I was recently blessed by a sermon during the Enon Tabernacle Church’s revival. Although I can’t remember the name of the sermon, what I walked away with is the realization that “It’s in the Valley that I Grow.”
Just the week before, I was whining about living in a valley. You see, I felt that being unemployed, unpopular, unappreciated, and unattached were all valleys. On top of that, I LITERALLY LIVE in a valley! I felt stagnant, like I wasn’t moving forward and had not accomplished much of anything in my 48 years here on this earth. Yeah, I was having myself a good ole pitty party…in my valley. Then I realized how much I HAD actually grown living here in this valley for the past 3 years. I have grown spiritually and emotionally. It’s a miracle that I am even living in the valley because rightfully I should have been homeless. This cute little apartment is my “stones from the Jordan River”; a constant reminder of what God has done for me in the past and a glimpse of the wonderful things He has in store for my future. So I began to praise God for this “Valley” season of my life. Then came hurricane Sandy…
Sandy blew thru the eastern borders like nothing we’d ever seen. My apartment is surrounded by trees and I decided to stay home this time. I didn’t sleep a wink on Sunday night. I was scared. I was up praying and reading and when I did finally lay down I tossed and turned the rest of the night. Got up Monday morning and watched Sandy roll in and was sleep by 6pm with the TV on all night; something I almost NEVER do. I slept from6pm Monday until 6am Tuesday. Slept peacefully thru the entire storm! Guess what? Living in the valley kept me safe from the storm! All around me people were experiencing power outages and trees falling down. I never even lost my directtv which was really unusual because that will go out if a neighbor sneezes too hard.
So today I am truly grateful for ALL my valleys. They really do help us to grow. I hope you clicked the link and read the poem.
On another note, around 2 years ago I met a gentlemen by the name of Mr. Scott. We were watching people play tennis at the black tennis club behind my apartment. Mr. Scott was 82 years old. Out of nowhere he asked if I lived on Rubicon Street. It’s actually pronounced Rubicam and I told him so. He said well for you my dear, it is the RUBICON; You have crossed the Rubicon. Do you know what that means?” I said “No.” He told me to google it and gave me his phone number to call him after I googled it. Which I did, but I still didn’t get it…not until today. All I understood was that Julius Ceasar crossed the Rubicon river and started a war. For some reason I looked it up again today and found this definition: Crossing the Rubicon - to do something which will have very important results, which cannot be changed later. Hmmmmm. It’s still not FULLY hitting home yet, but when it does I’ll be sure to write about it!