Beth Moore's Hairbrush Experience

*HAIRBRUSH EXPERIENCE OF BETH MOORE AT THE AIRPORT*> > On 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 tried 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 concentrate 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, Beth. 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, but must 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> never forget 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? What 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!"> > Be Blessed!