THE INNKEEPER

It was September 1992.  Mom was in trouble.  Big trouble.  She had often faced significant challenges throughout the years, and just as often, called out for help from family for some sort of financial salvation.  Even as a child myself (Mom’s only child), I had been repeatedly pressed to do my part to bail her out from her most current circumstances.  These events always strained me—financially, physically, emotionally—and eroded my abilities and even my desire to provide support, though duty held me to the course.

Now age 64 and partially-disabled, Mom was in Sacramento, California, living on her early Social Security retirement income.  She was without a car and used one of those battery-powered scooters to help her travel most distances, and while traversing through fair grounds one night, she unwittingly ran her lower leg into a protruding piece of rebar and gashed it wide open.  Infection set in and she became further disabled.  At the time, she shared the expense of apartment living with a roommate—one whom she came to trust and revere as a friend in relatively short order.  After attaining a measurable level of recuperation, she agreed that the roommate should feel comfortable to leave for a desired two-week visit with a family member. 

Those two weeks, however, turned into a month, then longer, before Mom reluctantly and sadly gave into her fears that the roommate had left entirely.  The so-called visit had been a façade; realizing the shelled appearance of an intended return cut her to the marrow.  Mom was abandoned.  What’s more, having already endorsed her Social Security check over to her roommate to pay her share of the rent, she learned that the rent went unpaid.  An uncompassionate landlord presented an eviction order and threatened, most severely, a lock-out by the Sheriff.  Sadly, Mom returned to alcohol for release, which she had successfully quit a few years before, following a lifetime of addiction. 

In her soulfully-injured condition, she called and begged me to turn chaos into order.  So uncertain of what immediate recourse I might take, especially being 900 miles away, I took inventory of my financial condition once more.  It didn't have to take long.  I already knew.  In just three month’s time, it was my plan to return to the University of Arizona full-time and complete my degree.  I was 31 years old and had grown weary of the meager salary that my technical vocation had afforded me.  According to plan, then, I would soon be without an income at all, dependent almost fully on school loans to see me through.  Now, given our history together, I was expected to also find a way to support my mother once her predicament was revealed.  I labored to sustain Mom emotionally, and objectively researched her situation in Sacramento, calling upon a few key people for understanding and guidance.  And, I prayed—much.  Still, the biggest part of me desperately wanted to run.

One Sunday evening in mid-September, I attended a satellite broadcast of a fireside at my Church, that I might find spiritual relief for my own self and temporarily escape the pressures of my mother’s situation.  During that fireside, the story of The Good Samaritan was presented.  I had heard it and read it many times before:

And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.

And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.

And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.

But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him,

 And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.

 And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.

(Luke 10:30-35)

Suddenly, I was profoundly and undeniably struck with a realization and a spiritual witness.  Samaritans are known to have been most despised in the region.  Similarly, Jesus was “despised and rejected of men” (Isaiah 53:3).  Having understanding, I saw that the Savior was, himself, The Good Samaritan.  And, though my mother had been stripped of her money and abandoned by her supposed friend (yet, a thief); though she was wounded without and within; though her landlord had not compassion on her; though even her only child had considered passing by on the other side; even then, the Savior readily sought to bind up her wounds and carry her to a place of safety, where she might be nursed to health again.

 

And so it was that I was called to act in another role in this story—

the Innkeeper. 

My heart and throat swelled, my cheeks flushed, and tears intensely poured down my face and neck.  It was such an astonishing and singular spiritual event that all attempts to describe it in mere words are defied.  Fear not was the Lord’s word to me.  My mother would be delivered to me for care and healing.  I would be sustained in all ways, financially and otherwise.  Then and there, the Lord promised me that if I were found lacking at the end of the day, I would be repayed.  And so he did. And so he has. And so he will.

I was the Innkeeper.  Me.  That great privilege and honor was bestowed upon me!

It should not take long to discern what any of us might have wished to have done differently if called to fulfill the role of a certain Innkeeper—some 2,000 Christmases ago at a little town called Bethlehem—when Our Savior’s birth was imminently at hand. 

Take a moment.  Reflect upon your senses.  It may transform your life’s direction, interactions and relationships with others, and personal reservoirs, as it did for me.

Skinhorse Poetry: "The Sand of God’s Grace and Genius"

Quiet solitude, joyful rest,
Reveal the genius and the grace
Of Him who always loves me best,
Who moves the pallor from my face;

And touches me, a trav'ling soul,
With faith and fortitude aright
To reach beyond the shallow shoal,
Lending strength for the mortal fight—

Pressing me toward higher spheres
Where compassion doth overtake
All company of bitter tears,
Offering healing for my sake.

Heartened, take I Gilead's Balm:
Similitude of Sacrifice.
Caress hope in another's palm—
Deliv'rance from a wound-filled life.

Persuaded through that gentle touch,
Love undulates till ocean's end.
Dearth's want collapses under such.
Breadth, length, depth, height doth it transcend.

Now, truth prevails and is prolonged
In this wanderer come home to see;
God's grace and genius, like the sand,
Flows, unmeasured, in one like me.

- Jacqueline J. Hancock

What Child Is This?

Of all the times that I love to sing, Christmas is my favorite.  From the time that I was a young girl in school, my heart filled with joy and understanding as I learned to sing the songs of Christ.  In fact, one of my fondest memories takes me back to the day that my fifth grade class was preparing to put on a Christmas play of sorts and the feelings that overcame me as I joined with them in singing and moving about the stage.

Teachers were careful to concentrate more on the technical aspects of the play's production, rather than emphasizing the meaning behind some of the Christmas songs we sang.  And, since I didn't have much of a religious upbringing in my home life, I was pretty much left on my own to discover what it was that we were all singing about.

During a dress rehearsal, the stage lights were brought down low, and we all joined our voices in asking:

What child is this, who, laid to rest
On Mary's lap, is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?

The Arrival of the Shepherds, by Henri Lerolle.
The original is in the Musee des Beaux-Arts in Carcassone, France.

I will never forget the feelings that enveloped me when, as we began to sound the reply to our own question, the Spirit of God lit my heart with understanding.  To my young voice and ignorant heart, maturity and strength of conviction were given, and I was literally moved to tears as the message of the Christ Child sunk deep into my soul:

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!

The Spirit taught me that day, and many days thereafter, helping me draw closer to Christ and to know His name, though it would be many years before I would be able to gain a fuller understanding of His Gospel and an ability to bear witness of its truthfulness to others. 

Now, with a fonder appreciation of His Gospel, I continue to sing.  As I do, my hope is that others will, through the Spirit, likewise come to understand the miraculous nature of Christ's birth and life, and to feel wondrous gratitude for all that His life promises us.

So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come peasant king to own Him,
The King of kings, salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

Raise, raise the song on high,
The Virgin sings her lullaby:
Joy, joy, for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!

Begin It Now

Every once in a while, you come across a quote that just pops you between the eyes, bonks you on the head, sends chills up some part of your body, fills your insides with some sort of inspiration, or any combination of the above--then makes you just want to act right then and there to do something monumental.  That's what happened to me in mid-August 1992.

I was discussing a little bit of everyday life with an associate.  I worked at a place called Aristocrat Printing & Design in Tucson, Arizona.  She worked at Alpha Graphics.  Our shop often did specialty work for her shop and I was called upon to consult with her on various projects.  We became rather decent friends, as work friends go. 

And so it happened that one day, she brought me a quote that she liked.  I started to read it, having no forethought as to its content.

I was floored.  I nearly cried, but held my tears until I was alone.  She never would have understood my emotion. 

At the time, I had been working for over 13 years in the printing industry, and while it afforded me a decent living (much better than minimum wage, anyway), I was enormously dissatisfied.  The vocation had never helped me to get ahead financially, nor did my work help me to feel that I made one iota of real difference in the world.  I knew that I needed to make changes in my life; still, I felt nearly paralyzed by my habitual servitude to that life.

Upon reading this quote by Goethe, however, I immediately received strength to pursue a different life's path.  Thoughts flooded my mind, focused on the idea of completing my degree, that I might do something more with the gifts God had given me.  The feeling was intense, the direction unmistakably divine in its origin, and the confidence offered that all financial concerns would indeed work out truly did surpass all understanding. 

Just over three months later, I quit my job, enrolled in college full-time beginning with the Spring 1993 term, and renewed my journey towards completing my Bachelor of Arts in Communication.  I had no idea in advance as to how in the world this would all come together, but I put my full self into motion anyway.  I truly did commit myself to following through with my decision, despite my inability to foresee the future, and despite all the varied fears and realities of life that had stagnated my progression during former years. 

I had already earned nearly 60 disjointed credit hours by that time, but they counted for little when all was said and done, so that I had to start college nearly from scratch.  Nonetheless, three years after my decision to renew my educational journey, I graduated from the University of Arizona, Magna Cum Laude, in Spring 1996. 

Never once during that time did I fear for my financial sustenance, nor did I have cause to concern myself.  "All manner of unforseen assistance and meetings and material assistance" did indeed present themselves.  Naturally, I did pursue and was granted loans, but even these by themselves would not have been enough to cover my school and living expenses for three years.  In addition to these loans, a few modest grants and scholarships were obtained.  Summer jobs in my printing vocation paid nicely.  I received an insurance settlement after having been painfully rear-ended (not the best way to take care of business, but it surely did help).  My mom, whom I had been previously supporting after an emergency move from California, finally won her disability suit against the Social Security Administration (and before a judge who was known to be unsympathetic in such cases), which then allowed her to reimburse funds I had already expended on her behalf the previous year.  And finally, my roommate generously charged me a paltry $150/mo for rent and utilities for the entire period of my schooling endeavor.

To my great pleasure, temporal salvation, and spiritual satisfaction, the sea had spread its walls before me, allowing me to travel to the other side upon dry ground.  Providence--meaning God--moved on my behalf, because I moved first.  I acted in faith.  I did something.  I commited myself to a decision, feeling the strength of the Lord behind me, and I moved. 

Truly, that one pivotal decision made all the difference in the world for me, and I suspect for a few others as well.  It is surely good to remember these things.

King Benjamin stated, "see that all these things are done in wisdom and order" (Mosiah 4:27).  But, let them be done!  Pursue dreams!  Be bold!  Receive genius and power!  Begin it now!