As my husband fished, I and the big white dog lounged and took in the scenery. I was struck by the utter quiet of the place. Other than the occasional call of a bird it was pure silence. A silence so deep and rich that had someone dropped a pin on the other side of the lake I would have heard it crashing to the ground. About every ten minutes the wind would stir through the tall pine trees, and they would gently sway and sing, a symphony of branches gently rubbing against each other, as they swayed I watched the gentle ripples cross the lake from shore to shore, and then everything returned to silence.

  God had for whatever reason many years ago had the sense of humor necessary to gift me with the spiritual gift of mercy. I who for the most part was a fairly selfish person, not really caring much for people other than a select very small group of mostly family members. I was an introvert, and preferred to keep to myself and my own personal business. Yet He, perhaps it was due to His capacity for humor, decided to grant me the gift of His mercy. Now I fret for others, am moved to compassion by any and all signs of pain and suffering and feel compelled to assist in any manner that I can. Although I am still somewhat of an introvert by nature, I love people, I hate suffering of any kind be it human or beast and I spend most of my time assisting others, whether by befriending and intervening in a physical manner or by prayer.

  Strangers whom I have never met in person consume my days, my heart feeling burdened by their plight, my soul being constantly prodded to pray for them and to engage others to do the same. Needless to say if someone I do personally know happens to be suffering it brings me to my knees, wakes me in the night and consumes all my waking thoughts. It is a gift given by God, one I confess to sometimes wishing I did not have. My soul cries a lot, sometimes my eyes do too. Yet I believe it is a blessing to be given a tiny piece of the heart of my Lord Jesus the Christ who always looked upon the crowds and had compassion for them.

  The past several years have been a whirlwind of emotion. Personal pain and suffering within my own family, loved ones lost to suicide, loved ones sent to war and loved ones trying to come back from war. Sons of other mothers lost to war. Add to it the many friends and families suffering the same, or worse. Homeless people, refugees fleeing atrocities, turmoil on our streets, an increase in the general cruelty of man, against his fellow man and against God’s creatures, all collaborating to bring me to a constant state of feeling burdened. There is always somebody ( or some creature) suffering, always, and very often it is someone I love very much, but regardless of whom it it, watching it, hearing of it, being burdened for it, praying for those afflicted by it, all takes a toll on the soul.

   I hadn’t really wanted to go on this three day camping trip, but had done so for my husband’s sake. And yet standing there, at the top of the ridge looking down upon Little Blue Lake I was so very glad we had come. Every care faded, every concern, every burden lifted, and I simply sat and enjoyed the peace and tranquility of that beautiful scene. Psalm 23 came to mind and I spoke the words softly under my breath as I had memorized them long ago as a child.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

  The waters of that mountain lake were still and peaceful and I quietly prayed to God thanking Him for this deep sense of peace, telling Him how much I had needed this, and how wonderful it was. And then I told Him, Lord I wish I could stay here forever, build a cabin right here and never leave, take in this peace You have given and sit forever beside these still waters. And He said “Child, I am your still waters, I am your peace and that peace is available to you in the midst of calamity, at work, at play, at rest, it is available to you as you pray, available to you as you watch and come alongside the suffering, the wounded, the grieving.”

 I sat silent for a moment and then turned on my Kindle and opened up the Message translation of the Bible and it opened to Matthew 11, verses 28-30.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

  I heard Him, the still small voice that speaks to my soul, heard Him as He said, “daughter come to Me, get away with Me, I will show you how to rest. Walk with me. Work with me. Watch how I do it……watch how I do it……watch how I do it…..learn the UNFORCED rhythms of grace. KEEP company with me.”

 Oh Lord I see, I so often run into the fight, desperate to help and often doing so on my own strength. I so often feel as if the burdens that come, because of the gift You gave, are mine to solve, mine to alleviate, mine to fix. Yet they aren’t mine. They are Yours. I just need to be Your willing vessel and watch how You do it........... “Walk with Me and work with Me.” I hear You Lord.

