Many sermons require no words

Things are heating up around here. Our Poli-Sci Guy showed up on the back stoop last night, and the revolving door we’ve got keeps on turning. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

This morning, now, I whip away to town for some errands. In a world of men and motion and movement, a girl’s got to have some free space (and clear air, if you know what I mean), so I’m runnin’.

I stop by my new go-to spot for a pair of jeans. Hormones and stress and a couple more birthdays have run me over like a Union Pacific engine, and I’m scrambling to try and keep up. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Checking out now, I’m chattering with the shop girls. “Four boys,” “transcription from home,” and “job gone away,” somehow it comes tumbling out.

“You have four boys?” one of them asks me, surprised.

And I’m laughing. “They go from almost 31 down to 14.” After all these years, I’m surprised, still, too.

“That’s a big span!” one of them says. And don’t I bloody know it.

I tell them, then, how the caboose was a big, BiG surprise. “We thought everyone had shown up,” I chirp, “but God knew that not everyone had shown up.

“He would sleep in his car seat, and I would tuck him in underneath my desk. I’d rock his seat with one foot, press the pedal to play the dictation with the other foot, type the report with both hands and plan that night’s dinner.”

Their eyes are big, and they’re laughing. Again.

The younger girl says to the older, “She always has the best stories.”

I carry on. “For years, I wrote a weekly newspaper column called ‘Grounds for Insanity.’ It was all about my life with the boys, and people loved it. Folks would tell me how they’d turn straight to page three to catch that column.”

They are spellbound.

“That doesn’t mean my life is all easy. My oldest son is in jail, and I’m walkin’ by faith. I am walking by faith, not by sight. That’s why I have such hope, not just for my future, but for his!”

They’re not laughing now, but they are listening. With all of their ears, they are listening.

“For so many years, I would never have been here on a Monday. I was always at home, working to help my husband build his business. I would pray and say, ‘God, please give me the transcription job for as long as I need it.’ Then it went away (electronic records)…and I don’t need it anymore ’cause his business is flourishing.”

I can feel the light shining from me. Like a thousand, thousand stars, the Light shines. And they’re listening. I know that it’s shining right on them.

Turning with my bags in tow, I throw up a hand. It twirls in a happy, “see-you-later” motion, as I toss a farewell over my shoulder. And I’m gone in a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

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Many, many sermons require no words. Now and then, some of them do. Not in a “thou shalt not” or a “thou hadst better or thou shalt burn” kind of a way, but in a “this is my story, and I’m so happy” kind of way.

When you carry the Light, you can’t help but shine. You will know if you need to use words. Until then, in every way and in every place, just keep shining.

That’s all.