I was reading "Drenched in Light" yesterday and ran across this phrase, "It's a fine thing to be the answer to someone's prayers." It reminded me of something that happened several years ago.
I was in my office with my door shut. I've learned that when you are female on a mostly male faculty, students view you as infinitely interruptable - like you are the secretary. They'll ask you about someone else's schedule who is "too important to bother, but you are evidently not too important to bother". Anyway, I usually keep my door shut so I can get work done. I had the feeling I needed to open my door, so I did. Not long after, a fellow came by. I can't remember his excuse for coming to my door, but we got to talking about his data structures class - a class I have taught a dozen times (but wasn't currently teaching). He was very frustrated because he had always been an A student in high school, but now he was working his tail end off to pull a C. He was discouraged to the point of despair. We talked for a while. I told him that data structures was probably our toughest class - that if he could survive that, he could survive anything. I gave him pointers about studying and made sure he knew about the tutor room. After that, I saw him a few more times. One day he came in to tell me thanks for the advice. Things were going much better and he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. As he left, he said, "You know that day I happened by your office? My mom had told me, 'Just go find someone to talk to.'" He eventually finished and graduated.
I have to agree - its a fine thing to be the answer to someone's prayers.
Today was another day that kind of proceeded on its own power. Our good friend and neighbor shattered his ankle six weeks ago. Steve has been over a few times with cinnamon rolls and to visit. I hadn't been over - though I used to teach Sunday School with Dave, so have been very close to him. Today, I had all the stuff to make Grandma's raspberry pie (whip cream, cream cheese, Danish dessert), but had decided it was too much work. I'd just pick a few raspberries to put over ice cream and call it good. As I was picking a few berries, the neighbor's five year old came over to help me pick. She loves raspberries. I asked how her Dad was. She told me the whole story. She said her Mom was sad because they didn't have any money. She said her Dad was sad because he couldn't go back to work. For some reason, she told me she thought that if I made her dad a raspberry pie that would make him happy. I told her I thought we could do that. I had to go in to fix dinner, but she kept picking raspberries. She brought me in a bowlful of berries and asked what time I thought the pie would be done. I told her it wouldn't be until about 8 - as I didn't have a crust made (and that has to chill). Anyway, when we arrived at their house shortly after 8, Whitney had told her Dad to expect the pie. Whitney was so delighted. They were in the backyard when she saw us coming and and hollered, "Our pie! You got our pie done!" We had a wonderful visit and expressed our love and support for them. I don't know if it meant that much to Dave, but for Whitney, it was just what she needed to do for her Dad.
But of course, maybe it was Whitney who was an answer to my prayers. We all need to feel useful.
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