A sunny Friday morning. My husband and I were traveling to an event in North Carolina, where I was scheduled to speak.

When our plane landed in Charlotte, two voicemail messages appeared on Bill’s phone — one from his father and one from the nursing home where his sweet mother was fighting a losing battle with cancer.

As Bill listened to the first message, his face went ashen. I waited for the news, certain what it would be, praying I was mistaken.

I was not.

“Mom passed away this morning at 6:45.”

Tears pooled in my eyes. I’d known my precious mother-in-law longer than I’d known my own mother. How could Mary Lee Higgs be gone?

As the plane taxied toward the gate, Bill and I consoled one another with a jumble of words, none of which made sense. We were comforted knowing she had stepped into the arms of her Savior and was free from pain. But it was still hard. So hard.

Moments later, we rolled our luggage into the concourse, realizing a decision had to be made.

Weeks earlier we’d discussed the possibility of this happening and decided that, if we were traveling to an event when the news came, Bill would fly home and I would stay and speak, then join him as soon as possible.

It seemed like a good plan then.
It felt like a terrible plan now.

The only place I wanted to be was home with Bill, his father, and our grown children. I longed to comfort each of them, help with arrangements, serve however I could.

But I had promises to keep. A hard-working committee had planned two years for this event, and five hundred women were already headed for the church. I couldn’t bear to call them and say, “Sorry. Won’t be there.”

Would they have understood? Of course. Could they have arranged for another speaker to fly in at the last minute? Not easily.

Bill insisted I press on. “Go and speak, Liz. I’ll take care of everything. And you’ll be home by dinnertime tomorrow.”

I nodded. It was a shorter-than-average trip. But this wasn’t about being practical. This was about being where God wanted me to be.

Then the answer came, swift and sure. God had always known how this day would unfold. Nothing about our difficult situation was a surprise to Him.

He who is over all and through all and in all can handle all.

I put Bill on a return flight, called the church to alert them to the situation, then waited in baggage claim, my heart heavy.

Within minutes a stranger appeared bearing a sign with my name on it. Her expression was tender, her arms open. “We’re so grateful you came, Liz. The committee is already praying for you.”

That evening we agreed not to share my family’s loss with the audience, fearing it might put a damper on the weekend.

But God had a different plan.

By Saturday morning, reality had sunk in. Seated in the front row, I struggled through the opening worship session, dabbing my eyes constantly. By the time we reached “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” my tears were flowing nonstop.

“You’re next, Liz,” the woman in charge whispered.

Help, Lord. I walked onto the platform, turned to face the audience, and broke down. For a full minute all I could do was blow my nose, while women hurried up the steps offering tissues.

I had nothing to give, nothing to say. But God was there.

He dried my tears, gave me the needed words to honor my mother-in-law’s passing, then filled me with a strength I knew was not my own. He straightened my shoulders, lifted my head, steadied my voice. As I spoke about His gift of grace, a renewed sense of energy flowed through my broken and leaky vessel.

The audience was clearly aware of what was happening. I saw it on their faces and felt the same sense of wonder. Later the woman in charge said in amazement, “Liz, you got stronger with every word. It had to be the Holy Spirit.”

Yes, it had to be. Because it surely wasn’t me.

The lesson I learned that weekend? It was not this: If you ever need Him, God will be there for you. Oh, no. It was this: God is always there for you, even before you know you need Him.

“My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.” {2 Corinthians 12:9, MSG}

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