My Moldova Mattress Miracle
Our “Your Story Matters Workshop” in Chisinau, Moldova
I’m just back from teaching in Macedonia and Moldova. There is much goodness to share, but for today, just this one little miracle.
For this event, we were an intimate group of 20, myself and Moldovan women leaders who needed a break. Not only because they are constantly pouring out to others, but living beside Ukraine, in the shadow of Russia, exacts a massive mental and spiritual cost. They were weary.
We drove to a retreat center beside a lake. It’s winter and it is cold. The lake beside us was frozen. The landscape is a stark blend of browns and greys. My room, too, was stark but plenty enough: two twin beds, my own bathroom, room for my suitcase. With jet lag still dogging me, I was especially excited about the bed. I set down my suitcase and plopped on the----rock? Ahhh, I don’t know much about geology but I know a bedrock when I sit on one!
Inspired by the shock to my spine, I began to fret: I just got a cortisone in my hip for this trip. I’m here for two nights leading this Psalms retreat—which includes a lot of body movement. I won’t be able to sleep AND I won’t even be able to lead all the movement tomorrow!
I do not normally have the gift of prophecy but in this case, I absolutely did. With the fun cricks and cracks that go along with decades of runs around the sun, I knew my back and hip would scream at me all night—leaving my mobility, not to mention my ability to form complete sentences the next day---utterly at risk. (And immediately after, we were driving to the prison to share there.) How would any of this be possible without sleep for multiple nights? I complained to God---but no one else. I did not want to be crowned the Ugly American princess-and-the-pea!
But onward I went. In the final session that night we wrote our own Psalm 23. Every woman’s metaphor was personal and lovely, but Luda’s struck in particular. She wrote, “The Lord is my bed. He leads me beside still waters, he lays me down each night on a bed of kindness.” As a lifelong insomniac, I sighed, melted into the image.
After the last beautiful psalm was shared, I returned to my bare room. Resigned to the hard long night ahead, I bent to my suitcase on the floor---- and saw something. There, behind the clothes cupboard, something was stuffed in the space behind it. What was this? Should I touch it? It looked strangely like---it felt like---I pulled it out. No … . but yes! It was a foam pad! I dragged it out and plopped it on one of the twins. It was big enough to double over the bed. SAVED—not by one pad but a doubled pad!
Exhausted from the day, I soon fell into bed (without cracking my back) and slept like a princess. (Or, given my age, a queen.)
The next morning I asked the women, “Aren’t those foam toppers great?” Everyone looked at me blankly. “Don’t you have an extra pad in your room?” The women shook their heads. “No, just our bed.”
Somehow I randomly ended up in the only room with a mattress hidden behind the armoire.
What could I do but sleep and then write a psalm? (with special thanks to Luda)
The Lord is my Host.
He supplies all I need.
He invites me to faraway places
and distant time zones.
Even in rooms of rocks
He leads me to lie down
On the bed of his kindness,
renewing my soul, my spine and my mind.
Yea, though I fly through the night
And teach through the day
I will fear neither failure nor fatigue,
For you are with me,
Your shalom leading me, cushioning my bones.
You anoint my head on the pillow.
You shelter me with friends and rest.
My cup of joy overflows.
Surely your goodness and kindness shall find me
All the days and nights of my life
And I will sleep and wake in joy
in the rooms of your cottage
Forever.
(Above, the incredible Cru women leaders who SO blessed me with their gifts and presence.)
Thank you everyone for your prayers and support while I was traveling. I definitely felt them and needed them! (More coming soon——the next post on my visit to the women’s prison.)
What metaphor would you use for your Psalm 23?
