"The wind at my back . . . the sun in my face . . . there's no stoppin me!"
"Did someone get the license plate number of that last wave?"
"Dad, have you lost your mind? What makes you think I want to hold a shark? MOM!!!"
"Back off. She's all mine."
Playing in the pool with my son, walking on the beach with my daughter . . . a great Father's Day.
To my suprise, while during my stay in Philly, I saw an fundraising piece for Ronald McDonald Houses . . . featuring my wife and son.
(Football is carry-on)
Let me explain . . .
Shortly after Timothy's cast was removed, the doctor said, "We will
get Timothy fit for a splint and have you on your way tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?", I asked. "Our flight leaves today."
She said, "Oh, that is a problem." Apparently, there was a mix up on
the scheduling end of things, so we began making arrangements to
change our flight.
Once having Timothy measured for a brace, we hailed a cab and went
back to the Ronald McDonald House. After an afternoon nap, I thought, "We have a few hours. Let's see if we can't venture out into Philly!"
Upon asking the staff at the Ronald McDonald House for some place fun to explore, they handed me two tickets to the Please Touch Museum
(www.pleasetouchmuseum.org)! Having 2 hours before it closed, I
thought, "Let's do it!"
And that's where the adventure really begins . . .
Our cab came to pick us up, and 45 minutes later, we are completely
lost. The cab driver kept following the voice of the GPS monitor
which kept saying, "Turn Left. Turn Left". I felt like we were on a
NASCAR track. "Turn Left. Turn Left."
After circling the city, I finally said, "You know, I think your GPS
may be broken." Turns out, it was . . . so our driver pulled up to
the sidewalk, yelled at a parking attendant in front of a downtown
hotel and said, "I'm lost. Can I get directions to the Please Touch
museum?"
A cabbie admitting defeat and asking for directions. I never thought I'd see that day. Turns out, we were 30 minutes away and not even close to being in the right part of town!
While looking for the museum, I received a phone call from one of the staff members at the Ronald McDonald House. She began by saying, "Now you can say no if you want to, but we have a fundraiser dinner this evening, and a family was supposed to share their story, but they had a last minute change of plans. Would you be willing to speak?"
"Sure," I said, not think about much more than the opportunity to help such a wonderful charity.
The staff member said she would pick me and Timothy up from the museum and take me to the dinner, which she did.
Now, mind you . . . I have been in the same clothes (pants and t-shirt) since 6am, and am smelling and looking rather sour, if you will.
We travel to West Chester, Pennsylvania where we arrive at a very nice country club. We walk into what I would consider to be a large crowd, and reserved in the front was a space for me and Timothy. White linen tablecloths. Director of the Ronald McDonald Houses in Philadelphia on my left. Fundraiser leaders across from me. More staff on my right. I'm the one in the t-shirt with the son in sweats and sandals.
Timothy begins eating a roll and gets choked up a bit. All of a
sudden, with NO WARNING . . . Timothy projectile VOMITS like I have never seen before. Imagine a fire-hydrant being opened, and out
shoots chunky, chocolate milk. (Sorry for being graphic, but I want
you to feel the experience)! Timothy hoses me, himself, and the
table.
Tell me this isn't happening.
Luckily, I had a change of clothes for him, so I marched right
past the "Members Only" sign, went into the locker room and got
Timothy cleaned up while other kind people did something about the table.
Shortly after returning to the banquet hall, the director says, "So,
let me introduce you to our guests. Chris and Timothy Lewis." People
applaud, I am handed a mic. Go.
And let me simply say, God is good.
I simply shared a truth God hit me with the day before, taken from the Bible. "By the grace of God, I am what I am" (1 Cor. 15:10). Only God can say, "I am what I am." He is the self-existent one. We, on the
other hand, need His grace in order to be.
I was stuck earlier in the day with a fresh appreciation for how Timothy and I are both what we are by the grace of God. We earned no room at the RMH. We deserved
no food at the RMH. We did not achieve care at the RMH. But by God's grace, we are what we are.
Granted, the grace spoken of in this verse is the Gospel. That being said, I have come to view the grace displayed to us through RMH as a very small yet tangible reminder of my need for grace . . . ultimately His. It is the case of the smaller pointing to and reflecting the larger.
So I simply stated that I find RMH to be a reminder of grace in a world that needs such desperately.
Can't say if I was coherent in my thoughts in the moment, but people were kind enough to stand and applaud Timothy (who at this point is cheering for himself). What a ham!
The benefit was a silent auction, and a man came up and gave Timothy a football he won, which made Timothy's night. I, on the other hand, would have bid some serious cash for a mere shower!
Walking by faith is such an adventure. I continue to be amazed at how God masterfully humbles us and glorifying Himself. Strength from weakness. Our joy, His honor.
And that is what were are doing . . .
Oh, the ways we entertain ourselves in the waiting room.
While Teressa and Anna Ritchie were playing in the backyard, two strangers came to the fence and said, "We noticed your front yard was on fire as we drove by, so we stopped and put it out with your hose."
Sure enough. A landscape light had malfunctioned and set things ablaze!
Seems I am the one needing to be concerned.
Thank you, Father, for protecting my girls. And thank you strangers!
Just as I was getting ready to call a hotel, one of the RMH staff interrupted me and said, " Mr. Lewis, this normally doesn't happen, but some one just called down to the desk and asked if they could check out . . . So you can stay if you want!"
God TOTALLY provided.
He knows the routine . . .
Whew . . .
