I work about 4 hours a month in a little children’s clothing store. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
I’ve worked there over 7 years now, since KB was a wee little bundle who slept all day long, and during that time I’ve gotten to know the ‘regular’ customers on a first-name basis.
The other women who work there are all young moms. I think I’m the only Baptist; the others are precious, Godly, Pentecostal women who are wonderful examples to me of how to walk with the Lord…ALL of them. When Annie was diagnosed with her brain tumor, my sweet Pentecostal friends prayed and continued to pray and lift up my little Annie to the Lord. Their churches prayed. Their friends prayed. They told customers to pray. They let me know every time I see them that they are praying and believing in Jesus’ name for Annie’s healing. (Thank you Lord for my Pentecostal friends. Amen).
So the other day, a regular customer came into the store. She’s a very stylish, affluent, socially-connected lady and truthfully I liked that she always remembered my name and chatted with me like we were old friends. She, like most of the other ‘regular’ customers who know me, immediately asked me, “How’s your little girl?”, the utmost concern in her voice. I knew immediately how she knew….because one of the Godly women who work there at the store told her.
I know this lady.
I know she’s a church-going woman who goes to a large church here in town, and I know this because I’ve seen her there more than once, and we’ve had conversations about our churches.
I know she goes to Bible Study Fellowship.
So this lady, I would assume, is a Believer. A Christian. A woman of faith. She’s at least been exposed to the Truth.
She asked about Annie, and so I told her, in not so many words: The tumor is small. We’ve prayed about it and decided that the best thing to do is to NOT do surgery right away but to watch the tumor (doing MRIs every 90 days) and wait to see if it changes and/or causes symptoms meanwhile praying for her healing. We believe that God can and will heal her.
Her reaction stunned me.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
Her jaw almost hit the counter.
Her eyes bulged.
She stood gaping at me, slack-jawed, bug-eyed, for a second or two.
She stammered, horrified, “Well, that’s one way to handle it,” then sort of snapped at me, “I guess stranger things have happened. Stranger things have happened,” she repeated, distractedly grabbed her purchases, and skee-daddled out of there.
As if she couldn’t get away from this weirdo religious fanatic quickly enough.
After I stopped being offended by her reaction, I got a little sad.
After I stopped being kind of queasy and uncomfortable with the idea that I thought she liked me and now she thinks I’m a weirdo religious fanatic, I decided,
I don’t care if she thinks I’m weird.
And that thought was liberating.
I’ve been through too much in the last few years to doubt for one second that God has a plan for me and He will see us through.
I’m the one who sat with BF in the ER the night the ER doc told me, “Its ok, he has a 50% chance of surviving this, and if he survives, there’s a 50% chance he won’t have severe brain damage.”
I’m the one who brought BF home and took care of him for four months while he couldn’t walk or talk normally.
I’m the one who lived with BF who couldn’t work for four months, and two very small children, in about 1,000 square feet of a construction-zone that was missing a kitchen and one exterior wall.
I’m the one who got a phone call from the pediatrician back in April, and he said the bone-chilling words about my baby, “I need you to sit down. I have the MRI report, and there’s something there.”
Life has been permanently changed for me. I don’t have any desire to live life in a way that this lady, or anyone else for that matter, thinks is the right, normal thing to do.
I’m in a whole new place at this point because for whatever reason, God has brought us here.
I’ll just be weird.
And I’m ok with that.