A Smile on God's Face
It was bitter cold, that night in January. I was committed as a
volunteer that evening for The Mothers March of Dimes. I had a
dilemma. Normally I would have worn slacks to keep the wind from
blasting my legs and a warm scarf would be around my head to
protect my delicate ears.
But my dilemma was that The Mothers March was not the only
destination I had for the evening. After I was done with the
first obligation I had promised myself I would attend the first
night of the revival my church was having that week. When I was
raised in the 1940s and 1950s ladies did not wear slacks and
scarves to church. They wore dresses and hats. What to do? There
was no time between my first obligation and my second commitment
to myself to change my outer wear. Oh well. I can't be that cold
as I hastily decided to wear a wool skirt, heavy sweater, long
winter coat . . . and a hat.
By the time I had hastily covered all the houses in my assigned
territory, pausing for pleasantries at each open door, and turned
in my receipts to the chairlady of the Mothers March I felt like
I'd never be warm again. The walk to the church did not help.
The service started shortly after I had taken my usual sixth row
from the front seat. I listened intently as Rev. Palmer opened
the service. After the congregation had sung a couple hymns and
Rev. Palmer lead us in prayer he introduced the guest revivalist.
I don't recall the revivalist's name, but I remember he spoke
about Fellowship, and I distinctly remember he said if a church
did not have fellowship and did not invite the stranger in their
midst to join their fellowship, the church would eventually
wither on the vine and die.
Then at the conclusion of the service Rev. Palmer came to the
chancel and announced an altar call. I don't remember going to
the altar or returning to my seat, but I do remember Rev. Palmer
introducing me to the revivalist and both of them putting their
hands on my head and offering up a prayer on my behalf.
I didn't know what had just happened to me, but my eyes filled
with tears on the way home. I had decided to call Daddy, who was
quite a Bible scholar, to find out what had happened to me and
what, if anything, I should do about it.
After I had explained the occurrence to Daddy he told me God had
spoken to me. He had His plans for me, but I was not to question
His will for me.
What did God mean at that long ago church service when He spoke
to me? I honestly believe He was telling me to continue writing.
I feel every time I write some article or story, or even letter,
that if I resonate with one person, I have put a smile on God's
face.
By Freda Douglas
Used with Permission (November 2007)
Visit my business websites. www.mymangosteen.com/fredabd . Read, listen and buy a bottle right there if you want to. Then visit my new website http://createmysuuccess.com/fredabd
