The Promise by Dan Walsh Page B

perfectly brewed cup of coffee, compliments of his wife, Myra. She was inside now, preferring to have her quiet time under a floor lamp on her favorite side of the couch.
    â€œToo muggy out there in the morning,” she’d said. But it suited Henry just fine. Weather permitting, he always took his quiet time out here. Living in Florida made that possible more months out of the year than in most places.
    He closed his eyes and meditated on two Bible passages he’d just read. Psalm 16 in the Old Testament and the story of Martha and Mary in the New, the one in Luke’s Gospel. They kind of went together in his mind. David talking about the joy of spending time in God’s presence; Mary sitting quietly at Jesus’s feet. Then hearing Jesus defend her right to do so by saying she had chosen “the best part.”
    This really was the best part, he thought. A time to treasure. There was nothing like starting off his day alone with God. He hadn’t always thought that way. For years, he’d have been right there nodding his head along with Martha, wondering how it was fair for Mary to be sitting there doing nothing when there was so much work to be done.
    But now, he viewed life differently. God had led him through his own version of the “valley of the shadow of death” about six years ago. A number of difficult things had happened to him, both physically and financially. Seemed like that one year, for the better part of the year, it was one thing after another. Those tough times forced him to seek God every morning just to keep his sanity intact, for the strength to make it through the day.
    But something wonderful happened through that fiery time. He learned why Jesus said Mary had chosen the best part.
    Ever since then, with few exceptions, Henry chose the best part every day. He’d read his Bible awhile and talk to God the way a man talks to a good friend. He’d start off surrenderinghis day, asking the Holy Spirit to guide him through the day and to help him not focus so much on himself. He’d pray for Myra, their kids and grandkids, and others God brought to mind. Then he’d just pour out whatever was on his heart. Sometimes it was high praises, sometimes cries of desperation, or anything in between. And then he’d just sit there in God’s presence—just like he was doing now—and wait for God’s peace and rest to come over him and fill his soul.
    This morning, Henry waited there an especially long time. His heart became so full and his soul so quiet, he didn’t want to move, didn’t want to do anything to disturb it. Minutes went by, or was it an hour? He couldn’t tell.
    Finally, he heard some movement inside the house. Probably Myra finishing up her quiet time, getting things squared away in the kitchen. She hated an untidy kitchen. He opened his eyes and took in a deep breath. Then this strong urge came over him to write down what he was feeling. He reached for his pen and wrote the words “No Greater Place to Be” at the top of a page in his journal.
    Then he wrote:
    I have no greater place to be, no greater thing to do,
    than to sit at your feet, Lord, gaze at your beauty,
    and listen to your Word.
    Your Word speaks peace to me.
    With you my soul finds rest.
    Fears are stilled; sorrows cease.
    Lord, there is no one like you;
    no other thing in life that can affect me this way.
    Only you.
    Only being with you, spending time alone with you.
    When I am with you this way, in silence and stillness,
    time seems to stand still.
    The clock within me slows to your pace.
    And it is a lovely pace.
    My heart is refreshed, my mind is renewed.
    I find I don’t ever want to leave this place, sitting here,
    alone with you.
    What manner of love is this, that you would first die for me?
    And then, call me your own?
    And offer me new mercies every morning.
    And invite me to come and draw near to you, every day.
    And I can, every day, without