From All My Trumpery

Valentine’s Day

This morning on Valentine’s Day, God sent Walter to drive me to work to remind me that my problems are small, that He hears our prayers, and that His is the love that lasts through the seasons of life. After a night of mediocre sleep, I rolled out of bed later than I’d hoped. Instead of the early morning of calm, I hustled out of here to Uber to work in time for coffee with coworkers. Walter, my driver, greeted me with warmth and asked how my day was going. He seemed to be seeking conversation, and having nothing urgent to attend to at the moment, I put my phone down and indulged in conversation.

He was an African American man with a cap on and a thick DC accent. He spoke about growing up in DC and hanging out in Meridian Hill park as a kid. He had a friend in particular he grew up with, and this friend joined the Army. The conversation took a serious turn when he spoke of how after his service, this friend got into drugs, overdosed, and died in that exact park.

We discussed the drug epidemic now overtaking the country. Little did I know that Walter’s son passed away a few years ago of an opioid overdose—fentanyl. Living with Walter at the time, his adult son, who had a daughter of his own, one night never came home. As I shared my condolences, he talked about the saddest part being that his son was in the process of cleaning up his life. He was trying to quit; he got a new job at Shell, which he was so proud of; he was going to church and Bible study. But his failed relationship with his ex took a toll on him, and as he was trying to reconcile, every negative encounter would drive him back to comfort in drugs.

Walter, reflective, shared that he in retrospect saw signs leading up to that day. A week before the overdose, his son was sent to the hospital during a day at work. He had taken something before the work day and passed out while on the job. When Walter went to the hospital, his son told him, “I f***** up, but I don’t want to do the drugs anymore. I told God, if I do it again, take me.” Walter told me that he scolded him for saying something like that, that words have power, and you can’t manifest something like that. One week later, his son passed. He’s a man of faith, Walter told me. He believes God takes us in His timing, but we should not compel Him to do so until that time comes, to which I agreed.

On the topic of tragedy, he was a wearied soldier, I found out. Never did he lose the will to live, except for when his wife of 30+ years passed away of cancer. Part of him died when she did, and he shared how she was a believer as well. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and at the time, he didn’t plan to get treatment. Upon convincing from the physicians, he went through chemo. Eventually, he recovered. For a while, he lost the desire to continue on, and he said it was a dark time, but he doesn’t feel that way anymore. He thought he’d never want to be with anyone else, but he doesn’t feel that way.

Over time, he told me he got lonely. He asked God to bring him someone. One day, he was in the hospital receiving dialysis, and there was a woman walking down the hall with her shoes untied. He asked if he could tie her shoes. He had no ulterior motives, he told me. Eventually, he got her number, they went on a date, and the rest is history. He proposed last year, and they’re getting married. After he drops me off, he’ll be taking her to get her nails done, go eat a nice meal, and buy something nice for herself, he shared.

Meanwhile, we were sitting in front of the office, and I’d asked him to park while he finishes his story. I told him, “you never know what God will do.” Nodding his head, he said, “or how He’ll do it.” In sync, we said at the same time, “but He will.” As we both laughed, I got out and prayed a little prayer of thanks in my head.

In a matter of 20 minutes, I learned this man’s testimony, and he doesn’t know his story was exactly the Valentine’s Day gift that I needed. God works through every season of life. He doesn’t promise a life free of suffering, but He promises His faithfulness, His closeness, His love, always.

I always forget just how big You are as my mind focuses on little me. As I reflect on my missteps I’m reminded with such awe of Your omniscience. You knew the wrong steps that I’d take to get here, even before I knew I had it in me to venture this far out. My vows to be faithful to You were as good as Peter’s denials that he would never deny You. But You knew all along, even when we didn’t dare allow ourselves to believe us capable. But You loved us all the same.

But even still, You delight to paint the sky with blues and reds, so we can delight in its beauty in the midst of it all. You show up in moments of calm amidst storms of life. You knock on our doors through good laughs with family, nice dinners with friends. We need only look around to see Your mighty Hand. Your majesty is vast that the rocks will cry out in worship, the seas obey Your word.

Our thoughts are so small — what to wear, what to eat, how to act. How different would we live, if the foremost thought in our minds was just how magnificent our Father is and always will be?

You are so good. Thank You, Father, for caring enough to let us wander only to be there to pick us up when we fall, that we may learn the lessons ourselves and that we may be stronger for it and that we may choose you with our free-willed love. When I fail, Lord, may my rebound time to repent and offload my burdens on You shorten, as I grow more and more dependent on You. When there are no words to thank You adequately, I vow to show You with my life how thankful I am.

It’s every day, a “thank-you-Jesus”-kinda day.