Not A Matter of Talk

By Amy L. Hartmann

February 6, 2013

Our home community has many amenities that I really admire, such as the 500 acre lake and the equestrian center.  All the heavily wooded adjoining properties, the golf course and the designated public spaces give the development many of the same characteristics of the state parks here in Virginia.  The retreat atmosphere is very consoling.  I particularly like watching the deer walk through our backyard to sit down and sun in the clearing just beyond our back deck.

Our house has a wrap around porch and a finished basement with a marvelous Buck stove.  That same basement has a long expanse of doors that look out over the back yard.  The doors are from a well known manufacturer and they close and lock with a special type of door knob and release action.

Unfortunately, the basement door knob had been broken by a previous renter, who must of not understood the secret to getting the door locked properly.  Its missing handle and jagged, shattered pin was a constant reminder that it needed to be repaired.  It was also an egress issue.  I called the manufacturer numerous times trying to locate replacement parts.  “You must purchase a whole new lockset,” they advised, “since those doors are more than 25 years old.  It will be about $300 for the lockset.”  The funds for such a repair were just not available when we first moved to the house.

Like the broken handle, many of the fixed points in my family have been harshly amended by the economic upheaval over the past few years.  For such a long time we enjoyed the warmth and predictable seasons of Northeast Florida.  Days came and went as my children grew and became teens; school years passed with the busy pace of life.  Minor jolts in the cadence we kept made life interesting and slightly unpredictable, but mostly the days just rolled on like the tides that swept back and forth across the beach a few miles from our home.

In 2008, my husband’s job changes brought about the need to move our kids from private school to home school.  The learning curve for this new venture was short, painful and dramatic.  In 2010, job changes again interjected a new ripple on the calm waters of life: now we had to prepare to move the family to Virginia as soon as our home sale took place.  My husband took off for Virginia, eager to embrace a new state and his new job.   All the indicators pointed to great success and forward progress for our family.  A bloated and upside-down Northeast Florida housing market, however, inflicted its toll on our emotions, our patience and eventually our finances.  The house sold for half price almost a year later. Leaving our friends and the stability of our church family, we mourned as we packed the moving boxes.  Finally it was time to load the trucks and drive away.

Almost 14 hours later we arrived in Virginia; we were exhausted, weary and cautious.  Job instability with my husband’s employment again became a great concern.  One month after our arrival, the August 2011 Virginia earthquake struck.  The epicenter was less than 30 miles from our house.  I stood in the middle of the living room, absolutely amazed and very frightened as the house shook and groaned.  It was a horrible sound the earth made as it trembled.

That same week, my husband was released from the very job that had moved us 700 miles from our comfort zone and all our friends.  That same day, massive storms brought tornadoes tearing through the community.  By the weekend, Hurricane Irene had passed across the eastern side of the state, wrecking and destroying the coast lands trapped in its destructive path.

Throughout every moment of change and shaking, I could hear the still, small voice of God, whispering to me and reminding me of a man named Elijah who faced so many similar obstacles thousands of years before….

“Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by,” I read.  “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.  After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.  After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  And after the fire came a gentle whisper.  When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.”[1]

“Do you trust Me?” the same gentle Whisperer asked, as I unpacked each box and looked for normalcy in our lives.  I firmly recalled each precious time God had been faithful to meet every need.  I recalled His amazing healing in my body on Father’s Day in 2004, when He touched me at a Sunday night service and in one moment removed a dangerous breast mass that had come up swiftly.  I remember the puzzled faces of the surgeons in the breast center, as they scanned the digital images and the ultrasound video, looking over and over for the same mass they had documented months before.

I recalled the amazing feeling of being healed as my right leg grew before my very eyes in 2009 on another Father’s Day Sunday night service at the same church.  I fixed my memory’s gaze on the sweet face of the simple young man from California that had come to tell our congregation about Jesus delivering him from a decade long crack cocaine addiction.  I smiled in puzzlement as he knelt in front of each of the 35 or so of us that had come forward for his prayer for people with scoliosis and uneven leg lengths.  I remembered the fire in my right femur as that lava of Love did what no doctor could do.

“Yes,” I replied to the gentle Whisperer, “I trust You!”

In September of 2012, another shaking occurred when my husband decided he would rather be on his own than stay with me and our kids.  We were devastated.  I was already a cycling widow to his 12 plus years of mountain biking and road cycling obsession; add to that the year he spent away from us prior to our move to Virginia.  The kids and I were very accustomed to being a low priority in his life, but we never thought he would not want to come home to us at the end of the day.

