God's call sometimes falls on deaf ears.
Not actually deaf, we just pretend like we can not hear Him.
I have to convict myself with this one. I certainly did not want to hear what God
was telling me so I pretended to be deaf and dumb. Only the dumb part was true.
For I should have known that there is no running from the Lord's call. Ask Jonah, he
would be the first to tell you. And if Jonah was the first , I would gladly step up
and volunteer to be the second, or any one of the thousands who would testify, that when
God calls, it pays for you to answer.
I also have come to believe that God has his own dry sense of humor. Otherwise why
would he have allowed me to have established a successful career as a journalist. To
have won awards and achieve a level of recognition within my field, before calling me in
the middle passage years of my life and turn me all around.
All I know was I was not laughing at this joke. It is hard to recognize the blessing
until you allow God to give you the vision and wisdom to see it.
My call came late in life. At first I did not recognize it. Even when I did
recognize it, I tried to ignore it. It must have been all over me at the time.
I didn't say anything to anyone, but it seemed everyone was verbalizing what I was
trying to stay mute about.
"Are you about ready to answer that call?" one of my best friends from boyhood,
asked me right out of the blue. "When are you going to leave us for the
pulpit?" my choir director questioned. It was like there was this major
conspiracy going on against me. Everybody I knew was trying to push me to
acknowledge that which I already knew deep inside.
I knew God had something for me to do. I also realized that he was calling me into
the ministry. He was opening up gifts and graces for me that I did not even realize
I possessed. I just was not ready to acknowledge, but more importantly yield to that
call.
Every day, I just tried to keep my mind off of it. I worked doubly hard at my
secular job so I would not keep hearing the echoes of my spiritual calling.
I covered as many shows and events as I could just to keep my body active and my mind
occupied.
One night I was invited to go to a special performance by the late Grover Washington Jr.
The Philadelphia saxophonist was part of the social circle my job pushed me into.
He was doing a benefit for a world hunger organization. There was a pre-show
party sponsored by a clothing manufacturer and that was followed by the concert.
It was a typical party, finger food, cocktails but the unusual thing was they passed
out bright white T-shirts with the name of the sponsoring company on them.
I had taken my father with me for this event. He provided me company, and I provided him
access to a great jazz show. He was pushing 70 hard at the time, was retired,
and was my traveling companion whenever I gave him a call.
The show was great and we headed back up Interstate 95 for home. It was a misty
night. Rain was falling lightly. The highway had a glazed look to it.
Your headlights gave it a sheen.
I was driving and reviewing the show with my Dad when suddenly something felt strange.
I went to correct the path of the car and it did not respond. The steering
wheel kept going around and around in a circle and nothing happened. The steering no
longer was attached to anything. It was not working.
All I had a chance to say was, "Dad sit back. I don't have any control of this
car."
The rest was as if it were in slow motion. When I lost control, I was in the center
lane doing somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 miles an hour. The car slowed down,
moved from the middle lane across two lanes of traffic to the shoulder of the road.
It then proceeded to park along a guard rail.
It was a perfect park job. The car was parallel to the rail from front to back.
It had not bumped, banged or otherwise touched anything on the way to this parking.
And the whole time, I had no control.
My eyes opened wide. Not from fright of the situation, but to the awareness of the
message God had been trying to get through my thick head. It took a drastic act for
God to give me sight.
God had taken control out of my hands. I was powerless to do anything with that car
but to see where it would take me. And at the end of the journey. God
placed the car in a safe harbor. Neither my Dad, myself or the car sustained any
damage at all.
And I knew, as easily as God guided the car to safety, without me meddling in the process,
that He too could steer my life safely along any course He might set for me.
I did not wait to get back to church. I did not even wait to get back home.
One the side of the highway. With cars whizzing past me just a few feet
a way. I turned to God who first saved me and that night preserved me, and
surrendered.
Not just those things I did not mind losing control of, but like the car with no steering,
I surrendered all and asked God to take control of my life as he had that big machine that
was rushing down the road.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from my back. I still did not understand why
God called me of all people, but I did fully understand that this was a call I had to
answer. I did not feel worthy of the call but I found out as I continued my
walk with the Lord, God does not call the qualified, he qualifies the called.
And speaking of walks, those white T-shirts we had received earlier at the party.
They came in real handy as my 70-year-old Dad and I walked the eight-plus-miles to
get to a phone so we could call for help.
When the tow truck driver came to pick up my car, he said the lynch pin had fallen out
that linked up the steering. "But you did a nice park job before it fell out
completely," he said.
He looked amazed when I told him I had nothing to do with the even park job.
"Then God was really looking out for you," he said.
That opened my first opportunity to tell the story. God not only had opened my eyes,
but with the first person I encountered afterwards, God opened the door for my ministry.
"Let me tell you all about control and how this car got to where it is at," I
began. "The tow truck driver got an entire sermon as we rode back to the
garage."
I sense, that aside from smiling, perhaps even chuckling a little, at the enthusiasm of
his newly accepted preacher, God had begun the qualification process
I have to travel I-95 frequently. It is my passage between life here in the suburbs
and Philadelphia. And every time I travel it, it freshens my calling. For I
never will forget the night God told me, "Leave the driving to us," and
gave me the best driving lesson of my life.
