The Peak of Inspiration

This isn’t the first time I have told this story.  For some reason, whenever November rolls around and Thanksgiving is in sight, this experience visits my memory.  It seems like every time I reconsider it, there is another lesson or truth revealed.  

The following narrative took place on a July weekend some years ago.  Some of the details may or may not be especially relevant to the point I am trying to make, but you are going to get them nonetheless.

We left our house very early one Friday morning with the intent to hike to the top of the Devil’s Head lookout tower, and then continue to Denver for the weekend.  We wanted to visit a family whose son was at Craig Rehab at the time following a spinal injury.  Also, to do some shopping and meet some family at the Downtown Aquarium.  That was the plan and it all seemed doable and a potentially enjoyable weekend.

We did the hike as planned, then drove the remaining hour or so to Denver.  As luck would have it, we arrived during rush hour.  If you haven’t already heard, the city environment is not my natural habitat.  And the city environment during rush hour is enough to give me heart tremors.  And then, to top it all off, while we were sitting at a stop light in the middle of multiple lanes of traffic, my trusty GMC started to tremble as well.  The rpm gauge started bouncing around like a deranged pogo stick.  I coaxed it into a nearby parking lot and tried to diagnose.  Keep in mind that it was past 5:00 on Friday evening.  Businesses were closed for the weekend. 

We were able to make it to the motel that night but the engine was running so rough that I didn’t trust using it for the rest of our activities.  Fortunately, it was just a short walk to the nearest light rail station, so we opted to use public transportation for the next couple days. 

When you are in a city with me, you can divide it into three sections.  The first part includes all the areas that you plan to see, and you do.  The second being the parts you have no intention or need to see, and you don’t.  The third part is, of course, the areas that you have no intention or need to see, but you do anyway.  If I have any say or authority in deciding which direction to go, which train or exit to take, which bus or other method of transportation to use, you will find yourself spending a fair share of your time in that third section.  I’m not bragging.  I’m just saying that I can get you to places that no one else can. 

Anyhow, we survived the next couple of days.  By the time we boarded the train Monday afternoon for one last ride across town, I was done.  Stressed out and in survival mode.  Questioning all my life choices and why we couldn’t catch a break.  My attitude was not one that you would want to pattern your life after.  The train was crowded.  Our little family hunched together on a seat near the back.  About that time my attention was drawn to a particular lady that was sitting across the isle and slightly forward of our position.

She was possibly early thirties.  In every way quite average.  Modestly dressed.  No outstanding makeup or piercings.  I noticed her because she was actively conversing with a passenger that was standing directly in front of her.  Their conversation was such that for a minute I thought they must be acquainted in some way.  She was sincerely interested in his work and life.  After a few minutes, the worker disembarked, and she was left more or less alone.   

And then, the Lord spoke to her, and she listened.  She began to sing.  Totally alone.  On a train packed with people.  Boldly.  No shame in her voice.  “Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God my Father.  There is no shadow of turning with thee.  Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not.  As thou hast been, thou forever wilt be.”

She sang all three verses.  In the train, life went on.  No comments or compliments.  I continued to steadfastly gaze out the window.  And while my eyes didn’t cry, my heart did. 

I have a few regrets.  There are a few minutes of my life I would like to relive.  I would like to get back on that train, lean across the isle, and say “Thank You”.  I would like to tell her how she sang me a sermon more powerful than most of the regular kind that I have heard.  I would like her to know that she wasn’t ignored, that her obedience brought forth results.  That what she did was powerful enough to imprint itself on my heart for the rest of my life.   I would tell her that I will never hear or sing that song again without thinking of her and the witness of thankfulness she soaked me with that day.

I spend too much time in “circumstance mode”.  Thinking about what did or didn’t happen.  How things could or should have gone.  I spend a lot of time running in front of the train, fearing the crash that is sure to come if I give out.  I plan and I strategize, and I do damage control.  I wait for the next blow to fall.  The next customer complaint and the next warranty claim. 

But then I think of my friend on the train.  I call her my friend because she helped me.  She sang when she had every excuse not to.  When she had every reason to be thinking about something else.  She sang when she knew it would bother some.  She sang when she thought no one was listening.  Someone was.  I would like to tell her that, too.

“Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness.  Morning by morning new mercies I see.  All I have needed thy hand hath provided.  Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”