When I was a little girl, my grandfather picked my sister and me up from school every day. He did this year after year until I was able to drive myself.
Granddad went to be with the Lord almost 12 years ago now, but I am still instantly overcome with emotions when something reminds me of him. My heart and mind are flooded with the happy memories of being with him and mental pictures of our after-school routines. He would pick us up, stop at the corner store to buy us a bag of chips and sunflower seeds, and then take us to his little white house until my mom got off of work.
Grandad loved music and entertaining guests, so normal afternoons easily transformed into block parties. I know that I got my love for life, music, and dancing from him. The gift of all of the fun times with him will last my whole lifetime.
But not all of our afternoons were fun. In fact, one day our normal routine took a turn that is forever burned in my memory.
Rain had been falling all day when Granddad came to pick us up that fateful October day. A lot of the roads were starting to flood so he took an alternate route home. I remember that we had turned onto Costarides Street when our trip home was abruptly cut short.
Granddad thought he could drive through the giant puddles on Costarides Street but the waters were already rising too high, causing our car to come to a stop. The gas pedal stopped working. We had nowhere to go.
Granddad turned to us and in his calm voice said “I guess we’ll sit here until the water subsides.”
“Ok Granddad,” we replied.
But soon the water started seeping into the car.
Again nonchalantly Granddad calmed us when he looked at our worried faces, “It’s going to be ok girls. It will stop soon.”
Five minutes later the water was pouring into the car. I could see no sign that it was stopping.
The water was almost up to my knees when I started panicking. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I said, “Granddad, stay here. I’m going to pick Jessica up and get her out of the car since she is the shortest and then come back and get you.”
I was fifteen at the time, and I managed to open the door and lift my eleven year old sister from the car. But I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do with her.
I heard someone calling me and I realized that there was a woman waving at us from the closest house. She was telling us to come in out of the rain.
Relieved, I took Jessica to the front door and then went to help Granddad out of the car.
By the time we were all in the house, we were completely soaked. It was a blessed relief to get to a warm, dry place.
That was over twenty years ago, but the message I took away from that day still rings loud and clear to me.
Maybe it will ring true to you too.
Sometimes God will allow the waters to rise in our lives in order to push us out of our places of comfort. He knows that we often get complacent in our normal routines, but instead of letting us just park our car and stay where we think we are safe, God will allow circumstances to come into our lives that make us get up and start walking.
Just as God opened a door to a warm, dry place for me and my family at the perfect time, He will open a door for you. But you must get up, put one foot in front of the other, and start walking.
Expect God to meet you no matter how much or how little faith you have.
Even if you feel like a failure.
I would love to help you change your perspective. Will you let me?
Start to praise God for closed doors. Closed doors keep us from wasting energy on the wrong pursuits. This causes you to have to depend on God for direction and clarity.
My beautiful sister, God is so faithful. I want to encourage you to pray, to listen, then to start moving. I can’t wait to see what doors He opens for you.
Share your story
Can you think of a time that God used a normal day to teach you an invaluable lesson?
(I can’t wait to hear!)
Meditate on these Scriptures
In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.
Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails