For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an
outstanding Bible
teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother
of two daughters.
This is one of her experiences:
April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to
board the plane,
I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I
was doing. I'd
had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because
I want to tell
you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really
working in you.
You could end up doing some things you never would have
done otherwise.
Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons,
not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange
sight. Humped over
in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes
that obviously
fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees
protruded from
his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger
was still in
his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins
and bones.
The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy,
gray hair hung
well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His
fingernails were long, clean
but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort
burning my face.
As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I
found myself
wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting..
Then, I remembered
that he was dead. So this man in the airport... an
impersonator maybe?
Was a camera on us somewhere?
There I sat; trying to
concentrate on the
Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of
humanity served up
on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while,
my heart was
growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.
Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable
than true concern,
and suddenly I was awash 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 when
I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to
my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen.
And it may be
embarrassing.
I immediately began to resist because I could feel God
working on my spirit
and I started arguing with God in my mind. 'Oh, no,
God, please, no.' I
looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight
through it into
heaven and said, 'Don't make me witness to this
man. Not right here and
now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same
plane, but don't make
me get up here and witness to this man in front of this
gawking audience.
Please, Lord!'
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness,
'Please don'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 to brush his hair.'
The words were so
clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts
spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his
hair? No-brainer. I
looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, 'God,
as I live and
breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this
man. I'm on this
Lord. I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman
witness to a man faster in
your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a
mess if he is not
redeemed? I am going to witness to this man.'
Again, as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word,
God seemed to write
this statement across the wall of my mind. 'That is not
what I said, Beth.
I don't want you to 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 my
suitcase 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
toward him
as these thoughts came to me from God's word: 'I
will thoroughly furnish
you unto all good works.' (2 Timothy 3:17)
I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking 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 the pleasure 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 responded in volume ten, 'Little lady, if
you expect me to hear
you, you're going to have to talk louder than
that.'
At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out,
'SIR, MAY I HAVE THE
PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?' At
which point every eye in the
place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room
looking more peculiar
than old Mr. Long Locks. Face crimson and forehead
breaking out in a
sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on
his face, and
say, 'If you really want to.'
Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God
didn't seem
interested in my personal preference right about then. He
pressed on my
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 of that wheelchair, and I got on
my hands and
knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly
believing what I was
doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's
hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and
matted. I don't do many things
well, but must admit I've had notable experience
untangling knotted hair
mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either
Amanda or Melissa in
such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of
the strands,
remembering to take my time not to pull. A miraculous
thing happened to me
as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody
else in the room
disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments
except that old man
and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every
tangle was out
of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've
never felt that kind
of love for 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
renting a room and making Himself at home for a
short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had
to be God's.. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an
infant's. I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the
chair to face him.
I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knee and
said, 'Sir, do you know my Jesus?'
He said, 'Yes, I do'
Well, that figures, I thought..
He explained, 'I've known Him since I married my
bride. She wouldn't marry
me until I got to know the Savior.' He said, 'You
see, the problem is, I
haven't seen my bride in months. I've had
open-heart surgery, and she's
been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking
to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride.'
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a
divine moment when
we're completely unaware of the significance.
This, on the other hand, was one
of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in
details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll
never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane.
I was deeply
ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so
proud to have
accompanied him on that aircraft.
I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to
board, the
airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming
down her cheeks. She said, 'That old man's sitting on the
plane, sobbing. Why did
you do that? What made you do that?'
I said, 'Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest
thing!'
And we got to share.
I learned something about God that day. He knows if
you're exhausted,
you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or
it is time to move on
but you feel too responsible to budge.
He knows if you're hurting or
feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning
under a wave of
temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you
as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering
how many
opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way .. all because
I didn't want people to think I was strange.
God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old
man to me.
'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how
to dance in the rain!'
outstanding Bible
teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother
of two daughters.
This is one of her experiences:
April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to
board the plane,
I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I
was doing. I'd
had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because
I want to tell
you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really
working in you.
You could end up doing some things you never would have
done otherwise.
Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons,
not the least of which is your ego.
I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange
sight. Humped over
in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes
that obviously
fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees
protruded from
his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger
was still in
his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins
and bones.
The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy,
gray hair hung
well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His
fingernails were long, clean
but strangely out of place on an old man.
I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort
burning my face.
As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I
found myself
wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting..
Then, I remembered
that he was dead. So this man in the airport... an
impersonator maybe?
Was a camera on us somewhere?
There I sat; trying to
concentrate on the
Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of
humanity served up
on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while,
my heart was
growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.
Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable
than true concern,
and suddenly I was awash 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 when
I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to
my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen.
And it may be
embarrassing.
I immediately began to resist because I could feel God
working on my spirit
and I started arguing with God in my mind. 'Oh, no,
God, please, no.' I
looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight
through it into
heaven and said, 'Don't make me witness to this
man. Not right here and
now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same
plane, but don't make
me get up here and witness to this man in front of this
gawking audience.
Please, Lord!'
There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness,
'Please don'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 to brush his hair.'
The words were so
clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts
spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his
hair? No-brainer. I
looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, 'God,
as I live and
breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this
man. I'm on this
Lord. I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman
witness to a man faster in
your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a
mess if he is not
redeemed? I am going to witness to this man.'
Again, as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word,
God seemed to write
this statement across the wall of my mind. 'That is not
what I said, Beth.
I don't want you to 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 my
suitcase 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
toward him
as these thoughts came to me from God's word: 'I
will thoroughly furnish
you unto all good works.' (2 Timothy 3:17)
I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking 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 the pleasure 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 responded in volume ten, 'Little lady, if
you expect me to hear
you, you're going to have to talk louder than
that.'
At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out,
'SIR, MAY I HAVE THE
PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?' At
which point every eye in the
place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room
looking more peculiar
than old Mr. Long Locks. Face crimson and forehead
breaking out in a
sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on
his face, and
say, 'If you really want to.'
Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God
didn't seem
interested in my personal preference right about then. He
pressed on my
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 of that wheelchair, and I got on
my hands and
knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly
believing what I was
doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's
hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and
matted. I don't do many things
well, but must admit I've had notable experience
untangling knotted hair
mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either
Amanda or Melissa in
such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of
the strands,
remembering to take my time not to pull. A miraculous
thing happened to me
as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody
else in the room
disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments
except that old man
and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every
tangle was out
of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've
never felt that kind
of love for 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
renting a room and making Himself at home for a
short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had
to be God's.. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an
infant's. I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the
chair to face him.
I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knee and
said, 'Sir, do you know my Jesus?'
He said, 'Yes, I do'
Well, that figures, I thought..
He explained, 'I've known Him since I married my
bride. She wouldn't marry
me until I got to know the Savior.' He said, 'You
see, the problem is, I
haven't seen my bride in months. I've had
open-heart surgery, and she's
been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking
to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride.'
Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a
divine moment when
we're completely unaware of the significance.
This, on the other hand, was one
of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in
details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll
never forget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane.
I was deeply
ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so
proud to have
accompanied him on that aircraft.
I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to
board, the
airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming
down her cheeks. She said, 'That old man's sitting on the
plane, sobbing. Why did
you do that? What made you do that?'
I said, 'Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest
thing!'
And we got to share.
I learned something about God that day. He knows if
you're exhausted,
you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or
it is time to move on
but you feel too responsible to budge.
He knows if you're hurting or
feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning
under a wave of
temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you
as an individual. Tell Him your need!
I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering
how many
opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way .. all because
I didn't want people to think I was strange.
God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old
man to me.
'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how
to dance in the rain!'
