Hi, I’m Grace, and I’m a charter member of Procrastinators Anonymous.
Sometimes, though, it isn’t my fault. Like this past week. Three unproductive days on pain pills (long story; old ladies need to be more careful), then all day Saturday was mine. But that was the day the guys could finally string wires and antennas to put WiFi in my cottage.
You think I’m gonna turn that down!
Sometimes somebody throws the wrong switch just when you’re on a roll across a mountain railroad trestle. Whatever, whether you jump or you’re helped over the edge, you’re still in freefall. Where’s my parachute?
Could it be that all of us encouragers are each other’s parachutes? Who will I turn to this time? To fallible human hands, sometimes absent, sometimes absent-minded?
Maybe, if He chooses them—but Jesus is always there. As I was trying to decide how to end this post, a gentle reminder came: “Remember the bookshelves.”
Disorganized stacks of underutilized books lining my walls. But, hey, I had a hammer and a saw and a tape measure, and I could use them. I scheduled all my vacation time, put all the lumber for built-in bookshelves on my credit card—and got scared. That was a lot of money stacked in my floor.
Two days of painful prayer, then a decision. I’d do this with His help, and I’d make the labor an act of worship.
For 21 years, the sight of those bookshelves, straight and solid and true, has been a witness of His faithfulness, a daily reminder that worship doesn’t have to be perfect, just heart-felt.
Avi, sometimes You say, “You can do this. I’ve given you what it takes.” Sometimes You say, “No, this way. It doesn’t matter how deep the water is; I’m Master of this sea, too.” You are, Avi, but often I let my small self be overwhelmed by the size of the task You’ve given me, by the knowledge of how very much people need what I have to share. Forgive me for staring at the storm while You’re waiting for me to trust You. Help me to worship You in truth and in deed. In Your holy name, Amen.