   We enjoyed the peace and tranquility of that beautiful mountain lake for most of the day, just me, my husband, the old big white dog…….and God.

 He is our peace (Ephesians 2:14), He bears our burdens (Psalm 68:19),  He does the work through me. (Philippians 2:13) Rest is found in Him, hope is found in Him, He is the Rock upon which I stand, He is the Fortress that I shelter in. {Psalm 62: 5-12}

Beside the still waters! O infinite peace!

When God leadeth me there, my troubles all cease;

And my feet, by the thorns of life’s wilderness torn,

Are bathed in the dews that are wept by the morn/

Beside the still waters, where pastures are green

And the glad sky bends o’er them in shadow and sheen;

I think of the glooms through whose terrors I fled,

And bless the dear Hand which my footsteps hath led.

Beside the still waters my cross it grows light,

That fainting, I bore through the storms of the night,

The same, through another it seems; and I pray

No more that my burden be taken away.

Beside the still waters, ah! Ripple and gleam

A thousand fold rarer in loveliness seem,

For the billows and foam, and the tumults of wrath

In the tempest of trial compassed my path.

Beside the still waters my hunger is fed,

And sweeter than manna drops daily my bread;

While of Christ, the great Rock that shadows their brink,

The full flowing streams of salvation I drink.

Beside the still waters! Ah! Why should I know

Rough ways for my feet, and the torrents wild flow,

When He who still leadeth me morning and night,

Could hold me for aye in the spell of delight?

Beside the still waters, shut in by God’s hills,

The exquisite sense of protection that fills

My bosom is born of the perils o’erpast;

As He led me at first, so He leads me at last!

(Poem is Beside Still Waters by W.C. Richards)

  We were at the VA, near the end of our task there, all that was left was to walk up to the window and receive the prescriptions from the pharmacy. As we entered the crowded room I heard my son say " hey, I like your boots man." and I looked.

  I saw an old weathered veteran, he was dressed in very "mountain man" looking attire. The boots my son admired were leather and just below the knee with leather fringe about the tops. He quickly informed us that he was a resident of some place to the south, with a view of a mountain and a population of one. As my son stepped up to the window to complete our final task that day, I engaged the gentleman in conversation. He told us that he had his wife with him, and opened up his bag to show a beautiful box containing her ashes. He said that he takes her everywhere he goes. I told him I was very sorry for his loss.

  We talked about his home, I asked him if he had a dog to be a companion and he stated that he had several cats. He enjoys nature, has conversations with mountain lions and rattlesnakes and as we talked he began to root around in his enormous bag searching for a camera. He informed me that his granddaughter had recently taught him how to use it. At last he finds the camera and begins to show me pictures, of his house, his cats, the memorial he built for his departed wife and the beautiful mountain view from his home. He even had a photo of one of the rattlesnakes!

  He struck me as kindred spirit, for the photos he showed me were of beautiful landscapes, breathtaking sunrises, flowers and local animal life. I can relate to all that. I love the beauty of God's creation.

 I asked him how long his wife had been gone, and he told me six months. He told me she was everything to him, and that she knew how to get things done, he is having to learn how to get things done. He said she was a wiz on the computer and cell phones and technology, and he is struggling now to figure it all out. You could tell by the slight shake in his voice that he missed her greatly, for a wealth of reasons, and that she had been the love of his life.

 I asked him his name and told him mine, and introduced my son who had returned from the window. We chatted for a bit more. I told him I was so sorry that his wife had passed on, and told him "God bless you", we all shook hands and parted ways.

 Thank You Lord for helping me to see this old veteran, to talk a bit with him, and to pray for him. I get the feeling he is going to be one I think of a lot and pray for often.

