On April 6th, a wonderful group of women left for a mission trip to Belize City. The morning of April 7th, I looked down at my gloves, my clothes, my arms and my shoes with growing discontent. I had far more paint on me than anyone else. When I moved that new roller across the wall, more paint flew through the air than landed on the wall. The sweet people around me were so patient when I had the roller in my hand...even if they had to "duck and cover" right beside me. I had never painted a wall outside of a church in my entire life. As my husband would say later, "Ain't she so cute? Why doesn't she paint at home?" That first morning of our mission, I had great insecurity about doing something new. Besides, underneath my gloves were four "once pretty" broken nails. This semi-diva just doesn't do broken nails well. I decided I didn't even want my precious fingers to get any dirtier. I started to say bad words in my head about that stupid green paint and the wall that went on for miles. I just kept my once clean gloves on.
The morning of April 9th, I found my groove. I found a rhythm, and I found my team: "The Green Team." I took those gloves off. I picked weeds in the way of our painting. I switched from roller duty to "smaller brush, steadier hand" duty. Thank you, Jesus for paint miracles like this. For the next 3 days, the green team would paint and perfect our green wall. We found a common purpose greater than our own. We held paint brushes, we stilled our minds and we leaned into His purpose for how we would spend our time. If we weren't painting, gathering more paint or discussing areas of the wall needing "touch up," we were visiting with the people who either drove or walked past our wall. These were perfect days.
I found the more still we became, the more I practiced hearing His voice above the noise. While touching up the green paint outlining the children's playground, the sounds of children playing, motorcycles traveling and cars moving echoed throughout the streets. Yet the most glorious, distinct sound of all was the melodious organ and a familiar tune traveling through the open windows of the Methodist church across the street. As I moved my paint brush back and forth, I could remember standing next to my grandmother in church and hearing her sing the beautiful words of this hymn.
"... And he walks with me and He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other have ever known."
Those moments when I sometimes held Grandmama's hand as she sang this song louder than anyone else in the pew centered me. Those tender times shaped my faith.
Only a few years later, I would sit next to my Mamaw on her shiny black piano bench as she played "In the Garden" before more people than I could ever count. A famous gospel pianist, Mamaw lived out her faith through the words of this song. The movement of Mamaw's hands across the keys centered me. Those tender times strengthened my faith.
Now 40 + years later, under the warm sun, a magical moment in Belize City reminded me God is near. His word, His truth and His light will shine the brightest...If we can only be still "In the Garden."
Thanks be to God.
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