I needed to start speaking truth about God.
I didn’t because I didn’t want people to think I was weird. But better to be thought weird than taking credit where it wasn’t due.
Last week for example. I wanted a break from Parker’s heart-healing diet which unfortunately, or I guess fortunately, was working. Parker’s symptoms had almost disappeared. The doctor said “keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
Rats. Now we were stuck with the vegan-only-worse diet since, other than the medication, that was the “doing” we had to keep doing—a vegan diet without added fats.
But I didn’t have the heart disease, so today I was heading out to gorge on a bacon double cheeseburger at Burger King. As I drove, I passed an older model blue Ford truck on the side of the road with watermelons for sale. Made a mental note to stop for one on the way back.
Turned out to be my lucky day. Burger King also had a special on ice cream—a cone or a cup for a dollar. I could imagine the taste and feel of that creamy, not-really-ice-cream in my mouth. My whole body perked up in anticipation. I’d eat the ice cream first, save the burger for dessert.
“We only have the cups.”
“I’ll take the cup, thank you.” I didn’t care how it came, I wanted it.
As I pulled away from the payment-window on the way to the pickup-window I heard God’s still small voice in my mind.
“Give the ice cream to the person selling watermelons.”
“Wait. What? I want the ice cream. Why didn’t you speak up while I was ordering? Or even paying? I would have bought two. They’re only a dollar.” I answered Him in my mind as well.
“You don’t need it. Give your ice cream away. It’s hot out today.”
I said nothing for a bit, struggling with the loss of that unplanned but now longed-for treat. I felt like a kid being told to give away her chocolate Easter bunny. Not share it. Give the whole thing away. Did service always have to involve sacrifice?
I considered going through the line again to get another, but there were fifteen cars ahead of me so I didn’t. “Okay. I’ll give it away.”
Once I had the ice cream in hand, I was sorely tempted to ignore God and eat it anyway. I succeeded in marshaling the self-control needed to leave it alone for the five whole minutes it took to drive to where I’d seen the watermelons.
I parked behind the old truck, stepping out of my air conditioned car into the full force of the heavy, humid Florida heat. An older man, his face glistening with a sheen of sweat, came around from the front where he’d been standing in the bit of shade cast by his vehicle. He slumped as he walked, his eyes downcast, looking like an over-heated car engine, barely able to go. A clear plastic jug of water sat in the sun next to the truck. No ice.
I bet he would appreciate the ice cream. All of a sudden, I was thrilled to be giving it to him, happy to be part of God’s plan. But would he accept it from a stranger? I didn’t want to scare him with my sudden burst of enthusiasm which can be overwhelming.
I leaned against my car, trying to be casual but couldn’t keep myself from giving him my full-on, excited smile. “I thought you might be hot and brought you ice cream…if you want it.” I offered the cup.
He hesitated, looked into my eyes, took the ice-cream. “It is hot out here. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
He continued watching me without changing his expression, as if unsure of my motives as I smiled and chattered, acting as though I brought ice cream to strangers every day. I thumped a couple of melons and turned them over looking for signs of ripeness. “I hope I pick a good one. The last two I got weren’t ripe at all. How much is this one?
“Eight dollars.”
I opened my wallet. “Do you have change? I have a twenty. Or six ones.”
“Take it for six. We’re friends now. You brought me ice cream.”
No, I wanted to say, not me, wanted to tell him about God telling me to give it to him—leaving out the part about how I didn’t want to, not so I would look good but so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable for having accepted it. I wanted to say, “It’s God who is your friend. He told me to bring you this ice cream because you were suffering in this heat.” But I didn’t. Didn’t want to look weird. I’m still regretting it.
I will never again miss an opportunity to share God’s love, even if it does make me uncomfortable.
Do you have a story like this to share with me? I would love to hear it.
I love your stories! 🙂