BETH MOORE AT THE AIRPORT

[TammiJ]

This was emailed to me and I liked it and thought I'd share it.


BETH MOORE AT THE AIRPORT For those of you who don't know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding Bible teacher,writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother of two daughters. Sheis a memberof First Baptist in Houston.

Beth Moore April 20, 2005 At the Airport in Knoxville Waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was veryintent upon what I wasdoing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say that because Iwant to tell you it isa scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. Youcould end up doing somethings you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can bedangerous for athousand reasons not the least of which is your ego. I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humpedover in a wheelchair, hewas skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he wasat least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers,and his shoulders looked like the coat hangerwas still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veinsand bones. The strangestpart of him was his hair and nails. Stringy gray hair hung well overhis shoulders and downpart of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely outof place on an old man. I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning myface. As I tried toimagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering ifI'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport ... animpersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere? There I sat, trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from beingconcerned about a thin sliceof humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All thewhile my heart wasgrowing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him. Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than trueconcern, and suddenly I wasawash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man. I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall.I've learned that whenI begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my naturalfeelings, somethingdramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing. I immediatelybegan to resistbecause I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguingwith God in my mind. "Oh, no, God, please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I couldstare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witnessto this man. Not right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put meon the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to thisman in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!" There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Pleasedon't make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the plane." Then I heard it ... "I don't want you to witness to him. I want you tobrush his hair." The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and mythoughts spun like a top. DoI witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainer. I looked straightback up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I wantyou to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'mon this Lord. I'm you're girl! You've never seen a woman witness to aman faster in yourlife. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is notredeemed? I am on him.I am going to witness to this man." Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed towrite this statement acrossthe wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want youto witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair." I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's in mysuitcase on the plane.How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?" God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk towardhim as these thoughtscame to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto allgood works." (2 Timothy 3:17) I stumbled over to the wheelchairthinking I could use one myself. Even as I retell this story my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible,"Sir, may I have thepleasure of brushing your hair?" He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?" "May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?" To which he respondedin volume ten,"Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have totalk louder than that." Atthis point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THEPLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?" At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was theonly thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks.Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him lookup at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really wantto." Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seeminterested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed onmy heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased.But I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush." "I have one in my bag," he responded. I went around to the back ofthat wheelchair, and I goton my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardlybelieving what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the oldman's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it wastangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but I must admit I'vehad notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two littlegirls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, Ibegan brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to takemy time not to pull. A miraculous thing happenedto me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in theroom disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except thatold man and me. I brushed and I brushed andI brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of lovefor another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I -for that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God.That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone rentinga room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions wereso strong and so pure that I knew theyhad to be God's. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's. I slipped thebrush back in the bag, went around the chair to face him. I got backdown on my knees, put my hands on his knees, andsaid, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?" He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought. He explained,"I've known Him since Imarried my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know theSavior." He said, "You see,the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open-heartsurgery, and she'sbeen too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself,what a mess I must be formy bride." Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine momentwhen we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the otherhand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervenedin details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'llnever forget it. Our time came to board, and we were not on the sameplane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would havebeen so proud to have accompanied him onthat aircraft. I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, theairline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down hercheeks. She said, "That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Whydid you do that? What made you do that?" I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!" And we gotto share. I learned something about God that day. He knows if you'reexhausted because you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place orit is time to move on, but you feel too responsible to budge. He knowsif you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick ordrowning under a waveof temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He seesyou as an individual.Tell Him your need! I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how manyopportunities just likethat one had I missed along the way... all because I didn't wantpeople to think I was strange.God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me. John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. Wehave seen his glory,the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of graceand truth." Life shouldn't be a journey to the grave with the intention ofarriving safely in a pretty andwell-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly usedup, totally worn out,and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a ride! Thank You, Lord!"

[Preacher]

Wonderful story Tammi and I Thank you for sharing. I've been busy lately and missed this.