She had a kind of clown trailer in her backyard that her daddy rode on for parades, and when she and I pleaded hard enough he let us play in it. He wore a funny hat with tassels hanging and did charity work and Patty won beauty pageants and wore white go-go boots.
She had hair one would describe as raven black. She could twirl a baton and dance and had cases of trophies and tiaras and wore real diamond earrings and won a car before she could drive.
Her teeth were perfect and she never wore braces.
Her bedroom furniture was a matching suite and her room was pink with a double canopy bed and ruffled everywhere. A large pink stuffed snake she had won wrapped itself around the post of her bed and I thought she was the luckiest girl in the world.
She was kind and shy and didn't sit with the popular girls.
I had mousy brown hair that hung straight and limp and a huge gap between my front teeth. I wore glasses and Steve Finnegan always called me four eyes. I wore whatever shoes Howards had the cheapest and one day when I was at school my mama covered the walls of my bedroom in green ships.
I never owned a pair of boots until I was grown. I've still never owned a pair of white go-go boots-
But there's always tomorrow.
Patty and I were a pair. Someone should have written a book about us.
And when we were nine years old she accepted Christ as her Savior and Lord. It was bible school 1974 and she whispered in my ear that she was scared and took my hand and we walked that long aisle together, holding hands. I did what she did. I prayed after Brother Benton and answered the questions right and we were baptized together one right after the other in the same water. She went first.
Watching her life it seems and always seemed obvious she knew what she was doing that summer of '74. But I was just there to hold her hand.
And I never seemed to know what I was doing. I rarely did the right thing because I never searched to do the right thing. I just acted on feelings. I followed desires instead of a heart that was flooded with the love of Jesus.
And it wasn't until thirteen years later that I surrendered a lost life to a One and Only Savior.
And I don't want to be a mere believer of Christ, as if I'm believing in a fairy tale or myth of old. Showing no more proof of my love and loyalty than a babe nursing. A babe who would take of any substance offered to remove pangs of hunger or fear or death.
I don't want to walk everyday surrounded by barren land while I live under the guise of grace. For God has poured His salvation onto my life and I have lived in the sheer goodness of God. Forgiving. Saving me from judgment of death. Eternal hell. Loving me for who I am. Not who I was or can be. But for who I am now.
And does my life show proof of fruit sprouting up from life watered with the Word? For my Heavenly Father does not miss anything and knows if I'm staying the course or if I'm spending each day with back turned to Him. If I'm just living on His promises with no work in the field.
And a life walking away from my Father instead of toward Him is a life of crucifying Him again and again and bringing shame to the only One that gives me life. My life eternal. My hope and my peace. The One who loves me with an uncomprehendable love.
Do I think of these things each day? Am I drowning in an ocean of selfishness?
Don't let me slip into a world that is bored with you, Father.
Do I remember that Christ won't allow Himself to be crucified again and again by the ones who have seen and felt and tasted and know the truth?
Do I remember fields with nothing to harvest will be burned?
Father, don't let me be content in talking about what team won the game or new recipes or my problems or the world's problems. Let me long for you and your Word. Don't let me move or even drift. Take away my contentment and confidence and replace it with urgency of judgment and fear of you for myself and an unsaved world. Let me remember each day how much you love me.
Soften my heart. Don't let me neglect. Don't let me rest.
Amen.
Don't let me slip into a world that is bored with you, Father.
Do I remember that Christ won't allow Himself to be crucified again and again by the ones who have seen and felt and tasted and know the truth?
Do I remember fields with nothing to harvest will be burned?
Father, don't let me be content in talking about what team won the game or new recipes or my problems or the world's problems. Let me long for you and your Word. Don't let me move or even drift. Take away my contentment and confidence and replace it with urgency of judgment and fear of you for myself and an unsaved world. Let me remember each day how much you love me.
Soften my heart. Don't let me neglect. Don't let me rest.
Amen.
