A Few Boxes

“There’s only a few boxes; I only have a one bedroom apartment” should have been a red flag but it was not. How could my dear husband have gotten us into yet another job that was way over our heads and miles beyond our physical ability? Moving furniture, boxes and other unnecessary treasures from a second story apartment would have been difficult under the best of circumstances but when you throw in an elderly lady bound to a wheelchair and equally as bound to her stuff; there is certain to be a glitch or two.

The story had probably replayed more often than we wish to believe. Her children had “taken her estate” and left her with a small pension to live on and no remarkable contact or assistance. She was truly all alone. The plan was that we would deliver the truck the evening before the move and two volunteers from a local church would load it. We would drive the loaded truck to the new apartment and maybe unload a box or two. However, the next morning plans changed. The relieved look on the faces that met us as we poked our heads around the door to see if help was needed, should have been adequate warning. A quick affirmative chorus started the adventure that would occupy us for the remainder of the day. Her helpers needed helpers and they were happy to see us.

Our journey home that evening would provide plenty of time to rehearse all that actually took place while we were moving furniture. Not only did we have time to compare what motivated us and kept us working that day (Her deceased husband had fought at Normandy, she was someone’s mother and Jesus would have helped this little lady if given the chance), but also, there was time to assess the not so obvious work that we were privileged to do. This was not an easy assignment but it would later become apparent that it was a divine one. The stifling heat and humidity seemed to place an explanation point to every action. Saturated hair and perspiration dripping in your eyes has a way of accentuating any experience. We were frayed mentally by our own agenda, physically stressed by all the “stuff” that had to go to the new apartment, emotionally squeezed by the sad circumstances, and spiritually cornered to do all that we were doing as unto the Lord (with the right heart attitude). We mustered a grateful chuckle as it occurred to us that Jesus had been “given a chance” and in the form of two unlikely moving people, He had helped.

We were there to listen to four different devastating scenarios. Apparently, some very heavyhearted people had come to help this little widow. The heartaches were passionately explained at different times during the day. The hope of God’s Word was shared amid boxes on the tailgate of the moving truck, while wrapping breakables in the middle of a dusty storage unit and while balancing bed frames and waiting for reinforcements. We just thought we were there to help a widow move her world from one side of town to another. God knew that we were there, more importantly, to move His message from one person to another.