Clay in the Hands

James came to see me yesterday.  I had never met James but I was notified that he was here to see me.  I went and escorted him to my office.   He was a worn looking fellow – but clean.  He had tired blue eyes that caught my attention as he sat down in one of the chairs in my office.  I took the chair next to him as he began to tell of his day’s journey.

He had been walking for close to a month, starting in Nebraska and now ending up here.  He was on his way to a community about 2 hours south of here and so he just wanted a place to stay and a hot meal.  I told him that we had already helped two different gentlemen last week and I did not have the funds to put him up for the night but I would make a call to see what I could do.  I called a fellow pastor in town and he agreed to put James up in a local motel for the night.  As I returned to my conversation with James, I began to relate to him the location of the motel and how it would be easy then to get on to Lubbock from that location.  His eyes got big and he said, “Oh, no.  I don’t go through big cities.  It would not be a good idea to try and walk through a big town.”

I then asked how he planned to get to Snyder if he did not go through Lubbock (one of the highways that intersects Littlefield goes through Lubbock and straight on to Snyder).  He told me he was planning on traveling down Highway 385 and then cut across to Snyder – which would take him right through Levelland (where I am still living).  So at that point, I could not see putting him up here and then having him walk to Levelland when I would be driving to Levelland in another 45 minutes.  So I called a connection I still have there and got him a room in Levelland.

He made himself at home in my office while I finished up a few things and then we headed out.  As we drove, I asked him to tell me his story.  As I listened, I learned some things about this man and his life.

Check back tomorrow and I will tell you what I learned.

But for today, think about this:  As James told me his story, I realized that he was being written into mine.

As the story of your life unfolds, who is it that God is writing into your story?