Monday, January 4, 2016

He Made me Cry in the Store

I talked with a piece of living history today. I don't know how, but I knew he was special as soon as I saw him standing behind me in the line at the checkout. It could have been his hat that announced that he was a World War II veteran. Or it could have been his graying hair, his age spots, his once strong back now hunched over with care. The perfect picture of what my husband and I are going to become if the Lord tarries.

That's when I felt it. The nudge from the Holy Spirit. I don't talk too much about the Holy Spirit because let's face it. Somehow, instead of being the third part of the Holy Trinity, the world has begun treating Him as Santa Claus with their 'If I say He has to do something, according to Scriptures, He has to do it!' I say, bah. Not like taking the Bible out of context and making it what you want it to say. But that's a rant for another time.

Iwo Jima MemorialAnyway, I seriously felt the push. The gentle leading. The gentle whisper to pay for this man's item. It was only one small thing, and yet, I was afraid to do it. I can't explain why I feared doing something like that, but that fear was there.

"Are you sure, God? Are You leading me to do this, or am I doing this for a selfish reason?" You see, my dad is a veteran of Vietnam. And every time someone does something nice like say "Thank you for serving our country" it makes me cry. Without fail. I didn't want to do this for the wrong reason.

But really. Is there a wrong reason to do something kind for someone else? Yeah. That's what the Holy Spirit said too. So without fanfare and very quietly, I asked the cashier to ring up his purchase as well. It didn't matter that she looked at me like I was stupid. This was what I needed to do. God had asked me to do it, and I was going to do it.

Afterward, he thanked me, and we talked a little bit. He said I was welcome for his serving the country, and that he had fought at Iwo Jima. That if he lived one more day, it would be 70 years since he got his release papers. That his wife was sick and he had to go get her at the pharmacy.

And I was crying because he was so grateful that I bought his bag of chicken when really, it was me getting the blessing. That I wish I could have done so much more. Compared to his sacrifices, mine amounted to nothing. While mine was simple, his had cost him so much.

Truly it is better to give than to receive. Now at the oddest times of day (and night) I find myself praying for that man and his wife, and I wonder, do they know Jesus as their Saviour? And I beg God that if they don't, that somehow He would send someone to tell them about His love for them and His sacrifice on the cross of Calvary. Because that's one Sacrifice only He could make to save us.

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