It's

those tiny, almost inconspicuous threads woven

into the minute details of life where I find God

most often reveals himself. And thus my faith

continues to grow.

Like

last Monday night I lay in bed wondering where I

get off speaking so boldly about and for Jesus

Christ. "How do I know?" I asked

myself. "What is it about Jesus? What makes

Him worthy of the role He has in my life and the

lives of so many believers?"

You

would think we would reach some plateau where the

questions cease. I keep hoping, but for now the

queries keep coming.

After

hours of prayerful searching I reached

conclusions I have reached many times in the

past. Jesus Christ is worthy because He

understands. He identifies with me. He has been

where I am. He has faced every temptation I have

ever faced. He feels what I feel. I recalled

again how He prayed in the garden for another

way. As the cross loomed near He wanted an out.

Yes, He was God, but He was human, too.

The

one big difference is He wore His humanity

without sin. As an unblemished lamb He died for

me, in my place; He gave His life so that I could

have eternal life.

Okay,

I know many things must often come into play

before you can recognize Jesus for all He has

been, is, and can be for you. Wish I could help

you there, but I can't. Ultimately you are on

your own in that search (we all are). The best I

can do is tell you a story or two from time to

time.

As

you know if you read my column regularly, I had

surgery about six weeks ago. It went well. I was

happy until the end of the third week when the

first hives appeared. For a week they popped out

at random with no rhyme or reason to where and

why they were appearing.

It

was no big deal. I am an allergic person and no

stranger to hives. I don't think I even began to

put two and two together until the day I woke up

with my face swollen and I was having trouble

breathing.

live more than 30 minutes from the hospital, so I

immediately took what medication I had on hand.

Before we reached the facility I was breathing

better, but starting to react to the drug I had

taken to help me breathe. I will spare you the

details of an interesting day at Fayette

Community Hospital except to tell you I am deeply

grateful to Rick Barth, PAC, Holly Holmes, RN and

others whose names I never knew, for such

efficient, compassionate emergency care.

By

the time I left for home, yet another drug or two

had been added to the arsenal I detest taking

every day. An attitude was setting in.

On

Monday evening the depression grabbed hold and

held tight for about four to six hours. On

Tuesday morning as I prepared to go to Atlanta to

see more doctors, anger became the dominant

emotion.

My

allergist confirmed suspicions that I had begun

to react to the sutures which were now being

absorbed by my body. Then the new surgeon, with

whom I had to consult after seeing the allergist,

outlined the various options I had for continued

treatment for problems that still are not solved.

With

distasteful thoughts bobbing all around in my

mind I asked my son (and chauffeur) to take me to

the Buckhead Diner for lunch. He frowned, but

drove in that direction. After a couple of

minutes I told him to turn around and head south,

that we'd find some place neat for lunch on the

south side. He grinned.

As

he drove I began to say my thank yous to my

heavenly Father for my son and all he has done

for me in recent days and weeks. When I spoke

again I said, "Take me to Hooters for

lunch."

"What?!"

"Take

me to Hooters on 19&41."

"Why?"

"Isn't

that your favorite place to eat?"

"It

is. They make great chicken sandwiches."

"Then

let's have a chicken sandwich."

We

made our way to the only empty table we could

see. It was in the back corner on the left. Close

to the cash register where all the waitress

congregated. I could see my son was pleased.

The

sandwiches were delicious. The service was

excellent. And, yes, the waitresses were

beautiful.

But

the sight to behold lay outside the building.

After I finished my meal I sat gazing out the

window at the rain falling on the pavement. I

love the rain. My gaze ventured beyond the

parking lot, past another expanse of pavement and

through a patch of woods to a huge white statute

of Jesus Christ kneeling in prayer...

gasped.

"What's

wrong?" asked my son.

"It's

Jesus, kneeling in prayer."

He

walked around the table to see for himself.

"There's a cemetery over there through the

woods. You just can't see the rest of it."

He

had no way of knowing my thoughts over the past

48 hours. And I could not explain at that moment

what the vision meant to me.

So

I just tell my stories with full knowledge that

those inconspicuous threads woven into the minute

details of life not only cause my faith to

continue to grow, but they bind us all together

in strange and unique ways as God works His

miracles in and through us when we least expect

it.

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