Back in May of 2012, he took another engineering job several hours away from our home  The commute was too great and he obtained an apartment near his job.  Sometime in late summer his apartment was broken into and his security breached.  His keys and other items were removed.

In December when my family heard of this event, they pitched in and sent me funds to have our locks changed too.  They were concerned about our safety.  Their generosity was a wonderful and unexpected early Christmas gift.

I called several local businesses, discussing the required number of locks that would be changed with the receptionists.  I made an appointment with the closest business.  The locksmith was scheduled to come on Friday, four days before Christmas.  I was most anxious to have the work done.  The afternoon he was to arrive it was snowing heavily and bitterly cold.  The locksmith called me and told me he had the flu.  “Mam, I am just too sick to be out in this weather,” he advised, “and I’d hate to bring this stuff to your house.”

Suddenly I heard the gentle Whisperer, “Ask him if you can pray for him.”

“Alright,” I whispered back.

”Sir, would you mind if I pray for you right now?” I asked.

The locksmith coughed and wheezed, “…sure lady, go ahead.”

I prayed for him to be completely healed and the flu broken off of him, not to return.  He was patient and gracious as I prayed.  “I’ll call you after Christmas and let you know when I’m feeling better,” he advised.  “I’ve not been sick like this in a long time so it may take me a while to get back with you.”

“That’s fine,” I heard myself reply.  Inside I was still anxious.

“I really wanted the locks changed as soon as possible,” I reminded the Holy Spirit.  “Maybe I should just call the other business.”

“No, wait on him,” the gentle Whisperer advised.  “Do you trust Me?”

“Yes, Lord, I trust You!”

Wednesday, the day after Christmas, my phone rang and it was the locksmith.  “I’m feeling much better,” he said, “I’ll be at your house by 3:00.”

He arrived and began assessing our needs.  I walked him around to all the doors and finally we were downstairs in the basement, looking at that broken door handle.  I explained my predicament, my calls to the manufacturer and their inability to respond to the simple part need.  He nodded his head in agreement.  “They don’t want to take the time to hear about a missing screw or door pin,” he replied, “they just want to sell expensive locks.  I get the same response too.”  With that, he went to work, changing out all the locks.

Almost an hour later, I noticed he had disappeared.  I knew his phone was constantly ringing so I figured he had stepped outside to take one of his many calls.  I waited to see where he was working since he was still taking the old locks out of the doors.  Their removal left a gaping hole that fed cold air into the house.  At last I saw him at the garage door.  He stayed busy for another full hour.  Then he disappeared again.  I tried not to feel impatient as I plugged the open holes with some old towels and kept our dog out of his way.

Outside it was dark and snowing again.  Finally he came back inside and quickly plugged up the holes with the new locks.  Fifteen minutes later he came to get me.  “Here are your new keys,” he advised, as he handed me the invoice.  I took out the money to pay him as we walked around to each door.  When we came down to the basement, I saw a big smile cross his face.  “I fixed that broken door,” he declared cheerfully.  “I keep all the old lock sets I take out of houses.  While I was in the van making the new keys, I dug through some junk boxes.  It took a little while but I finally found what I was looking for – the exact pin needed to replace your door’s broken one.  There’s no charge for that!”

He smiled again, happy and satisfied with his work.  “I got better real quick too,” he added, “but you know how the flu is…you think you’re better only to have a relapse a week later…”

I suddenly realized I had not heard him cough or even wheeze the entire time he had been working.  “May I pray for you again,” I asked?

“Sure lady.”

Several days later, the gentle Whisperer called me to attention:  “Did you grasp My favor?” He asked.

I thought about the entire visit; the cheerfulness of the locksmith as he went about replacing the locks and how he was really better and the flu gone.  Then I suddenly caught the impact of the whole process:  I was anxious about the broken door for many months; anxious about the cost to fix it; anxious about the stolen keys and my broken marriage.

At the height of my need, another person needed me to press past my own pain and agenda, and to respond to his sickness and sincere appreciation for the work I was going to provide.  My patience was being perfected by the wait…my faith stretched to believe for a stranger’s healing from a bad case of the flu…and ultimately the part needed for my broken door was waiting in that junk box for such a time as this.  The locks of fear threatening my own heart were suddenly smashed away with the realization that God cares about the smallest needs of my life, and like the locksmith, He takes great joy in meeting them.  I could sense His smile too, that He was happy and well pleased with His work at that moment in me.