– Monday Muse –
In the early ‘60’s, from where my father worked at a Chevy dealership, he could easily see the high school which his oldest daughter attended. And every school day, after all the students had debused, and made their way inside the building, he watched her race up the long approach to the school entrance, take the stairs two steps at a time, and quickly disappear behind the large double-doors of the McBain Rural Agricultural School.
Punctuality was not her problem. She was never late, but almost always, only – just on time. Her father would shake his head, just as he did so often at home, as she scurried to leave with the family for church on Sunday.
Her father was not the only man that took notice of her. For far too often, as she rounded Main Street toward the school just one block further, she would hear, the same man, season after season, laughingly yell out, “Are you practicing for the track team?” It was doubling irritating for, in those days, McBain ‘girls’ did not have a team.
As she slid behind her desk, the school bell would ring, and with that, the teacher made the final check-mark on the attendance sheet, closed the notebook, and put it away. The timing was such, that one could almost suspect that the bell was activated by her weight upon the chair.
This father’s daughter kept up her race against the clock for many, many years, until one very ordinary day when she found herself miles from town, behind a slow, moving car that, once again, threatened to make her late for an appointment. Inwardly she grumbled, tightly gripped the steering wheel, and grew more anxious with each slowly, passing line-marker.
Though the situation was ordinary, her life no longer was; for she had begun to make more room for God in her daily life. Change was happening; it was about to happen again.
As she eyed the clock, and stewed over the inconsiderate driver, she heard these words, “That driver left on time. You did not.” Instantly, she took her foot off the gas, drawing back from her tailgating position. She was not shocked, or irritated… only – just a bit surprised, for she had been, for something now, a private student in the school of prayer, and she knew the Master’s voice.
Shame and compassion fought for dominance. She agreed, “Yes, I am the guilty one.” She stared ahead at the driver, a gray-haired, little figure. “God loves that person.” She prayed to change, she prayed for the driver. Peace was hers. And to her pleasure she arrived on time, not early, just on time.
Since that day, she has done her best to leave the house at the appropriate time, but when she does find herself short, behind a slow driver, she knows what to do. She prays for the person’s well being, or perhaps the means for a more reliable car, but most often she prays that if the driver hasn’t yet done so, that he, or she, will take Jesus Christ as Lord. And she is grateful to be under the watchful eye of the Heavenly Father, ever ready for another lesson…one sure to come.
“For God is at work within you, helping you want to obey Him, and then helping you do what He wants.” Philippians 2:13 LB
Footnote: Many years passed between the years I frantically ran into the school, nearly late, and the year I began to sit in the school of prayer, but the number of years are not of greatest importance. What is most important is that we come to know God through His Word and prayer, and recognize His leading. It is never too late to enroll in this school. FYI – no one graduates from it. Students are simply, at some unscheduled date, judged, advanced through the verification of Jesus Christ, and granted permission to enter the Highest Level. I’ve heard that it’s heavenly.
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