car. There will be no peace until you make this
right.”
Oh how I cried and repented and
begged forgiveness. Finally, I was able to go back to bed and get a little
sleep. It was hard coming let me tell you.
Upon rising, it took some time for me to work up the
humility (frying dross) to confess my sins to Patty. She forgave me and didn’t
want me to pay the twenty percent loss on the value of the car. I asked her to
pray about that and share what we had discussed with Allen. Don’t it just
figure, God wouldn’t let me off the hook.
“You tell him,” Holy
Spirit said unequivocally. The sound of a ‘SKIL’ saw told me where he was. I no
sooner got the door open and said his name when I started bawling all over
again. I confessed all and he hugged me. After explaining the issue of paying
on the car, Allen smiled and said, “What if we just forgive you the debt?”
Even as I write this, tears come to my eyes. No one,
except Father God, had ever forgiven me a debt.
So there you have it. Purging hurts.
Refining hurts. Restoration is a balm. I discovered that I must fight to die
and boldly ask for the pain of refining rather than endure the darkness of
separation from the love of God. His faithfulness is my reward.
May you be nurtured and blessed of
God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Rebecca
Britt,
Feather and Ink
