ExMan and I had an on-going dispute for years about the nature of God and the way He answers prayers.
ExMan thought that God didn't want to be bothered with the tiny little details of everything...that if you needed or wanted something that wasn't that big of a deal, you should just 'get it yourself', or find a way to get it yourself. God, after all, had enough to do without listening to every little whiny need.
I am more of a fairy-tale person, and had the belief that any wish, no matter the size, is important to those who love you, (i.e. God) and, if possible, (and not harmful to you), it will be granted.
And one August day in 1998, I was proven right.
I was seperated from ExMan for the first time. We had been apart since April, and had already signed papers to dissolve our marriage. My children were eight, five, and four years old. I was scared to death. I remember that I cried daily.
I'd wanted desperately to stay home with my children, but the fact remained that I needed to make an income. So I turned our home into a daycare, and took on six little ones, the majority of them under the age of five. Add that to my three and I had a total of nine kids running around the house on a day to day basis. It got a bit wild at times.
They were good children and they all got used to each other and we became somewhat of a family. None of the kids could ever call Dominic by his true name....he was chronically called, "Donimic". His mother seemed to find that amusing, and I got tired of trying to correct them, so the name stuck. Each of my children had a playmate their own age, at any given time. It worked out all right.
I did struggle with not being able to just hop into the car and run to the market whenever I wanted... I'd always been sort of a free spirit... My daycare was open from six a.m. until six p.m. and I was commited to being within my four walls during that time. So I got cabin fever a lot.
One day I was standing at my sink, looking out the window. The field behind my new subdivision hadn't been developed yet, and I could see the rooftop of the Farmer's Market, just over the bend, near the highway. I'm sure I began to salivate because I couldn't think of the Farmer's Market without envisioning their mouth-watering sweet corn. Oh, how I wanted some at that moment!...It would've made such a wonderful dinner.... But there were two immediate problems. Problem number one; I did not have a car large enough to put ten of us into, to drive around the block to get a simple bag of corn.... Problem number two: I wasn't even sure at that time that I had the money in my purse for as much as one bag...I was dirt poor that month. We were barely making it.
So I put the thought out of my head and focused on the task at hand, which was the dishes. Then it was wiping someone's nose. Then it was blood-hounding down someone's unsavory nappy to change....and on it went. There is always something to do when you have a house-full of kidlets.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was my friend, Linda. She had two bags in her hands, laden with...sweet corn.
She couldn't understand why I burst into tears. As I blubbered, she tried to explain that she was driving towards her home up the hill, and was 'told' by a little voice to stop at the Farmer's Market... and get some sweet corn; so she did. Once the bags were in her car, she asked the 'little voice' who she ought to give them to. My name popped into her head, and without questioning, she drove right over to my home.
After all of the daycare kids and the daycare moms exited the building... I had sweet corn that night for dinner, with my children seated around me. We buttered and we salted and we peppered and we season salted and we added hot sauce and parmesan cheese to our heart's content. It was heartwarming to look around the table and see bits of corn and butter on the corners of each of their cute little mouths. I had a heart full of gratitude. To God, and to Linda.
And I knew why we had sweet corn. Because I had the wish for it, that's why. Not even big enough to be called a prayer, not even enough effort put into it to be called a meditation; just a thought that had flitted across my mind and was caught by God and assigned out to one of his angels; one that was willing to listen and obey the tiny prompting that was planted in her mind.
So DOES He care about the tiniest thing on your mind?
I think He does.
One summer's evening in 1998, He showed me that He did. And I haven't doubted since.
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