I’ve discovered the best way to get through Lowe’s in a timely manner. The only way, probably. I call this new game plan: Find Zach. I picked up Miss Emily for a companion in running Mom’s errands. Arrived at Lowe’s we were greeted by none other than Welchy himself, who made sure we found the person we needed, the caulking we needed and even opened another register just to check us out. “Young lady, I need to see your ID,” he quipped as I slid Mom’s debit card. “Are you Lane or Marcia?”
The Lord’s lovingkindness was new and overwhelming today. It would seem strange and unbelievable that always, when I come to the end of my rope and cry out to Him, He answers--almost immediately—if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve been told to expect that. Jacinda and I were conversing as I pulled up to Amber’s. “I’ve been praying for you,” she told me. “Really? Thanks! Mind praying a bit more? I’m here.” After knocking, I made a characteristic dash behind the stairwell. It’s tradition now, that I knock and then hide. Amber would be disappointed if she ever opened the door and found me standing there like any normal person. By the time I left the house I was floating and clouds of puffy whiteness and strumming a harp while singing God's praises. At lunch Jacinda asked me how it went. “Great!” was my fervent response. A grin broke out across her face. “I was praying for you,” she said. “First I was praying that God would just let you get through it, and that it didn’t have to be the best time ever, but just better than last week. Then I stopped myself. What was I thinking? I started praying that He would be present and that it would be an amazing time of encouragement. I figured I ought to pray for what I really hoped.” Lauryn and April joined us for lunch, and I found myself reveling at last in some “girl time”.
“You probably don’t remember us,” Jim and Gloria made excuses for me, after arriving at our house tonight. We knew them from the days of my infancy—the Gospel Chapel in Hutchinson, Kansas. “Yes, I do,” I defended myself, and began describing to them the breathing treatments they’d give Rachel, James’ piano playing, their dog Muffin and the house they lived in, right down to the wood flooring in the upstairs where we played hide-and-seek. I easily grasp and recall images—faces, moments in time, outfits, scenes—like snapshots in an interminable mental album. Oh, but those little tasks my Papa gives me slip through the cracks and fall neglected in my memory.
As a final touch to the day, Nathaniel called to chat with me on his way home from Kansas. A chat is defined as a two-hour conversation on every topic in the books—with a definite focus on recording and music. Soon I was caught up in pleasant memories of the days before his marriage, even the night before he arrived in Texas when I talked to him until the wee hours of the morning to keep him awake as he drove, having sent his sickly bride on to bed. Sometimes six months feels as if it were six years. And sometimes I get overwhelmed with sentimentality. Sometimes being defined as very occasionally.
If I were a truly talented writer, I’d be able to sum the whole day up in one word. As a talented-writer-wannabe, I’ll make an attempt: encouraging. Uplifting. Amazing! That was three. I guess I’ll never be a truly talented writer. But I’m something better. I’m alive with the joy of the Lord.
Lord, I often hesitate
To batter down Thy temple gate
With praise and worship for Thy deeds,
Yet this is what my spirit needs.
Today, I’ll take Thy court by storm,
And magnify Thy perfect form
Thy mighty works, Thy priceless words.
Today Thy praises will be heard!