It was about 10 years ago that a miracle happened. I was home alone; my guys were at some sports ball practice and for some reason I didn’t go and didn’t have chores. I was just home. So I got the mail — the snail mail. And a publication called “Faith at Work” was in my mailbox for no reason that I know about. I sat down and skimmed it and got hooked in an article about Tracy Radosevic. She was a professional Biblical storyteller and her story was amazing. And she was going to be teaching a class at a Seminary fairly nearby and in a Friday-Saturday pattern. I could take the class by using just a little vacation! I went to the web site and signed up as an auditing student before my guys were even home. I never did stuff like that. I literally felt a push on my back; this, do this.
My husband has been very supportive about the storytelling from the beginning, which is great because he had to teach me how to drive to the school, in the city, in the dark, in the rain. So the second miracle is that I did learn to drive to the school. (“I meant your other left, honey,” he might have said, perhaps with tiny bit of sharpness in his voice.)
I’ve never had good first-day-of-schools and this was no exception. I drove there just fine and found the parking but then could not find the building and had no idea what to do. I might have been crying a little bit, when an angel appeared and knew where I belonged and got me there. By angel I technically mean a very kind woman, a stranger to me; but I’m pretty sure she was an angel.
The class was wonderful. (The reading, the classmates, all wonderful. The process of learning a story by heart, of imagining the story. The whole thing was wonderful.) On the last day (as best I recall) Tracy had us each tell the scripture of our choice (that we had been prepping all through out the course).
I was so deeply relieved when that was over.
But Tracy said, “That was wonderful! Now do it again! And this time try….”
And honestly I nearly fainted; I had little black spots in my vision. I was completely calm doing it once. I never dreamed I would have to do it again.
Thank God, Thank God, Thank God that she had me do it again. That I could do it again. That the words hadn’t just left my brain instantly. That I could improve. That I could feel some or a lot of stage fright and still do it. That I could do it again, to an audience that had already heard it, and have them again lean forward, listening to the word of God. It wasn’t me.
It was the glory of God.
Maybe I can’t drive very well, maybe I fall asleep during meetings, maybe “mission” always goes wrong around me (don’t even ask), maybe children take one look at me and misbehave but suddenly I had something to give, some spiritual food for others that I could enjoy and share.
For the glory of God.