   Some might think him a bit strange dressed in mountain man clothes, carrying his dead wife's ashes with him everywhere he goes, but upon stopping to sit a minute with him and converse I soon discovered that he was a lonely person trying to get by, a man who loves nature, enjoys flowers and beautiful sunsets a man who had a beautiful wife, who was dear to his soul, who had passed on to glory and left him behind. A man who greatly loved his wife and misses her terribly.

  I think he needed someone to just sit a bit with him, to look at his photos, and just to listen. I am so blessed that God chose me for that task.

 It was an honor to meet you sir, may God bless and keep you all of your days. You will be in my thoughts and prayers.

 I was a mighty warrior, the mightiest of warriors. From the moment I could stand there was a sword in my hand. The gods of my people gave me great strength and stature and in all my days none could stand before me.

 A thousand souls have fallen to my sword, a thousand more to my spear. I have held men above my head, my great hands about their throats and watched as their life ebbed before my eyes.

 From childhood I was raised to be a warrior. Because of my greater stature I was always paired with the older boys, at the age of five summers I was fighting those with ten, at ten summers I fought those with fifteen and at fifteen I was paired against seasoned warriors, men who had taken lives in battle and lived to tell the tale. By the time I had twenty summers of life I was paired against multiple opponents.

 My first experience in warfare was at the age of fifteen summers, when my people went up against the Israelites. On that day a mere three men fell to my sword. It was my first taste of victory. I felt the life blood coursing through my veins, I felt like a god, I relished the fear upon the face of my opponents and I felt no fear.

 In fact, fear was unknown to me, I neither understood nor experienced it, it was foreign to me and I detested those who spoke of the fears they felt before battle. They were lesser men to me, weak and womanly.

  I quickly rose through the ranks and became my people’s champion. None stood before me, all who dared to try died in the dust of my sandals.

 Until the day that everything changed. We had encamped upon a great hill in the land of Socoh opposite our enemy. The Israelite army was weak and cowardly and for thirty plus days I had stood each morning and each evening on the top of the hill, taunting them and challenging them to come forth and fight me. Not one would even lift his eyes to mine, all scurried about their camp like rats running from the light of a torch.

  And then a youth, a small and puny man-child walked across the valley, carrying naught but a sling in his hand. At that moment I felt something deep in my gut that I had never felt before, “is this what fear feels like”, this weakness in my knees, this shaking deep within my inner being? I quickly shook it off and yelled out “ Am I a dog that you come at me with sticks?” And I cursed this puny man-child by my gods, the gods who had given me the strength and stature above all others, the gods who had made me the champion of my people, the gods who had delivered me from fear and defeat all my days. “Come to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the air and to the beasts of the field!” I shouted. And then the man-child spoke in a loud voice that shook me to my core. “You come to me with sword and with a spear and with a javelin, but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down and cut off your head and I will give the dead bodies to the birds of the air and to the wild beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel and that all this assembly may know that the Lord saves not with sword and spear. For the battle is the Lord’s and He will give you into our hand.”

  I felt the strength leave my legs, my arms became heavy, and for the first time in my life I felt the weight of the great sword I carried. I knew in this moment that my gods had left me, that they had fled in fear of the God of Israel.  I now understand fear, how it can make a man flee and hide how it unmans the soul. Yet I am Goliath, the champion of the Philistines and I must go forth…….so  I stepped forth to meet this man-child, amazed at his courage as he runs toward me, his arm drawing back, the sling swinging about his head………………………..

 I was Goliath, who stood six cubits and a span in height. Armed with the very best of armor, a helmet of bronze upon my head, the weight of my coat of armor was five thousand shekels. I was Goliath, who had slain a thousand with my sword and a thousand with my spear. I was Goliath, none could stand before me. I was Goliath, slayer of souls, instilling terror in the hearts of my enemies. I was Goliath, Champion of my people……..and I am no more.

  What you have just read is a short story, taken from a writing prompt asking that I write a short story from Goliath’s point of view.

