Daring to be an Oliver Twist

The Week of  'More'

I am thankful to God Almighty for receiving unexpected favors this past week, two different people went out of their way to favor me and my household without asking. It was a great blessing. Am also thankful that God desires more of me such that through the week (13th-20th), I was surrounded with the word 'more' through various means and medium. That has made me to desire to be an Oliver Twist in a way.

Who is Oliver Twist?

Oliver Twist was born and raised into a life of poverty and misfortune in a workhouse in an unnamed town (although when originally published in Bentley's Miscellany in 1837, the town was called Mudfog and said to be within 70 miles north of London – in reality, this is the location of the town of Northampton). Orphaned by his mother's death in childbirth and his father's mysterious absence, Oliver is meagrely provided for under the terms of the Poor Law and spends the first nine years of his life living at a baby farm in the 'care' of a woman named Mrs. Mann. Oliver is brought up with little food and few comforts. Around the time of Oliver's ninth birthday, Mr. Bumble, the parish beadle, removes Oliver from the baby farm and puts him to work picking and weaving oakum at the main workhouse. Oliver, who toils with very little food, remains in the workhouse within six months. One day, the desperately hungry boys decide to draw lots; while the loser must ask for another portion of gruel. The task falls to Oliver, who at the next meal tremblingly comes up forward, bowl in hand, and begs Mr. Bumble for gruel with his famous request: "Please, sir, I want some more".

          (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Twist#Workhouse_years)

I am also asking for more, more of God and all the spiritual blessings found in Christ Jesus, more of his anointing, more of the power of the Holy Spirit, more boldness to be an ambassador for Christ, to be more loving, kind and generous. My focus will no longer be on things that don't satisfy, nor on things that temporarily fill up the void in my life but to seek more of Him, who made the heavens his throne and the earth his footstool. The One who the cattle on a thousand hills belongs to and who knows exactly the number of hairs on my head.

Sinach, a Nigerian musician sang this song a few years back and is descriptive of what I want henceforth.

                                                    More of You

Lyrics:
You make my life so beautiful
As You are, You have made me on earth
There's nothing greater than this
That is why I love You forever more

I want more of You
I want more of You, Jesus
The more I know You
The more I want to know you
Jesus more of You.

Meeting with God at the Airport

                                                                                                                  By Sara Haggerty

“Why this waste?”

 — Matthew 26:8

I’d been in a suit and heels since 5:00 a.m., and after a full morning, I was at the airport for an early afternoon flight home—home to a husband, but no children. It was a couple of years after my season at the boutique on North Barracks Road, but still a few years before the grief of infertility had settled into my soul.
I’d recently started to crave more. I wanted more from my sales support job. I wasn’t tired of doing it or even tired of the deskwork and the travel, but I was tired of working for little more than sales goals and a paycheck. I wanted more than productivity and success. I wanted brushes with God and meaning and almost anything that mattered but wasn’t easily measured.
My work for the day was done and I was tired, but my heart was hungry, and I was beginning to like heart hunger. So I prayed: God, I want to meet with You in this airport.

Meeting Him required quieting my insides enough to hear and respond. The kind of dialogue I was learning to have with God burgeoned when I saw it as an exchange—my mind for His thoughts, my fear for His assurance, my whispers for His response. As I made my way to a restaurant near my gate, I noticed an elderly gentleman who was being pushed in a wheelchair. I prayed for God to breathe life and strength into his frail body. I saw a man running as fast as my mind usually worked, and I prayed his racing heart would come to know Jesus. I saw a young woman with vacant eyes, and I prayed she would find the filling her heart most needed. I realized afresh that the people all around me weren’t merely interesting. They were God-created. I wanted to talk to Him about what He had made.

God, what do You see in the man who is late for his flight? And the one in the wheelchair—how do You see the heart buried underneath that broken body? Rather than looking at people as faces among the masses, I asked for His eyes for them and responded with minute-long prayers: God, I want to meet You in this airport.

No one knew this conversation I was having in my head with God. And I was starting to like these secret exchanges. At the restaurant, I grabbed the last available seat at the bar, which was full of day travelers with carry-ons. As I scooted up onto my stool and glanced at the laminated menu, I noticed the gentleman sitting next to me. He looked to be near retirement, but he was dressed for business. I was drawn to him in the way you’re drawn to someone who is not at all like you, but with whom you feel a strange connection.
Maybe I’m supposed to share the gospel with this man, I thought. I ordered my food and opened my book, trying to concentrate on reading while staying aware of what felt like a nudge from God.
Ten minutes later when the waitress brought out my order along with that of the man next to me, I noticed that we both had ordered the same meal. I awkwardly mumbled a comment about it, looking for a way to begin a conversation. But my voice, perhaps too quiet from nerves, got lost in a salvo of loudspeaker announcements. He hadn’t heard me. I went back to my book, resigned that I’d misread God’s cues.

The book I was reading explored the concept of abiding in the vine from John 15. The author used the notion of tree grafting to illustrate this abiding. After hours of client presentations on throbbing feet, my mind couldn’t absorb the words. I read and reread the same paragraph, but without comprehension. And then this prompt dropped into my mind: Ask the man sitting next to you to explain it.
Uh-oh, I thought.
As much as I wanted to hear from God, I knew that we humans sometimes mishear Him and mistake our mental wanderings for His voice. What should I do? Talk to the man and risk awkwardness and embarrassment? Or not talk to him and risk missing what might well be God’s answer to my prayer to meet with Him in this airport?
Well, at least I’ll never see this guy again, I thought. So I went for it.
“Sir, excuse me,” I said, much louder this time, almost shouting to compensate for my nerves.
He startled. “Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows like the authoritative boss of a fresh college grad.
“Do you know anything about grafting?” I coughed out.
“What?” he asked.
Oh no. I had to say it again. This business exec didn’t even seem to know what the word meant.
“Grafting, sir. Do you know anything about grafting?”
My face was red hot.
“It’s funny you should ask,” he said. I noticed tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
My heart started racing.
“I majored in agriculture in college and I minored in grafting. I run a farm equipment business but have gotten away from what I once loved.” Now I was sure I could actually hear my heart, not just feel the pounding.
He stretched back on his stool, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. Then he enthusiastically explained the details of how the branch of one tree is grafted into another as if he were telling me a page-turning story. I showed him the paragraph in my book and asked him questions. He made it all so clear.
I’m not sure if I was more surprised that the prompt to talk to this man really was from God, or that God was personal enough to meet me at an airport barstool. Apparently, God was meeting this man too, right over his hamburger and French fries. He thanked me after our exchange as if he’d been reminded of his boyish love for trees and for grafting, a love that needed rediscovering.

Twelve years later, this conversation remains my most memorable business trip. Still. I can’t remember where I’d gone or even who I met with on that trip. I remember it only because I’d felt seen and heard by God.
God showed up when I was in my suit and heels, and He winked. We shared a secret. During those days of client presentations, excel spreadsheets, and conference calls, He was whispering, I want to meet with you, here. What I might once have considered a waste of time conversation with Him in the midst of a demanding day—became, instead, food for my hungry heart. It was a gift of hiddenness during a season when my work required me to be on during the workday.
God’s currency is communion—a relationship that grows, nearer still. A relationship that is cultivated when no one else is looking. A relationship accessed not just when we feel we need His help but at all the odd times that punctuate our agenda-driven days. A depth of relationship that feeds the recipient in the way that productivity and accomplishment just cannot.

What a waste. What a beautiful waste.

https://www.biblegateway.com/blog/2017/08/meeting-with-god-in-the-airport/