Hairbrush Experience ~Jodi

For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding speaker and
Bible teacher, and the author of several excellent Bible studies. She and her
husband of a number of years live in Texas and have two grown daughters.

This is one of her experiences:

April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville , waiting to board the plane, I
had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a
marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a
scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up
doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be
dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.

I tr ied to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in
a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when
he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers,
and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands
looked like tangled masses of veins and bones.

The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy, gray hair hung well
over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean
but strangely out of place on an old man.

I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I
tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if
I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead.
So this man in the airport....an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us
somewhere? There I sat; trying to concen trate on the Word to keep from being
concerned about a thin slice
of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while, my
heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.

Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern,
and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre-looking old man.

I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall.
I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary
to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be
embarrassing.

I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit
and I started arguing with God in my mind. "Oh, no, God, please, no."
I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven
and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not right here and now.
Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me
get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!"

There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please
don't make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the
plane." Then I heard it... "I don't want you to witness to him.
I want you to brush his hair."

The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun
like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No-brainier. I looked
straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I
want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord.
I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a
man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if
he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man."

Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write
this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said,=2
0Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his
hair."

I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's
in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a
hairbrush?" God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk
toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will
thoroughly furnish you unto all good works." (2 Timothy 3:17)

I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as I
retell this story, my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt
down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, may I
have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"

He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?"

"May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"

To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to
hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that."

At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR , MAY I HAVE
THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"

At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing
in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks. Face crimson and
forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute
shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to."
Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem
interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart
until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have
one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush." "I have one in my
bag, "he responded.

I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees
and unzipped the stranger's old carry-on, hardly believing what I was doing.
I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean,
but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but20must admit
I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little
girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I
began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.

A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's
hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those
moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until
every tangle was out of that hair I know this sounds so strange, but I've never
felt that kind of love for another soul in my
entire life. I believe with all my heart, I - for that few minutes - felt a
portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little
while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while.

The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's.
His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's. I slipped the brush
back in the bag and went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my
knees, put my hands on his knees and said, "Sir, do you know my
Jesus?"

He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought.

He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She
wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You
see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had
open-heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting
here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."

Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when
we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was
one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He
could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll neverforget it.
Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was
deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have
accompanied him on that aircraft.

I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline
hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said,
"That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? Wh
at made you do that?"

I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!"

And we got to share.

I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted,
you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move
on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or
feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of
temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you
as an individual. Tell Him your need!

I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many
opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way. . . all because I
didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that
old man. He sent that old man to me.

John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We Have
seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of
grace and truth."

Life shouldn't be a
journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and
well-preserved body, but rather, to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up,
totally worn out, and loudly shouting, "Wow! What a ride! Thank You,
Lord!"

Don't tell God how big your troubles are - tell your troubles HOW BIG your
GOD is!