 David was victorious because of his faith. It was not his prowess in battle, nor his strength and might that took down the giant. It was the fact that David believed that God was with him, that God would in fact do all the things He had promised for the nation of Israel. David stood upon the promises of the God he served. And God did indeed deliver Goliath into his hand.

 It is in the hard times that we truly discover the depth of our faith.

  Regardless of what happened to her husbands, that's a lot of grief and suffering. Death, abandonment, infidelity (hers or theirs) all take their toll upon a soul. I expect it is reasonable to say that this woman had experienced more than her fair share of sorrow.

  I expect that she had her moments, face down on the ground, weeping and crying out to God her "why me's" and her "how long's". Since she didn't even bother with the formality of a marriage ceremony with the man she was currently with, I expect she had perhaps given up on things ever changing. Perhaps she thought that she was beyond the hope of her prayers being heard and answered.

  I doubt she had very many friends, if any. She went to the well in the heat of the day, the other women of the village would have already come and gone in the early hours, when it was cooler. She probably avoided them. I can certainly relate to the desire to avoid others due to fear of judgment or rejection.

  So the woman goes to the well, in the heat of the day to draw water, and low and behold the Messiah, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords meets her there. What an amazing experience for her, a life changing experience, an answer to all the prayers, a source of hope that overcomes all the hardships and sorrows, a friend above any earthly friend.....she, the lowly woman with five husbands and at least one lover, the woman who must go to the well in the heat of the day to avoid the other women, comes face to face with Jesus.

 The experience was life changing, for she who came to the well in the heat of the day, now goes out to tell others, Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did. Do you think he might be the Christ?”

 Orthodox Church history tells us that the Samaritan woman whom Christ met at the well in the heat of the day, was later baptized by the apostles and took the name of Photini which means “the enlightened one". It is said that she traveled to Rome, preaching the gospel and that she was martyred for her faith in the year of our Lord 66.

 You can read more of the Orthodox church history on Photini here:

http://www.antiochian.org/st-photini-samaritan-woman

   In my devotional reading this morning I read about the Samaritan woman at the well and how God is not deaf to our groaning prayers. He will come, He will answer, He will do so in His time, and in just the right manner. If the wait seems long, take heart and do not cease to pray, to not give up, press onwards, for Jesus will come. "So keep praying and cultivate patient, long-suffering faith. There will be a day when you will find Him unexpectedly at the well of your deepest thirst."

Quote is from the book Things Not Seen by Jon Bloom

	Things Not Seen: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of Trusting God's Promises More about this product

  As we set out I was thinking of the words of Christ in Matthew when he speaks to the people at the great judgment, and the people say “Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink?, and He replied “‘I tell you the truth, anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me. “  I felt good about what we were doing, it felt right and I was excited.

 Our first homeless person was spotted, lying on the cement, belongings strewn about them in various plastic bags, under a tree where there was some shade.  My son and I exited the car, him with a pizza and me with some bottles of water and approached. As we got closer I realized that the person lying on the concrete was a woman, approximately 50 to 60 years of age.

 I heard her respond to my son’s question “would you like a fresh pizza?”, to which she said “obviously”, and “thank you”, and I asked her if she needed some water to which she replied “obviously” and “thank you”.

   I told her why we were there, that my son’s brother in arms had fallen in Afghanistan three years ago today, and that we were remembering him by sharing kindness with others. She looked up at my son and said “I am sorry for your loss”, and “thank you for your service”.

  Then she reached up her hand and I took it in mine, and the barriers fell, the scales dropped from my eyes and I saw her, saw how she obviously tried to keep herself clean and respectable looking, she was dressed in slacks and a big fluffy shirt, her hands were wrinkled and worn, despite her best efforts at cleanliness she was dirty and smelly, she was stretched out on the concrete using various bits of clothing to cushion herself.  As our hands gripped she began to speak, saying she had done everything she could, she did not know what to do anymore. She said she wanted to go home but she couldn’t because someone else was living in her house. I asked her name and she said “Glenna”, and the balance of the scales fell from my eyes, now she was Glenna, not just “a homeless person”, but a homeless person with a name. My heart burst into pieces. As she clutched my hand and I hers I asked if I could pray with her, and she agreed.

