It was one of those days. You know the kind: empty, colorless, uneventful. Nothing was happening, at least not to me. All the other Christians in the world were doing exciting things for the Lord. Not me!
Missionaries were trekking through the trackless jungles, reaching natives with the Gospel. Linguists were translating Stone-Age languages into English. Christian engineers were bouncing the message of salvation from a satellite down into China. Even teenagers were busy giving out tracts telling of God’s love.
And then there was me—stuck at home, sitting in my chair, crocheting. Desperate to hear another’s voice, I turned on the radio. I heard the tail-end of a sermon. It sounded pretty interesting, and the preacher was offering a copy for free. I reached for a postcard. Then I thought, I’ve heard many sermons. Why not send this one to my friend Liz? I jotted down her name and address on the postcard.
I continued with my crocheting. I thought of my Jewish friend who was moving away. For three years we had engaged in long discussions on Judaic subjects. I wondered who would witness to her after she moved. I sent up a quick prayer, asking that she meet another Christian friend.
The day dragged on. I dropped stitches and picked up extra ones along the way. The scarf was shaped like U.S. Highway 206 as it meanders through the mountains. As I corrected my mistakes, I thought of the new woman who had come to church last weekend. We had all smiled at her, so I imagined she would return. I did copy her name and address from the guest book. I took a break from my crocheting and wrote her a quick little note. I signed it, “Your friend, Lois.”
What a depressing day. Another 24 precious hours dropped into my lap, and I did nothing with them. A priceless day slipped off into eternity past, wasted. Well, I did run out for a bite to eat. I offered the waitress a small Christian paperback I had stuck into my purse as an afterthought.
“Want something to read on your lunch break?” She thanked me. End of incident. Maybe the day was not a total loss. But it certainly was a “day of small things,” as the Bible says in Zechariah 4:10.
A week later, I learned of the results of my day of small things. My friend Liz received the tape and listened to it as she ironed. The preacher invited everyone to his church. His church just “happened” to be in the town where Liz’s sister lived. The sister was going through a hard time, and Liz had been at a loss how to help her. She sent her the tape.
Liz’s sister listened to the tape. Her son, who was also seeking spiritual help, listened to the tape. He was attending a cultist-type church. They both decided to attend the new church.
Then I heard from my Jewish friend. She had, “quite by chance,” as she put it, moved next door to a Hebrew Christian family who had been missionaries in Israel. They were very friendly and had opened their home to Ruth. Already she and the gracious couple had had long discussions on the question of the Messiah and His kingdom.
That “day of small things” began to look a little brighter. Did I really do something helpful? “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of,” said Tennyson.
I received an invitation to dinner from the lady we all smiled at in church. “I couldn’t believe you had signed the note, ‘your friend,’” she explained. That note began a long friendship and brought a lovely, talented woman into the church. She taught and worked for the Lord for many years. Oh yes, the waitress. Next time I dropped in to grab a bite to eat, she almost climbed over the table trying to throw her arms around me. “Oh, I read the book!” she cried for everyone to hear. “I couldn’t put it down so I read all night long and finished it that same night!”
All that from a “day of small things.” Zechariah was the prophet who cried, “Who hath despised the day of small things?” I know I never will again.