Have you ever felt like you heard God give you specific instructions to do something that you really, really did not want to do? Instructions to give away something special to you?
I usually have no trouble giving away possessions. I really don’t. It’s a running joke in our family to not give me anything unless you want it given away to someone else. In fact, my mother and sister often handed me gifts with specific instructions to keep them – or at least let them know before I gave their gift away.
I have removed earrings, bracelets, necklaces, pins, and even heirloom costume jewelry that I was wearing and handed those things to another woman or young girl who commented on their beauty. It was really a blessing for me to be able to do that.
I am not saying this to brag or boast; I’m really not. It’s just something I have enjoyed doing. Truth be told, the giving was probably a lot more fun and meaningful for me than it was for the recipients of my giftings.
Be it clothing, household items, or even food, I have just always loved giving things away. Granted, there have been a few times that the giving stung. Yes, I can still recall some of those more cherished items. And yes, again, there were times that the gifts I gave under what I perceived as the guidance of the Holy Spirit kind of hurt for a bit. But I usually gave them quickly and without regret.
Usually.
A few weeks ago, I felt God tugging at my heart to give away something that I absolutely could not part with. No way; it wasn’t going to happen.
My dilemma started when I was invited to represent American Family Association on a special trip with Operation Christmas Child (OCC).
I was pumped about this trip. And later, when I have had time to sort out all I saw and learned, I’ll share the details and photos with readers of the print edition of The Stand.
For now, suffice it to say, it was a trip of a lifetime, and I could hardly wait to go – until I started packing.
I knew I would need cool, comfortable clothes, something summery and light. So, I went through my closet to find something appropriate for my four-day adventure.
Now, I have learned from other mission-style trips that it’s great to take older, well-worn, or unneeded items to wear on these adventures. That way, I could donate and leave them there, making room for little gifts or trinkets I wanted to buy and bring home to family and friends. So, I kept that in mind as I picked out my clothing for this trip.
And that is exactly when it happened.
As I ran my eyes around my closet, I kept coming back to this yellow, gauzy, short-sleeved shirt that I had worn to a million baseball games. (Our school colors are gold and brown, and I wore this shirt in a zillion pictures taken at those games.) So, it definitely fit the objective of used and well-worn.
But there was no way this momma was parting with that shirt.
Even now as I write this, I am looking at a beautiful portrait a friend gave me of one of the best, last days of our lives with Chris. It was less than three weeks before he died, the day that the high school baseball team that he helped coach won another State Championship.
Someone had snapped a photograph of Chris standing beside me, hugging me, with his new championship medal around his neck. We were smiling and loving that moment of victory, all the while knowing a throwdown battle with the leukemia was raging in his body at that very moment.
There I am in that precious picture, wearing my yellow, gauzy shirt that would hold my son tightly 18 days later as he was welcomed home by Jesus.
So, yes, the shirt was priceless to me because it was the shirt I was wearing the day our son Chris died. It was the last piece of clothing I owned that had touched and held my grown, baby boy before he made his way to heaven.
Now, I doubt anyone else in the large group of our family and friends that were there with us on that day even remember what I was wearing as Chris drew his last earthly breath. But I do. And I will never forget.
So, no, I told the Lord quickly that the yellow shirt was not going to be given away. Ever.
As always, my gentle, precious Savior, the roaring Lion of Judah, simply left me to ponder His words in my heart, just as His mother Mary pondered the words of that angel who visited her long ago. Of course, my pondering was not as world-shaking as Mary’s. But they did shake my little portion of the world.
I pondered for several days. And each moment of pondering left me certain that I simply could not give the shirt away. Even the thought of parting with it was so hard that I never shared the thought with a soul – until a dear friend came to visit, a young mother who lost her baby boy only days after Chris died.
She came to ask about my impending trip, and after a lengthy visit, I suddenly blurted out my dilemma over the shirt and burst into tears.
She cried a little too and agreed that it was a hard thing that I believed Jesus was asking of me. But she reminded me that He understood better than anyone the price of that shirt because Jesus was the one who bought and paid for the precious person it represented – Chris Lucius. So, if I could not do it, she assured me that He would understand.
Then, she quietly said, “But just pack the shirt and see what God does.”
I did one better. I wore it on the first day of my adventure and then put it away safely and securely in my suitcase.
But God brought me a new friend named Dulce, another mother whose son had died of cancer years before as a child. This precious woman was invited on the OCC trip because of that son and the ministry he left behind of his friends, family, and church community continuing to pack thousands of Christmas shoeboxes for children around the world.
I instantly bonded with Dulce and Jen, another precious lady on this trip. We were like three long-lost sisters who were so grateful to finally be together. It was an instant friendship.
Then, just like He always does, God made my way perfectly clear – my new friend Dulce runs a large thrift store back home for her church.
So, every so quietly and gently, my heart heard His words again: “Give the shirt to Dulce. You can trust her with it. She will understand and know just what to do with it.”
And she did.
She cried as I told her my story, and she took my beloved yellow shirt and promised me she would do as God told her to do.
Now, I have not asked Dulce about the shirt, even though we have communicated. For me, the point of the story was not the shirt or who received it. It was not even about giving a cherished, sacrificial gift to someone I will never meet this side of heaven.
The story was one of obedience, and I obeyed with her help – and with God’s help. For me, it was a holy, blood-bought line in the shifting, sometimes suffocating sand of grief.
What joy it brings me now – on the other side of that healing line – to sit here and gaze at the last picture taken of me and my son – with me in the yellow shirt that I was able (through Christ) to give away.
As Chris so aptly told me over and over throughout his life, “Obedience really is better than sacrifice, Momma.”