   I do not remember exactly what I prayed, only the overwhelming feelings I felt as I prayed, my voice choking on tears, overcome with the knowledge that I was unequipped to meet the needs of Glenna and our paltry pizza and bottles of water were not even coming close to meeting the great needs of this poor forgotten person, this broken old lady. I felt dirty and unclean and the feeling had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I was gripping the hands of an unwashed homeless person. The feeling was internal, a deep understanding of my own unrighteousness, my pride that had dared to think that I was doing something good when in fact I was utterly helpless to do anything of value, that I had nothing to offer her that could be any long term value. Thankfully Christ does. Hopefully in some small way He used us to meet some of her need and even if we failed in meeting that need, He is able, and He is willing and I continue to pray that He will do so.

 My prayer came to a close and she thanked me, tears flowing down her cheeks. She asked me to pray for her, that she would be able to go home to her house, her house on Eubank and Constitution. She said she has tried to go home, but someone else lives there now. She thanked us for the pizza and the water and she wept as she thanked us for lifting her up to Jesus. It was difficult to walk away, I felt helpless and hopeless and useless as we walked back to our air conditioned car.

 The afternoon progressed, we passed out pizza and water to various homeless persons that we found along the way but for me, the day began and ended with Glenna.

 Lest anyone think that I tell this story in order to demonstrate the goodness of my heart, and to show how righteous and holy I am, assure you this is not the case.  I am still processing all that God is trying to teach me from this event. My own self-righteousness was exposed, something I had thought I had eradicated for the most part.  I do not feel good about my encounter with Glenna. We gave her food, we gave her drink, we prayed with her, and yet I feel as if I stuck a Band-Aid on a gaping wound, and walked away, the blood still gushing out, the person still in grievous danger.  I left with a deep feeling of inadequacy , a feeling that Jesus wants more of me, He wants it all, and where I had the assumption that all that I am has been given to Him. In truth there is so very much that is held back.

  As we drove about the city, I observed all the new high rise apartments, expensive and highly coveted for they give the opportunity to live the downtown scene in Albuquerque.  Underneath them, in the shadows, behind the bushes, are the forgotten ones, the homeless. So many of them have mental issues, some of them are drug addicts and drunks; some are just people down on their luck, all of them visible if you look, but few look.

 The city of Albuquerque has been working hard to eradicate these forgotten ones. They have moved their tents time and time again, pushed them out of the places where they gather to rest, posted signs all about the city urging people not to give them money and yet no one has asked the question “where shall they go?”, there is not enough shelters for the amount of homeless we have, and there is no assistance for their mental health issues.

  Sometimes I think that we truly do not want to see them, when we do we are prone to hand them five dollars, or buy them a meal, and then we can go about our lives and feel better about ourselves because we demonstrated a little kindness. Yet the problem remains. I do not know what the answer is; I am not even sure I have yet grasped the question. All I know is that I met a homeless lady named Glenna, and she wants desperately to go home to the house that she no longer lives in…….someone else lives in her house now. In meeting her, in praying for her, my own inadequacies and sins were laid bare, the shining wrappings that cover them ripped off and the realities exposed.

 I gripped the hands of Christ today. I left Him lying on the hard concrete, on a hot day in the Albuquerque sun, I left Him with three bottles of water and a pizza………and a prayer. 

 I am still trying to process all this.

Good deeds for DeMar, in memory of Michael DeMarisco who gave his life for his brothers on August 16^th, 2012 in Afghanistan. He was a beautiful young man, his family misses him so, and his brothers in arms miss him so. Rest in peace DeMar, and thank you for the lessons learned today.