Karri Buck – Consultant, Virtual Assistant, Paralegal
Don’t You Quit
We’ve all been there. That situation we just can’t let go of. The one that makes our stomach flip at the thought, the first thing on our mind when we wake, the thing we just keep talking about. That situation.
A handful of years back I was in one of those situations. I had a kid who had not just run off the rails, but had become an entirely different form of transportation, it seemed. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. The situation consumed my every waking moment. As sad, hurt and frustrated as I was with the kid, I was mostly mad at myself. What kind of parent had I been? What kind of morals had I not taught? What was wrong with me? Over and over, I tore myself apart going over should haves, could haves and mourning what would never be. I was heartbroken.
At the time we were attending a small, country church. Our Sunday school class was made up of about 10 couples. There was also another Sunday school class, roughly our size, that we would join occasionally when our class leader was gone. One Sunday, during this overwhelming time in my life, we did just that. We joined with the other class, many of whom I knew, but did not spend time with regularly. When it came time for prayer requests, I cried my heart and eyes out. I am sure my regular class was tired of hearing me lament the situation. I was tired of living it. The conjoined classes were so kind to pray with me over the situation, even though many of them weren’t tied to it in any form. At the end of class I stood visiting with some of the people in our class, when a friend walked up. He had a half-size piece of paper in his hand. He said, “George asked me to give you this.” (George wasn’t in my regular class, but in the one we had conjoined with that day.) I know I gave him a very confused look. “George?” I questioned. “Yep.” was his only response. I shouldn’t have been surprised that George hadn’t given it to me himself; George was a man of few words.
I didn’t know George well. I still don’t. He is a quiet man. I have talked to him a handful of times over the years. I’m loud and I talk fast. I’m pretty sure I scare men like him. He’s a kind man, though. He’s quick to shake a hand, smiles his soft smile at everyone and even occasionally leads the singing when the regular music minister is unavailable. He’s not a small man. The term that comes to mind is “barrel-chested”. He works for the local power company, and I suppose that’s kept him in the shape he is. I guess you could say George is the strong, silent type. Lucky for George, I am not.
That piece of paper that George gave me was filled with life. I stood there reading the poem as tears filled my eyes. I felt courage swell within me. I felt a peace begin in me. I noticed there were four scriptures listed at the bottom of that paper, so when we got to church, I looked them up. Each one was a reminder that we are strong because Christ is in us. The little church does a time of greeting shortly after the service has started. Normally I just shake hands with those within a pew or two around me. Not this day. I bolted across the church, tears running down my face, clambered onto the pew and threw my arms around a very surprised George. I hugged him with everything I had and told him thank you over and over. I said, through my tears, “You just don’t know how much I needed that.” He was stunned at best, (as were fellow congregants!) but when he did finally find words, he said, “I’ve carried that in my Bible for many years. I thought you could use it now.” I knew in that moment, I would never forget George.
I can’t count the number of times over the years that I have read that poem. Sometimes I had it tacked on my corkboard, sometimes I used it as a bookmark, sometimes I just left it sit out so I could see it all day long; but after a point, I too, tucked it in my Bible. There’s a line in the first paragraph that I became particularly attached to. It says, “Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.” I told myself that while praying for my kids, in kick boxing class, walking up and down my road, while working through paralegal school, anytime I needed to be reminded I wasn’t alone. I’d look at that poem, look up the scriptures and somehow, I’d scrounge up the strength to keep going.
Most of our kids are grown now and the situation that I was facing has moved on. I’ve faced dozens of life situations that were all consuming since then. I suspect I’ll face dozens more before Jesus comes to get me. I am blessed to have so many friends who walk me through those times and point me back to scripture, but still that poem and it’s four simple scriptures is where I go when I need to feel like home. Words just haven’t been made yet to describe the peaceful feeling that washes over me when I hold that paper to read those words and scriptures.
A short time ago I took our youngest two to visit one of our older kids. He’s got life by the tail and is living it big, but not for himself, for everyone around him. While we were visiting, we went to church with him; the same little country church we had attended when he still lived at home. I went to my old Sunday school class that morning. It was great to see old friends and hear a dedicated group of folks discuss the Bible. I hugged many a neck before heading off to church. As I sat towards the back taking in the congregation and singing the first hymn of the morning, I looked over and saw George in the front pew. “Give him back the poem.” I heard from deep in me. I paused. Was this just me talking to myself or was this God nudging me? “Give him back the poem.” I heard it again. Ok. Did I have the poem in the Bible I had with me? I have a couple different Bibles, so it was possible I didn’t have it. But, God, right? Why would He tell me to give George the poem if I didn’t have it? Right. I pulled the poem out, snapped a picture of it and set it aside for after the service.
I’m not one to shirk conversations, but I was nervous because this was an odd one and I really didn’t want to screw it up. As soon as we were dismissed, I grabbed the poem and made a beeline for George. The sight of me running at him likely causes terror at this point in his life.
Poem in hand I raced over to him and said, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Karri Buck.”
George smiled that slow, bright smile of his and said in his southern drawl, “I do.”
“Years ago, you gave me this poem and it was life changing. I can’t tell you how encouraging it was for me. It gave me hope. That line, ‘Rest if you must, but don’t you quit’ has seen me through a lot. I wanted to say thank you and to give it back to you so that you could bless someone else.” I said, likely too fast.
I don’t think George is a crier, but there seemed to be some puddles forming in his eyes. He looked at me and said slowly, “I had forgotten all about that.”
“I haven’t.” I said, “And I want to thank you. You didn’t have to give it to me. I know it meant a lot to you.” Then I wrapped my arms around George and gave him another unrequested bearhug. Poor guy.
It took him a second, but he hugged me back. Both of us knowing that God had us in a place for a time and what an honor it is to be part of His plan.
I looked back into those potentially puddly eyes, touched his arm and said, “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
He just smiled as I walked away. I don’t doubt for a minute that George’s work with that poem isn’t through. I haven’t a clue what trials he’s faced in his life, but that poem and those scriptures have seen him through whatever has come his way. Words will forever fail me to explain what his kindness and that poem did for me in that overwhelming time of my life. When you think you have nothing to offer someone who is hurting, remember to think simple. It just might be a piece of paper that you’ve carried around for many years that will make the difference in a person’s life. And when you are worn out, you think your prayers are bouncing off the sky, when tears are always at the ready, when you just don’t have the strength to keep going, remember these two things: someone is always praying for you and rest if you must, but don’t you quit. Galatians 6:9