|Mt. Hickory Farm|
I stood through most of the worship songs. Lord, touch me, but I couldn't muster an enthusiasm. I know faith is more than feelings, so I hung on. I almost wish the sermon was first, then the singing. I cried through the skit about the thought of a young man, six months from graduation with some deadly disease. The father had faith which infected the son. The son's tests were great. The doctor states, "Whether a miracle of God or medicine, it is still a miracle." I glance across the sanctuary, seeing a mother who lost her teen age daughter to cancer. The whole church prayed for her. We fasted and prayed, yet I had sat in this room for the funeral. I wonder.
The sermon was on the language of faith. We hold on. We say like the three in the furnace in Daniel's day, we will trust our God, whether He delivers or not- no, Pastor didn't use that in the sermon. We speak to ourselves a language. We make a story from the facts of our lives.
My women friends prayed for my family Thursday night. One stated she sensed God tell her, we have to give up control, so our children will see God come through to them; they can see God work in their lives.
I pull out of the parking lot, with snow still on the fields, yet sun shining strongly. I study Mt. Hickory Farm. I think of Mary. She gave her two daughters, Mary and Caroline, to her sisters, who were not widowed young. Was it a financial decision? I think it must have been. What did Mary feel? How did she get through? I can only think she was a woman of faith.
Six generations later, I stare at her house. She moved from there to another fine house. Maybe finer. She lived to eighty six years old. I wish I could know more. We live by faith. I think of the prayer I wrote when I was eighteen about my writing. God will honor it, I know.