Servant

My girls and I decided to go on an evening stroll with a representative from the local historical society. It was advertised as a “ghost” walk, but I was more interested in finding out how some of the landmarks came to be.

Our guide was in vintage attire from the 1940s with a cloche hat and an old-fashioned Halloween print skirt. She had a personality that was a mix of dramatic flair and knowledge like a librarian.

We traipsed through neighborhoods stopping along the way for her to explain the significance of some of the houses and the strange occurrences that had taken place.

One very elaborate home had been built by a colonel who was known for his kindness. The current owner has kept some of his original belongings where he had them, and she has reported that she feels a presence from time to time. One night, she saw the light on in the basement that no one had used, and she went to turn it off. She noticed a strong smell of gas. This prompted a call to the emergency line at the gas company and all occupants evacuated.

A pipe needed repair, and apparently, if it had gone on longer, the house would have blown up with everyone inside.

He also rescued someone who was standing on a chair and began to fall. She said she felt someone hold her up as she was headed for the floor, preventing injury and ensuring a safe landing.

When our fearless leader started to go over the town’s past plague of tornadoes, an unexpected turbo force picked up out of nowhere, throwing leaves and garbage all over the place. It wasn’t lost on any of us in the group that it didn’t seem like a coincidence. We moved on with wind whipping us all in the eyes. And as quick as it came, it went away.

One of the most impressive locations was a home that a married couple had owned. He was a physician who took a streetcar to his office while his wife, Flora, had her practice out of their residence. Only 6 percent of women were doctors in the United States during that time, so her achievement was remarkable. She focused on women’s and children’s health care.

When I stood outside looking up at the second floor, I felt like I was being watched. It wasn’t a bad feeling but just like someone observing. It felt like a lonely person who wanted to talk but couldn’t.

Across the top of the house toward the roof, a banner was displayed when it was open for visitors. Someone had turned it into a store. We were told that those who shopped there often heard footsteps from the upper floor and smelled cigarette smoke when no one was there. It was not the healthiest habit, but in her era, they had no idea of its ill effects.

It sounded like the perfect place for me to go back and see for myself.

The next day my daughter and I returned. The front of the building looked somewhat junked up with merchandise spread all over. For such a majestic entry, nothing was being done to preserve it.

Inside the door, there was the most beautiful spiral staircase. I instantly felt a stifling, closed in feeling as I saw wall-to-wall items for sale. It was advertised as antique offerings but mostly what I saw were handmade items from the present. It felt like I was in a museum that should have been held in high honor, being disrespected, and used to hock trinkets. It felt all wrong to me.

As we made our way around the lower level, the tightness in my chest got stronger. It wasn’t anger but sadness. From the small speaker, the song Like A Bridge Over Troubled Water started to play hauntingly. That song has significance due to seeing my mom transition to heaven over a bridge. So when I hear it, I know I am supposed to pay attention.

I tried to concentrate on finding what remained from the past. Old doorways and windows were still intact amongst the wares being peddled. I looked past the gnomes and the dishcloths to see remnants of a time long ago.

The kitchen was a step back in time with a bell by the window and a pantry. I felt this was the respite where the two doctors came together after a long day at work to finally have a minute of quiet.

I climbed the ornate stairway with it creaking every step of the way. I have always wanted one, and this one was built to pass the test of time.

The upstairs was jam-packed with more items. But I began to picture Flora treating her patients and using her office to keep records. I walked to a far back room just to take a minute to breathe. It was like someone had struck me across the back, and it was an overwhelming sensation of constricted breathing. Not like I was suffocating but as if I was grieving. It was like being in a room with someone who was weary. I got the impression that this lady wasn’t stuck but visiting and not thrilled to see what had been done to the place.

My daughter suddenly felt an extreme coldness next to her. Again, not in a scary way, and just a presence that something was with us, sending out a remorseful feeling that this space once set apart for medicine was now being used for another reason far removed from that.

There was another spiral staircase in this extremely large wrap around. One big circle would have made it so easy for her to go room to room treating ailments and comforting the sick. And she had two ways to return to the first floor if she had to.

I ended up leaving feeling somewhat dejected that it hadn’t been better taken care of so generations would know of her outstanding work within the community. I wanted to hold something in my hand that she had. Like a stethoscope or a thermometer, anything she had touched would be valuable compared to what was being sold.

I looked up her information online to try and get to know her better. She helped spearhead the town’s first public library. No wonder I like her so much. On top of that, she was a published author who had written over two hundred poems plus a couple of books on better health. The fact that she was a leader of a women’s group showed she wasn’t all in it for her own gain. She was determined to make life more meaningful for everyone around her.

It was reported that her mother had died of an illness when she was twelve, moving her to pursue her life’s work. She was going to be a missionary until she met and married her spouse. It seemed her steps weren’t her own, and she walked where God told her to go.

I started to think about what happens to a person’s legacy once they have departed. A woman who dedicated herself to alleviating pain is barely remembered inside her own home. God used her hands to heal, and there was not a scrap of evidence of that.

That is why seeking an eternal reward is more critical than the flaky accolades of this dimension.

