Flood of blessings roll in on wet day

Recently when I hired guys to relocate me from North Little Rock to west Little Rock, I knew I’d be moved physically.

I didn’t know I’d be moved emotionally.

Rain poured down as the three gentlemen arrived that Friday (it figures that the freak cloudburst that occurred after weeks of drought began right at the time I was scheduled to move). The lead guy — we’ll call him Mark — began reading the terms of the contract in his polite, soft-spoken manner.

And that’s when I found myself getting coarse and loud.

What Mark read did not match up with my understanding of the move that would now be more expensive than expected. The company manager hadn’t been fully clear in expressing the price and terms. (Though, looking back, I can blame only myself for relying on friends’ recommendations and not doing more research on the front end.) It certainly wasn’t Mark’s fault — he was merely the messenger and had a watery mess of a move with lots of stuff and steps ahead of him.

In spite of my initial huffiness, Mark completely kept his cool. He couldn’t have been more respectful — making sure his men took perfect care of my furniture and addressing me as Ms. Christman every time he had a question. His friendliness and professionalism quickly smoothed over any early frustration. I relaxed and even enjoyed the rest of the moving experience.

Nothing got broken — most importantly my back. Even if it was a bit pricier, the guys did a good job in a reasonable amount of time. As he was saying goodbye, Mark told me, “God bless you and God bless your new home.” I closed the door thinking we’d never cross paths, as I vowed at that very minute never to move again.

So I was surprised to see Mark’s number on my phone’s caller ID later that evening. He called to say he thought he had left his bag and jacket at my house. Sure enough, he had tucked them inside a corner of the garage to keep them from getting wet.

“If you want to come by and get them, I’ll be here all weekend unpacking,” I told him.

“I don’t have a car,” Mark said. It took me aback momentarily. In my small, sheltered world, everyone has cars.

I asked if we (and by we, I really meant my boyfriend who helped me move, unpack and run errands) could take it to him at his

work or house.

Work was closed for the day.

And he doesn’t have a house.

The selfless man who spent several hours and so much energy setting me up in my home would be spending the evening at a homeless shelter.

I held it together until we made arrangements to drop his possessions off at the shelter the next day. And then I sobbed. I recalled how I had moaned earlier about money

and moving, and how Mark, with limited resources and no residence, hadn’t uttered anything less than pleasant. God was convicting my complaining spirit.

Then it became clear to me that God had left Mark’s belongings with me for another reason. So that when he would eventually get them back, he would discover the blessing I felt led to put in his pocket.

But truly, he was the one who blessed me. Email:

jchristman@arkansasonline.com What’s in a Dame is a weekly report from the woman ’hood. You

can hear Jennifer on Little Rock’s KURB-FM, B98.5 (B98.com), from 5:30-9 a.m. Monday through Friday.