TANGLED HAIR

This is from Beth's Moore's "Further Still". It is long, but well worth the read. You will be blessed. jl

TANGLED HAIR

Knoxville Airport - 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 grey 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 have been, I found
myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I
remembered reading somewhere 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
hirbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane, How am I suppose 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 finish you unto all good works." (2 Tim 3:7) 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. Everyone 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.

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."

By Beth Moore In "Further Still"