witnessing | eisakouo

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Doug Nichols, love in action, old man, sanitarium, tuberculosis, witnessing

My message this Sunday was on love. It was a Valentine’s Day message. Below is a story of “love in action” which I used to illustrate my sermon.

May it be a blessing to you,

Pastor

Doug Nichols went to India to be a missionary. While he was just starting to study the language, he became infected with tuberculosis and had to be put in a sanitarium.

It was not a very good place to live. It was not very clean and conditions were difficult because there were so many sick people. Doug decided to do the best he could in this bad situation. He took a bunch of Christian books and tracts with him and was determined to witness to the other patients while in the sanitarium.

But when he tried to pass out tracts, they were rejected. No one wanted them. He tried to hand out books, but no one would take them. He tried to witness, but was handicapped because of his inability to communicate in their language. In addition to being committed to a sanitarium, he felt so discouraged.

Here he was. Because of his illness he would be there a long time. It seemed like the work which he had been sent to do would not be done because no one would listen to him.

Because of his tuberculosis, every night at about 2 o’clock he would wake up with chronic coughing that wouldn’t stop. Then one night when he awoke he noticed across the aisle an old man trying to get out of bed. The man would roll himself up into a little ball and teeter back & forth trying to get up the momentum to get up on his feet. He just couldn’t do it. He was too weak.

Finally, after several attempts, the old man laid back and wept. The next morning Doug understood why the man had been crying. He was trying to get up to get to the bathroom and didn’t have enough strength. So his bed was a mess and there was a smell in the air.

The other patients made fun of the old man. The nurses came to clean up his bed and they weren’t kind to him either. In fact, one of them even slapped him on the face. Doug said, “the old man just laid there and cried.”

“The next night about 2 o’clock I started coughing again. I looked across the aisle and there was the old man trying to get out of bed once more. I really didn’t know what to do.  Somehow, I managed to get up and walk across the aisle.  This time I helped the old man stand up.”

He was too weak to walk. I took him in my arms and carried him like a baby. He was so light it wasn’t a difficult task. I took him into the bathroom, which was nothing more than a dirty hole in the floor.  I stood behind him and cradled him in my arms as he took care of himself.”

“Afterward, I carried him back to his bed and laid him down. As I turned to leave he reached up, grabbed my face, pulled me close, and kissed me on the cheek. He said what I think was `Thank you.’”

Doug said, “The next morning there were patients waiting when I awoke.  They asked if they could read some of the books and tracts that I had brought. Others had questions about the God I worshiped and His only begotten Son who came into the world to die for their sins.”

He gave out all the literature that he had brought.  Many of the doctors, nurses, and patients in the sanitarium came to know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.

He said, “Now what did I do? I didn’t preach a sermon. I couldn’t even communicate in their language. I didn’t have a great lesson to teach them. I didn’t have wonderful things to offer. All I did was take an old man to the bathroom and anyone can do this.”

Someone has said, “They will not care how much you know, until they know how much you care.”

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Beth Moore, hairbrush, hearing God, John 1:14, life in the Spirit, Love, obedience, witnessing

I have spent a lot of time in the past few blogs discussing the importance of hearing God speak and walking in obedience to the spoken word. I haven’t been able to work in many illustrations. Below is a story from Beth Moore’s life back in 2005. It is a alittle long, but well, well worth the read. In fact…it’s a must read. Did I sell it? Please take some time to digest her story.

Blessings,

Pastor

Beth Moore at the Airport : The Hairbrush Story

At the Airport in Knoxville on April 20, 2005,
Waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I’d had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say that because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego. I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones. The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old man.

I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might havebeen, I found myself wondering if I’d just had a Howard Hughes moment. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport…an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere? There I sat, trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him. Let’s admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.

I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I’ve learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing. I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. “Oh, no, God, please, no.” I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, “Don’t make me witness to this man. Not right here and now. Please. I’ll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don’t make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!”

There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, “Please don’t make me witness to this man. Not now. I’ll do it on the plane.” Then I heard it… “I don’t want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair.” The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainer. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, “God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I’m on this Lord. I’m you’re girl! You’ve never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am on him. I am going to witness to this man.” Again as clearly as I’ve ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. “That is not what I said, Beth. I don’t want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair.” I looked up at God and quipped, “I don’t have a hairbrush. It’s in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?” God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God’s word: “I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works.” (2 Timothy 3:17) I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself.

Even as I retell this story my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible,” Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?” He looked back at me and said, “What did you say?”
“May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?” To which he responded in volume ten, “Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you’re going to have to talk louder than that.” At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, “SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?” At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks. Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, “If you really want to.” Are you kidding? Of course I didn’t want to. But God didn’t seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, “Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don’t have a hairbrush.” “I have one in my bag,” he responded. I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger’s old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man’s hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don’t do many things well, but I must admit I’ve had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls. Like I’d done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.

A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man’s hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I’ve never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I – for that few minutes – felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while. The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God’s.

His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant’s. I slipped the brush back in the bag, went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees, and said, “Sir, do you know my Jesus?” He said, “Yes, I do.” Well, that figures, I thought. He explained, “I’ve known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn’t marry me until I got to know the Savior.” He said, “You see, the problem is, I haven’t seen my bride in months. I’ve had open-heart surgery, and she’s been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride.”

Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we’re completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I’ll never forget it. Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I’d acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft. I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said, “That old man’s sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?” I said, “Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!” And we got to share.

I learned something about God that day. He knows if you’re exhausted because you’re hungry, you’re serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on, but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you’re hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you’re sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need! I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way… all because I didn’t want people to think I was strange. God didn’t send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.

John 1:14 “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” Life shouldn’t be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, “Wow! What a ride! Thank You, Lord!”