In Matthew 6:19-21, it addresses this:

Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (NIV)

A clearer picture is given in Luke 12:33-34:

Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (NIV)

In Luke 6:35, another route to gaining what matters is stated,

But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great…(ESV)

When the time comes for you to leave here, hopefully, you will know that you joyfully served God to your highest ability, you helped those who needed it, and a heavenly welcome mat will be rolled out with congratulations coming your way as a good and faithful servant.

(Flora did it up big with this entry)
(I did this…maybe they will get it together and remember her more…)

Down the Drain

A few weeks ago I reached my hand under the sink to quickly grab a plastic bag and found it slightly wet. This dark place in my kitchen is rarely paid attention to. Items that need storage are quickly tossed in and the cabinet door is shut. I usually sense what I need by touch and don’t even look. This meant I actually had to get down on my knees and peer inside.

I did not see any water leaking at that present moment. Upon further investigation, I found more wet bags, and a few ruined paper towels. After shifting and dragging things out into the open, I found the entire bottom shelf soaking wet. The paper towels that had come out unscathed were used to sop up the mess.

There was no denying that something was amiss. Before turning on the faucet, I placed a plastic bowl under the pipes to see where the trouble was coming from. I ended up carefully taking off the elbow portion and seeing if something was stuck. As far as I could see, it looked normal. I carefully put everything back fearing that I would damage something.

I have to admit that during times like this I find myself frustrated that I cannot solve it myself. I am not a plumber, an electrician, or a carpenter. Yet, I wish secretly I was so that I would not have to rely on other people.

I was left with one option. To call my dad who always can fix the problem or give me advice on how to go about repairing something. He is the one I give a jingle when a sink isn’t draining, a sink is leaking, a fence is falling apart, a lawnmower is malfunctioning, ect.

He always knows a ‘guy’ if he cannot help me. When I explained my situation, he said,

“I know this handyman. I will give him a call.”

I don’t know why certain words conjure up images in my mind, but the word ‘handyman’ reminds me of a guy wearing overalls who carries a box full of various gadgets and tools of the trade.  Two days later, Tony  the handyman was knocking on my front door. He didn’t disappoint as he fit my imaginative handyman image perfectly.

He arrived at the exact time he said he would which I am not accustomed to. Usually, I am given a three hour window of time for sitting and waiting until the person usually shows at the last minute of the three hours.  Not this time. He was prompt and headed straight for the kitchen sink.

I have had other repairmen in my home over the years, and I often sit nearby while they work to find out more about them. Some have taken my friendliness for an invitation to ask me my relationship status which instantly makes me less friendly. It’s a repair call, not a booty call.

Most, I have found, are very open about their problems. I have spoken to many who have been through divorces such as myself with child support issues, ex-wives that are not very nice and the struggle to juggle work and parenting time with kids. Usually, as I engage in this question and answer period, most of the workmen talk freely about their feelings. I figure as long as they have come all this way to help me, I can at least listen and take an interest in what concerns them.By the time the job is done, they hardly know they have worked, and I am happy to have learned something new about a person.

This was not the case with Tony. He asked me as many questions as I asked him. I found out that he and his wife had raised children to adulthood and then went on to adopt two more children who they home schooled. Because of my experience with home schooling, this made our conversation easy as we connected on this common ground. Our interaction was positive as we discussed triumphs instead of tragedies.

What I found refreshing was his concern with how he billed people and how much time he took to do a job. After putting sealant on the drain, he found that a new drain was in order but didn’t have one with him. He told me he didn’t want to charge for time spent running out and coming back so he would just return the following week to install a new one.

He cleaned up his entire mess, which is not always the case with some, and he bid me goodbye until the following Monday. There was such a peace and calm about him that I had not felt with others before. I wondered what was it with Tony that was different?

True to his word, he showed up ahead of schedule when he said he would and was done with the job in record time.

I walked him to the front door, thanked him for helping me and thought he would rush off. He said he had another job to get to, so I didn’t expect what he said next.

“Could I pray a blessing over your home?” He asked with slight hesitation as if I might decline this wonderful suggestion.

“Yes, ” I replied without a stutter.

He went on to pray the nicest prayer anyone ever could. I was slightly surprised when he made a request to heaven that all of the things in my house would function like they should. Not a normal thing to hear a repairman say. He finished up by speaking a blessing over me and my children.  The entire time he spoke, I felt great waves of peace flooding over me because I knew he had been sent for more than just my sink repair.  When he finished, I thanked him again.

As he drove on to his next appointment, I realized this was what I had sensed was different about Tony. He had a deep faith in something other than himself. He did his job, but at the same time realized that he wasn’t only just living for his work. The person he was doing the job for was the important part.

I found myself thinking back to a few days prior when I didn’t want to rely on someone other than myself to fix the sink. Yet, had I been so self reliant, I would never had Tony come and speak such kind words over my household. His visit turned out to be a surprise gift in encouragement.

When you are in a place where help is needed, God will always send just the right person along to uplift you and remind you that everything has not gone down the drain.

drain