Speak, Lord
By
Camilla Smith
If this didn’t
keep happening,
I wouldn’t keep
writing these
music articles.
But it keeps
happening, so
here we go.
Today I was busy
working, sitting
at my desk in my
own little
world. I am not
sure if it is
the first cup of
caffeine of the
day or just my
somewhat
habitually
neurotic
mindset, but I
started thinking
again. There go
those thoughts,
whirling around
in the half
empty space
between my ears,
waiting to
overrun my
self-control and
turn me back to
the whirlwind of
worry. Why does
that happen? I
wish I knew. You
would think that
with the type of
job I have, I
would have to
fully
concentrate on
each word that I
type--but no, I
have mastered a
split-concentration
method of
typing. Half
work, half
worry.
I am a bit of a
worrier by
nature, you see.
My parents ran a
pretty tight
ship growing up.
Extremely
practical, hard
working,
planners to the
nth degree. That
is, until my
little brother
was diagnosed
with cancer in
1967. Robbie was
only eight
months old. He
was diagnosed
with Wilms
tumor, which is
a form of
childhood cancer
that is mostly
treatable now,
but it had taken
our family and
dumped us in a
very bad place.
All the planning
and provisions
went out the
window.
Only then in
their late 20s
and early 30s,
my mom and dad
were dealing
with a parent’s
worst
nightmare--the
terminal illness
and possible
death of a
child. Robbie
was given six
months to live.
He lived two and
a half more
years. He was
barely past
three years old
when he entered
God’s Kingdom.
That little
angel of a boy
was the bravest
three-year-old
God ever put on
this earth. Even
his doctors and
nurses were
astonished when
Robbie was poked
and prodded,
looking for a
vein in a myriad
of collapsed
veins, and he
rarely even
winced. Not a
tear. He was a
soldier, a
trooper, a
little angel.
Robbie’s death
sent our family
into a tailspin.
I became gripped
with fear--a
kindergartner
who did not want
to be away from
her mother.
(Afraid at
school, afraid
at home.) Always
in the back of
my mind, I
believe, I was
wondering who
was going to
leave next. I
was blessed
though. My
parents were
very protective
and made sure I
only knew what I
needed to know,
and I thank them
for that. My
mother has told
me numerous
times about the
steps she took
to try to
control Robbie’s
illness and
treatment. She
called nearly
every,
children’s
hospital in the
nation including
Saint Jude’s,
and was turned
away over and
over.
One doctor went
so far as to
tell her, “Lady,
there are worse
things than
death. Your son
is receiving the
best of care at
your hospital so
I would
recommend you
stay there.”
Exasperated and
angry, she flung
a laundry basket
full of clothes
across the lawn
(in the days of
clotheslines).
She tells me a
warm embrace of
peace came over
her that she
will never
forget. And she
gave it up to
God.
I had not really
planned on
putting all that
in this article,
but it just
poured out. My
story was about
MY problem with
control and
being in
control. Why is
it so hard
sometimes to
just give it
over to God?
Letting go of
our troubles and
doubts is such a
difficult thing
to do. Sometimes
I just think, “I
will handle
this—God does
not need to deal
with my
minutia.” But
that is what God
does. He knows
the minutia
before it is
minutia. He has
already dealt
with it and
ironed it out
for us. I wonder
why do we do
this to
ourselves?
So there I was,
sitting at my
desk today,
working myself
up into another
late morning
frenzy, mentally
trying to
finagle a way to
ensure my job
circumstances,
and I decide it
is time for a
break. The sun
is peaking
through the
clouds—I think I
will go walk.
But before I do,
I pick up my
little
devotional book
by Oswald
Chambers,
My Utmost for
His
Highest
and read one
page. The title
of the lesson
today is, “The
Dilemma of
Obedience.”
The author aptly
describes how we
need to ask God
to speak to us.
He says we need
to get into the
habit of saying
“Speak, Lord.”
Then we need to
take the time to
listen!
That is the hard
part for me. I
never listen—I
am too busy
finagling.
So I finish the
page, sincerely
utter the words,
“Speak, Lord”
and I go
outside. I turn
on my music
player, which is
halfway through
a song when it
comes on. The
first words I
hear are: “What
have I to dread,
what have I to
fear, leaning on
the everlasting
arms?”
Would you have
cracked up? I
did, knowing
immediately that
God was
providing me
with material
for yet another
hymn-inspired
article. (I
can’t help
myself.)
So that’s my
story of the
day. I asked God
to speak and He
did. Did He
provide me any
answers to my
critical state
of affairs? No,
not yet. But He
did what He
does. He led me.
He reminded me
that He is in
control. I am
not.
A couple hours
later, I
received an
email from my
boss, which was
fairly upbeat in
the prospect of
this work
situation. So I
would say God
spoke to me
twice today. I
would say I kind
of felt that
warm embrace of
peace that my
mother felt so
long ago,
although maybe
not as
profoundly as
she did at that
moment. But even
a tiny embrace
from God is
profound, isn’t
it?
God works with
us so gently. If
only we could
love Him the way
He loves us. It
should be our
perpetual goal.
It should be the
purpose of every
heartbeat—giving
God the love and
attention that
He so willingly
and freely gives
to us. I am
going to make
this my focus.
We probably do
not have much
time before
Jesus calls for
us, so why not
use it adoring
Him? Worrying or
worshiping?
Really, which
one would you
rather do?
That’s an easy
one.
Camilla