Hijacked Feet!

Perching like a miniature hummingbird high in a pine tree, I gaze out over the throng of women. This morning, my foot is throbbing.  I sit to massage it.  Attempting to elevate it, I slide it up and over the vacant chair in front of me. (Instantly, a voice from another era fills my head with directives for where my feet should go AND what they should NOT be doing. Amusing myself, I let my leg linger there while I continue to massage it.) From my vantage point, the humans below look like a freshly opened beautiful new box of crayons. I want to just savor the richness of these sights and sounds. The music swirls, twists, and dances through the air, but my attention is being hijacked. It is like someone is whispering inside my head.  I force my mouth  to stop singing.   His distinct whisper becomes all I can hear.  

Sitting until I can my feel my seat practically catch fire, I  am compelled from my balcony perch.  The voice is clear, "Go downstairs."  What had started as an unrecognizable whisper, is now fully recognizable, voice, so I go. 

Sadly, unable to locate the elevator, I find the stairwell. Grasping the right handrail tightly, my left foot does a braille move to

find the step below. I transfer my weight and my right foot follows. I pause to remind Him of my aching foot, but He persists, so I continue."

Arriving on the main floor, I step out into the lobby.  The whisper persists, "Go to the disabled entrance." I go. (Okay, truth be told, I went where a sign clearly told me to stay out of, but I decided that if I was stopped, I would tell them I was "sent").  "Find the girl with the service dog."  WHAT????  WHO????? WHY????? The whisper says nothing else. Becoming as still as a stone statue, I allow my eyeballs to search the entrance to the auditorium. I see nothing! Slightly agitated, He whispers, look down.  There, scrunched in a ball, like a hedgehog protecting her insides, she sits in a ball against the wall, with a tiny service dog in her lap.  Silently I ask the voice, "NOW what?" Hearing nothing, I continue to stand and take notes from the speaker.  She looks so fragile; so completely helpless.  

Like an old fashioned Jack-in-the Box, whose crank has been turned one two many times, she

pops up and bolts for the hall.  I follow her. Three steps in, I interrupt her escape with my words (and hand gestures). "Hey!  God got me up out of my chair in the balcony; sent me down three flights of stair; through a blocked off hall; to find you." Awkwardly, I just stop.  With the intensity of a rapid-fire rifle, I am internally peppering "the voice" with a desperate, "WHAT NOW?"  I hear myself saying, "God wants you to know that......" there is a Grand Canyon size pause and then faithful, like always, I hear one word.  "BRAVE". Time seems suspended. I am looking at her beautiful, anxiety filled eyes.  They speak volumes to my heart.  Hot liquid is leaking from her eyes. Suddenly, exhaling and I repeat, "God wants you to know that you are brave!"   The force of this one word declaration seems to expand as it leaves my mouth. Again, "God wants you to know that you are brave!" Sweetly her service dog helps himself to the warm liquid cascading from her eyes.  My heart is soaking in the sacred gift of this moment.

I have nothing else to say but I am simply unable to move.  Gathering her composure, she tells of her accidental overdose the night before (first night of the conference) on prescription medications;  she speaks of

laying on the gurney all night in the hospital asking God for a sign that she should continue leading the bible study; telling God all of her inadequacies and reasons that she is incapable; asking Him if she was even supposed to return to the conference on this day. There is a sudden new flow of tears as she mumbles, "The name of the bible study is - Brave." WHAT??? She repeats the word - Brave! The sacredness of this moment does not escape either of us.  Reaching for her, my soft jelly arms wrap her up and I whisper in her ear, "He hears you."  Tears of thanksgiving form and mingle together.  I whisper in her ear, "NEVER forget that He loved you enough to get a wounded warrior up from her chair in the top balcony and lead her all the way to you in order to deliver a message.  You are brave my friend; you are brave and you are called to lead."

As quick as the encounter started, it was over.  I turned and walked back to the stairwell.  Climbing the stairs, I arrive at the top.  Mindlessly, I head toward the door.  Like a news flash, I hear His voice, "Go back down and come back up."  I pause and Priscilla's words come racing into my mind,

"The only difference between belief and faith is your feet."  Smirking, I instantly turn and head back down.  With each step of the stairs, my left foot seems to function better.  On the second set, He whispers, "Move out to the middle and don't hold the railing."  Obediently, I move.  It is just He and I in the stairwell.  All other 2999 ladies are busy listening in the auditorium to powerful words from our Father delivered by His daughter.  By the bottom of the steps, my left foot is moving as it should be.

Thirty minutes ago, when I obediently rose from my chair, I had no idea that I would so quickly get to see experience first hand that truly the difference between my belief and

faith is both figuratively and literally....my feet!

What is God whispering to your heart to do?  Why not use your feet to make your faith a reality. Who knows how He really plans to use what He's asking you to do.  I would love to hear how your "feet" are taking your belief and turning it into faith.  Would you consider sharing your story?

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl