HAIRBRUSH EXPERIENCE: BETH MOORE AT THE AIRPORT

[Rhonda]

HAIRBRUSH EXPERIENCE: BETH MOORE AT THE AIRPORT

For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding
Bible
teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother of two
daughters.

This is one of her experiences:

April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville, 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 this 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 have been, I found wondering
if
I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. 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 your 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 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 Timothy3:17)

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. Long locks. 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 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
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 and 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,
you're
hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on but
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
broadside,
thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a
ride! Thank You, Lord!"



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