Diane Williams - Angels in Action - Stories to Inspire

Tiffany checked out the living room and kitchen. “Everything’s fine here, too,” she reported.

“But Mom said she saw them come in. Tiffany, did you forget to lock the door?”

“No, you must have forgotten to lock the door. Mommy told you to lock the door!”

“No, she told you.”

They paused, looked at each other and asked, “Who locked the door?”

For weeks I had been attempting to explain to the girls the value of securing our home. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine four drunken men stumbling inside our living room for five minutes would help Jasmine and Tiffany learn the importance of being responsible for locking the doors.

Reflection: Go within and BE VULNERABLE …therein lies your power. Your vulnerability allows God to enter and teach you lessons.

Did you ever want to disobey God? I have. I had been undergoing physical therapy for three years, ever since crippling chronic arthritis took residence in my body. During that time, my daughters, Jasmine and Tiffany, had to take on most of the responsibilities of our household, and I must say they did a good job of it—usually. Through the combination of physical therapy and prayer, my improvement had been slow but steady.

On one particular day, I arrived at physical therapy first thing in the morning, just after the girls had gone off to school. Early on in my illness, these sessions were pure agony. I had noticed in the last few weeks, however, that I was getting through my exercises with a minimum amount of pain. I was encouraged and so were my therapists and doctors.

At the end of my session, I got spectacular news: my physical therapist told me I could start driving again. I hugged her and squealed with delight. I particularly missed being able to drive my car.

My first thought was to surprise the girls by picking them up after school. Truth be known, Jasmine and Tiffany had not been getting along very well recently. I knew this was just a phase sisters went through, but it still disturbed me. Because of my illness and the absence of their father, who had walked out on us a year earlier, I believed that we had to pull together more than normal. We couldn’t afford to be torn apart by petty squabbles—we had to be there for each other, without question.

The previous night, the two were arguing about something monumental in their lives and Tiffany called her older sister “a social outcast.” I didn’t think that such a relatively mild insult would make Jasmine so angry. Jasmine was fifteen and felt very grown up and superior to her eleven-year-old sister.

The next morning, I instructed Jasmine to walk over to Tiffany’s elementary school in the afternoon so they could take the bus home together. I could see the scowl on her face, but she promised she would.

As I drove up to Jasmine’s school to surprise her, I noticed she was not walking toward Tiffany’s elementary school, but instead was sauntering away in the opposite direction.

I pulled up alongside my daughter and rolled down the car window.

“Oh, Jasmine,” I called in an even voice.

She couldn’t disguise the shock on her face.

“Mom! What are you doing here?”

You couldn’t blame her for being surprised. After all, just this morning—as every morning for the past seven months—she had left me home in bed.

“I told you God works miracles,” I said. “Now, the question is, what are you doing here?” With a gesture, I motioned for Jasmine to get into the car.

“I’ll ask you again,” I said, disheartened. “Where are you going?”

“To the mall,” she said in a small voice.

“To the mall,” I repeated. “Is that where your little sister goes to school? At the mall?”

“Well, ah…” she stammered.

“Jazzy, what were the instructions I gave you this morning?”

“I know, Mom. Pick up Tiffany from school and come straight home.”

I glanced at her, nodded my head and silently prayed, God, what am I supposed to do with this child?

Jasmine and I drove in silence over to the elementary school where I spotted Tiffany on the playground. I could have wept with relief. Tiffany ran over to the car.

“Mom, you’re driving!”

“Therapy’s starting to pay off.”

“Great! Now you can pick us up from school,” she said. “I’m tired of waiting for Jasmine every day. She takes too long to get here.”

Now that I had Tiffany, I knew I needed to deal with Jasmine’s disobedience.

I prayed silently, asking God to help me to discipline her. The response was quite appalling. Immediately, I questioned the tyrannical nature of God’s instruction, yet I maneuvered away from our usual route and headed off the main street. A biblical passage, II John 1:6, popped into my head: “And this is love: that we walk in obedience to His commands. As you have heard from the beginning, His command is that you walk in love.”

I knew I had to obey.

“Where are we going?” Tiffany asked from the backseat.

“I’m taking your sister some place where she can be on her own,” I said evenly. Turning to Jasmine I said, “Since you do not want to follow my directions, I have decided to let you be an adult.”

Jasmine was too stunned to respond. I pulled over to the curb, reached into my purse and pulled out a coin.

“Jasmine,” I said. “Here’s a quarter and your freedom. Go and be an adult.”

Jasmine couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, fear in her eyes.

“I know you’re only a child, but I need you to take more responsibility. I’m not able to be there to look out for you, as a healthy mother would be. You girls cannot act like other teenagers, being rebellious and defiant. I have to be able to trust you.

“If you don’t want to be here, then you are free to go. Get out and decide what you want more: to be a responsible teen or an adult. It’s your decision.”

Jasmine began to cry.

“Please, Mom…I’m sorry,” she said. But I refused to listen. Reluctantly, Jasmine got out of the passenger seat. When she closed the car door, slowly I pulled away shaking uncontrollably. I yanked my right hand from the steering wheel and grabbed my heart. I thought it had fallen. I questioned my actions and began praying the moment Jasmine left the car.

Oh, Lord, please be with her and keep her safe, I prayed. Know that her mother loves her enough to teach her a hard lesson.

Tiffany started crying when she realized I was really going to leave Jasmine.

“Moooom, why did you leave Jasmine on the street?” Tiffany wailed. “Aren’t you going back, Moooom?”

“You want to go with her?” I asked.

“Nooo, Moooom,” Tiffany said, now crying harder.

I kept driving, but kept my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, keeping Jasmine in sight for as long as possible. I was heartsick about making my little girl feel so frightened, but I was convinced this would turn out to be a good lesson for both of my daughters; after all, I obeyed God.

I decided to drive a few more blocks, thinking that would be long enough to give Jasmine time to think. Then I would drive back and pick her up.

But instead, Tiff and I returned home.

The phone rang. It was Jasmine. Her voice was still thick with tears.

“Mom, I want to come home. I’m across the street,” she said. “Your therapist brought me.”

Inside, I rejoiced that she was safe.

“We have a responsibility to each other,” I said, “and we will discuss it further when you get here.”

When Jasmine walked up to the house, both Tiffany and I greeted her at the door with smiles and hugs.