I hurriedly opened the trunk of my car to throw in my suitcase, intent on getting to the hospital early enough to catch the doctors who were caring for my elderly father. I groaned as I saw the six short-sleeve shirts I’d taken from Dad’s tiny closet at the nursing home. Those should be taken to Dad’s house, but I really don’t want to go there, I thought.
Going up the hill to Dad’s empty house was depressing. It was hard to face the fact that he would never be well enough to live there again. I finally forced myself to go inside and ran back to the bedroom closet with the shirts as quickly as I could.
When I passed through the living room on the way out, I looked out the large window. The tree leaves had fallen and I could see Table Rock Mountain turning a golden pink in the early dawn. The rest of the mountain range was a smoky blue-gray, and a white mist curled along the valley below me. A thought formed clearly in my mind: Sometimes you have to go places you don’t want to go to see God’s glory.
There were other difficult places I didn’t want to go that day. I didn’t want to go to the hospital to deal with doctors and Dad’s critical condition or to the nursing home to communicate my concerns about the gaps in Dad’s care. But if God could send me up to a house I didn’t want to visit to see a sunrise, He could show me His glory in all the other places I don’t want to go.
Father, there are places I don’t want to go today. But if I must, please show me Your glory there.
