Gina Gallagher - Whispers of His Movement

Whispers of His Movement

Gina Gallagher

Copyright 2013 Gina Gallagher.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated are taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, NIV Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Front Cover Design: Erin Gallagher
Back Cover Photo: Molly Caitlin Photography

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-0765-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-0766-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916262

WestBow Press rev. date: 9/20/2013

Table of Contents

This book is dedicated to my husband, Michael, and my five children, Erin, Claire, Kevin, Brian, and Molly. There are so many reasons to write because God has given me so many stories in you. My heart overflows with joy because of you.

My life has meaning and purpose because of my Lord Jesus whose Story I never grow tired of telling.

There are Whispers to be heard every day.

Be still and listen.

Follow the Whispers of His Movement devotional blog:
www. whispersofhismovement.com

The house where I grew up had a road in the front and a road in the back. Our back porch, with its wrought iron furniture and glass top table, was the place to be. Not having air conditioning, it was the coolest part of the house. I sat there many afternoons with my mother talking about everything, and nothing, yet still feeling as if all the things I had to say were terribly important to her. She was a wonderful listener. She had the gift of making even the most mundane thing an event. When I met my soon-to-be, many years later, husband, in high school, I would come home and tell her every detail. How I dropped my book, on purpose, and he picked it up; how I did not understand math very well but he was so smart and understood it all; how I wish we could go to a dance together. We went to many dances together, but she never knew. My mother died when I was fifteen years old.

I was adopted and an only child. At a time when people had large families, I had only three people in mine. When families looked like each other, I looked vastly different. My tall 5'10" height seemed strange beside my mother who stood 5'3" and not much better beside my father who stood only 5'7". Stand tall , she would say, always be proud of your height . There is nothing nicer than a tall girl, who enters a room with confidence. Whether that was true or not really didnt matter . It was drilled into me for so long, I believed it . Another gift.

As we sat on the porch many afternoons, we would see people go by. Many days, he would walk by, a small, elderly man, neatly dressed, walking his little dog. His steps were quick and sure. He always wore a hat, which he would tip in my mothers direction. He waved as he went by. We knew nothing about him, but we could set our clock by him. His punctuality was comforting.

I remember a day, when we saw his silhouette coming down the road against a dark, gray sky. He seemed a bit slower, as he passed, since the wind kicked up a bit. It started to rain. My mother jumped up and grabbed her car keys and told me to come with her. We were going to pick the man up and drive him and his little dog home. It felt like an intrusion. It was the right thing to do, but up to this point, our two worlds never met. They were on either side of a screen.

We drove around to the back street, behind our house. My mother pulled over and instructed the man to get into the car. He did not hesitate. He picked his little dog up in one motion and placed it on his lap as he got into the front seat. I dont remember them talking much, except when he gave her directions to his home. That was it. He was safely home. He tipped his hat, in this new place, his place and walked into his house with his little dog in his arms.

Not too long after that, my mother died, a heart attack in our kitchen. Lines were blurred and familiar things seemed unfamiliar. There was a new normal to get used to, jobs to do that used to be hers, and school to go to that was always mine.

At the funeral home, there were many people, saying all the right things, but nothing I needed to hear. I was hot and tired and confused in this sea of faces. I looked up. There he was, the small, elderly man, neatly dressed coming towards me. He took my hand. It was rough. Hard work made its callouses. I didnt know what to say. He bridged the silence. She was my friend, you know. He walked away, the hat he always tipped held tightly in his hand.

I needed air. I went towards the door without stopping. I had to see where he went. I opened the door and stepped outside. It was as if he disappeared. Then I saw him. He was by the lamppost out front. Tied to the lamppost was his little dog, on a leash, waiting patiently for him. He stooped down and rubbed the dogs head, stood up slowly and walked away. I will never forget the shadow of that pair in the lamplight. I often wondered how the man got home. He was far from where we drove him that day.

My mothers small act of kindness bridged two worlds. She saw a need; a tiny one and she met that need with loving-kindness. A stranger became a friend. Go and do likewise . I am beginning to understand.

Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers? The expert in the law replied, The one who had mercy on him. Jesus told him, Go and do likewise. (Luke 10: 36, 37)

If you asked my children to recall a game we played in the grocery store when they were young, they may not all remember. It was not intentional. It just happened. There we were: one mother, five children, two shopping carts, many questions, and many helpers. That weekly shopping trip was an event, a teaching tool really. It was a time to learn how to budget, how to use coupons, how to plan a weeks worth of menus, how to choose healthy foods, how to behave in a store. Little did we all realize that a far more important lesson was being learned.

Often, on our weekly trips, we would inevitably come upon a cashier, or a person behind the deli counter that was not having a good day. The reason didnt matter, but the result of that reason was all over their face. Usually, the littlest one of my children would notice first. That person is not smiling. Sometimes, the dreamer in the group would try to come up with a scenario as to why.

The challenge was on. Could we make this person smile before we left the deli counter or the check out line? I dont know how the game started, but it was important to my children. The tenderness of that desire made the game worthwhile. I loved to listen in on their attempts; listen to their ideas of how they could get that person to smile. Many times, they were met with little success.