You've seen, I'm sure, the famous poem, Footprints in the Sand. In a dream, footprints in the sand showed two sets. The dreamer realized that the second set was the Lord's. She noticed that in the toughest times, there was only one set, and asked God why He wasn't there when she needed Him most. God replied that in those times He was carrying her. Footprints. I've been thinking about God's footprints in my life. It's Thanksgiving week. So ... maybe I'll write a few "footprints" accounts of God's footprints in my life. Jesus told His disciples, "You will be my witnesses" (Acts 1:8). So ... maybe I will, too.
My earliest memory ... you know, the kind that is certainly my memory because no one else was there to tell me ... was when I was three years old. I remember waking up in a crib. I didn't sleep in a crib, so that was odd. And my wrists were bound to the mattress. And my foot was suspended and an nurse was attaching a giant (to a three-year-old) bottle of fluids through a needle into my ankle. "Oh," she said, "you're awake." As it turns out, I had been in a coma. I had contracted spinal meningitis. The doctors had told my parents there was very little hope because they had no treatment. (Yes, I'm that old.) So they prayed and their church prayed and ... lots of people prayed. And ... I lived ... without much explanation as to why. A short time later, I got sick again ... but it turned out to be an infection from that needle in my ankle, and that was quickly managed and I was out by Christmas.
I still have the scar on my ankle. I see it every time I put on socks. It serves as a reminder. I could have died at the age of three. I didn't. Clearly God had other plans. Clearly my existence wasn't a cosmic mistake. Clearly God still has a purpose for me. That's what that scar on my ankle tells me every time I see it. God's not through with me yet. It serves as a footprint of God in my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment