His Lovely Personality: Stories of God in Many Precious People, Hope Petrash

My name is Hope, and I owe my life not just to God directly, but to God in many precious people. Even before I was born, the church--that is, the believers--in Houston and in Austin were praying desperately for me. Since I was born two months early and weighed only two pounds, my parents and I know that the reason I am here today is that literally hundreds of people prayed me through every breath of the first six weeks of my precarious existence. To this day I occasionally meet someone who approaches me and exclaims, “Hope! Do you remember me? I visited you in the hospital when you were just this (measuring out about six inches with their hands) big!” And while I'm swallowing a giggle at the idea of my remembering someone whom I saw as a “preemie” in an incubator twenty-two years ago, my heart is filled with thankfulness to the Lord, for I know that here is another person whose prayer and care sustained my parents and kept me alive.

So from the very beginning, I have been inundated with the love of God through His living expression, the church (Ephesians 1:22-23). I never had a chance to doubt God, for from the cradle, a deeply-rooted, life-controlling love for Him and for His heart's desire, the church, was infused into me by my parents. As a child, my knowledge of God, my realization of His lovely personality, came not so much from a direct revelation of Him, but from seeing Him in the church, the people who filled my life.

Implicitly I knew the Lord's supreme worth when as a toddler I watched Mr. Thomas* sing love songs to Him while he fixed the plumbing at the meeting hall, the place where the church in Irving met together...I experienced His tenderness in the way Mrs. MacPherson held me through waves and waves of gut-wrenching sobs when I found out we had to move away...I witnessed His selflessness and willingness to sweat in Mr. Brown, a leading brother in the church in Irving and father of three, who, having overheard me tell a friend after the meeting on Sunday that the room I stayed in during college was sweltering, spent the afternoon sawing and hammering after sending me off to spend time with my friends, to return to a room made new by a perfectly-installed air-conditioning unit. I touched His forgiving heart in my mother's reaction to my terrified confession of a shameful lie I told her...I saw His reality when, coming in unannounced to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's house, I found them washing dishes together and praying name by name for each person who had just left their home after supper and a Bible study. Growing up in the church in Irving around people such as these, how could I help but believe in the living God?!

Of course, this is not to say that I never experienced the Lord for myself. Ever since I received the Lord Jesus into my heart at the age of nine, I have come to know Him a little more each day as a real, living Person inside of me. Each time I open to the Lord by conversing with Him throughout the day and reading the Bible in prayer, I gradually know HIM--not just know about Him--more and more. And the more I know Him, the more I fall in love with Him. At the same time, as I said in the beginning, my experience of the Lord is inextricably bound up in my experience of Him in people. The following incidents occurred in college, during which I was away from my family, yet cherished by my “extended family,” the church in Irving, Texas.

*****

“Here we are again, Lord,” I sighed with a wry grin as I sat on the side of the freeway, dangling my feet from the back of my pickup truck and trying to ignore the trickles of sweat that were growing quickly into streams under the merciless Texas sun. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and I had been driving back from my job in Dallas after a busy day of classes and work, when my truck--a vehicle whose self-appointed mission was to enlighten its ignorant owner concerning the intricate inner workings of a Ford Ranger by making her aware of one part after another that broke down--determined that this time I needed to learn the significance of a starter, and so there I was, stuck on the side of the road yet again. After what seemed like hours, but in reality was only 25 minutes, my rescuers arrived. It was Ruth and Deborah, two of my friends from the church in Irving whose lives were a vivid illustration of the fact that it is “more blessed to give than receive (Acts 20:35).” “Hi!” they greeted me, as they approached bearing cold water to drink, an abundant supply of snacks, hearty hugs not in the least deterred by my sweat-sticky state, and oh, such refreshing smiles! In an instant I forgot my weariness and frustration, and instead felt love for the Lord welling up inside me. It was Jesus who came to me that day on the side of the freeway.

And it was Jesus in Mr. Johnson who accompanied me to the auto shop the following day. He brought his daughter to keep me company while he watched the mechanic like a hawk to be sure that no one took advantage of me; it was Jesus in Mrs. Wongs who drove me to class the next morning, and in Mrs. Ortiz who, despite her terror of driving on the freeway, insisted on driving me 45 minutes each way in frenzied Dallas traffic--and with two rambunctious children in the car--to take me to and from work the next afternoon. What kind of amazing people are these? They are people full of an amazing God, a God who longs to be intimately involved with us, who delights in caring for us in the most personal, detailed, practical ways, a God whose deep desire is to be one with us.

*****

Unfortunately, one of my defining characteristics, and one that holds a special fascination for my beloved middle school students, is that I am very short. For some reason known only to the Lord (although the reason is unquestionably clear to the kids I baby-sit, who look at me, shake their heads, and with profound wisdom declare to one another, “See, that's what happens if you don't eat your vegetables!”--and who am I to destroy the logic so assiduously implanted by their mothers by insisting that I did in fact eat my vegetables, and plenty of them?!), I reached my peak height in fifth grade at the grand stature of 4'10,” and that was that. As a result, trying to find clothing that fits is a nightmare, especially since my legs and arms are even shorter than those of other ”petite” people. It is hard to remember a time when I did not associate the word ”clothing” with the inevitable irritation of hems, rolling-up, and all sorts of alterations. And here is where dear Janet comes into the picture.

Janet is a busy mother of three who not only works full-time, but also cooks delicious meals every day for her husband and children, helps the kids with their homework, attends all the soccer games and tournaments of her talented daughter and son, and is extremely active in the church life in Irving. During my first week of college, Janet handed me a key to her house and invited me to come over any time of any day and make myself at home to study, use the computer, raid the refrigerator, or just relax. She lost no time in discovering my favorite foods, so as to always have them on hand when I was around--which was often--and whenever midterms or finals came around, Janet loaded me up with my favorite “study snacks.”

But the help from Janet that I most appreciated was in the realm of my clothing problem. Knowing how much I hate shopping for clothes and what a depressing chore it is for me, dear Janet would go with me when I needed to shop. I remember going with her to find the clothes I would need as a student teacher. When Janet picked me up, I was in a bad mood at the idea of more hems, and I dreaded the day of shopping. But since to be with Janet is to be with Jesus, after just a few minutes in the car with her, my gloom had dissipated and I felt like a new person. We proceeded to have a sweet and profitable day together. I could tell that Janet was genuinely happy to be with me, not in the least begrudging the valuable time she was taking out of her own hectic schedule to scour the crowded stores of the metroplex with me. Janet possessed an incredible knack for spotting things that would fit me and match my taste, so by late afternoon I returned home with reasonably priced clothes that I actually liked and that--wonder of wonders--needed no alteration! Even better, I returned from the trip with a deeper love for the Lord Jesus, instead of feeling disgusted, deformed and weary. What a contrast to my days of fruitless, painful shopping by myself!

*****

Reading these stories about my life, you can see how blessed I am and why the believers in the local churches mean so much to me. My experiences with them have been my experience of the Lord. They have been the living-out of 1 Timothy 3:16, “Great is the mystery of godliness: He who was manifested in the flesh.”

*Although the people in this testimony are real, I have not used their real names.