I've made a few promises to God in my lifetime. The ones that scare me at the ones that I don't remember, but God does.
My running tally of promises I know of:
1) If I ever get a book published the advance proceeds of [the first book] will go to a charitable cause in his name (I said the first book almost as if I was assuming I'd write more than one! I suppose I should write a book if I ever want to be tested on this).
2) Not to look at porn knowingly (I made this one back when I was 16, lapsed once around the 18 year mark and been faithful since...the knowingly is because the internet is the internet and the most honest of searches can sometimes scar you for life).
3) To be faithful to the covenant of my marriage.
4) The next time I go to a drive-through window I will pay for the person's meal behind me.
Wait.
What was that last promise? Drive-through? Does that seem kind of odd for a promise to God?
The Christian radio station in our area talks a lot about 'making a difference' at the drive-through. The idea is you pay for the person's meal behind you as a random act of God's love. You won't know the people or anything about them and you drive off with your own meal so you don't receive any kudos or glory on your own. I've heard about it for years and thought "Gee, wouldn't that be a nice surprise."
Of course, I've never done it. I've thought of it before, but I was always gun shy and never pulled the trigger.
Why is it that some of the most innocuous things can be the most intimidating? I've climbed mountains, SCUBA dived, raced cars, taught middle schoolers, but saying an extra sentence to someone in a drive-through window causes me to pause. Maybe it's because it so out of the routine? Maybe I'm cheap?
Who knows.
I made that promise and a month passed without me driving up to a drive-through.
Yesterday, Shane fell asleep in the car and I decided to extend the drive/nap. I went by a Chic-Fil-A and made good on my promise.
It was weird. I kept looking up in my rear-view mirror to see who was going to pull up behind me. Eventually, a guy pulled up in a Honda. He had a hat on and I have to confess my first thought was "He looks like he could be a jerk." I saw a kid in the back though, and I reminded myself the point of the activity was not to pick and choose. It was to freely give when I'm already one of the more blessed people in the world to live where I can drive a car up to a window for a spicy chicken sandwich (no pickle).
I said nine extra words, "I want to pay for the car behind me" and it was done. It made me feel silly for my hesitations. The cashier seemed surprised at first. She said "OK" and then tried to confirm the order from the guy behind me. "I don't need to know. They can confirm." One of the other workers nearby didn't seem surprised and told her what to do. I got my meal, said "Tell them God bless" and rolled away. I didn't even look in the rear view mirror.
When I parked and finished my meal, Shane was still snoozing. I saw my receipt listed everything the other car had ordered. I put it away quickly, because I felt like a snoop looking at someone else's order. I did spy two kids meals before I crumpled it.
It felt good not to welch on a promise. It felt silly to have been intimidated by nine extra words and a little extra cash.
I had to smile when my sandwich had two top buns and no bottom ones. Maybe it was God's way of saying "you'll always come out on top if you're acting for my glory and not yourself." The carbs were welcome.
I had to smile when my sandwich had two top buns and no bottom ones. Maybe it was God's way of saying "you'll always come out on top if you're acting for my glory and not yourself." The carbs were welcome.
Silly little journal, but God's kept Shane napping for longer than usual after he woke up at 5:20 AM. I figured I should do something Sunday related with the gift of time.
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