By MARY JANE HOLT
Contributing Writer

It's those tiny, almost inconspicuous threads woven into the minute details of life where I find God most often reveals himself. And thus my faith continues to grow.

Like last Monday night I lay in bed wondering where I get off speaking so boldly about and for Jesus Christ. “How do I know?” I asked myself. “What is it about Jesus? What makes Him worthy of the role He has in my life and the lives of so many believers?”

You would think we would reach some plateau where the questions cease. I keep hoping, but for now the queries keep coming.

After hours of prayerful searching I reached conclusions I have reached many times in the past. Jesus Christ is worthy because He understands. He identifies with me. He has been where I am. He has faced every temptation I have ever faced. He feels what I feel. I recalled again how He prayed in the garden for another way. As the cross loomed near He wanted an out. Yes, He was God, but He was human, too.

The one big difference is He wore His humanity without sin. As an unblemished lamb He died for me, in my place; He gave His life so that I could have eternal life.

Okay, I know many things must often come into play before you can recognize Jesus for all He has been, is, and can be for you. Wish I could help you there, but I can't. Ultimately you are on your own in that search (we all are). The best I can do is tell you a story or two from time to time.

As you know if you read my column regularly, I had surgery about six weeks ago. It went well. I was happy until the end of the third week when the first hives appeared. For a week they popped out at random with no rhyme or reason to where and why they were appearing.

It was no big deal. I am an allergic person and no stranger to hives. I don't think I even began to put two and two together until the day I woke up with my face swollen and I was having trouble breathing.

I live more than 30 minutes from the hospital, so I immediately took what medication I had on hand. Before we reached the facility I was breathing better, but starting to react to the drug I had taken to help me breathe. I will spare you the details of an interesting day at Fayette Community Hospital except to tell you I am deeply grateful to Rick Barth, PAC, Holly Holmes, RN and others whose names I never knew, for such efficient, compassionate emergency care.

By the time I left for home, yet another drug or two had been added to the arsenal I detest taking every day. An attitude was setting in.

On Monday evening the depression grabbed hold and held tight for about four to six hours. On Tuesday morning as I prepared to go to Atlanta to see more doctors, anger became the dominant emotion.

My allergist confirmed suspicions that I had begun to react to the sutures which were now being absorbed by my body. Then the new surgeon, with whom I had to consult after seeing the allergist, outlined the various options I had for continued treatment for problems that still are not solved.

With distasteful thoughts bobbing all around in my mind I asked my son (and chauffeur) to take me to the Buckhead Diner for lunch. He frowned, but drove in that direction. After a couple of minutes I told him to turn around and head south, that we'd find some place neat for lunch on the south side. He grinned.

As he drove I began to say my thank yous to my heavenly Father for my son and all he has done for me in recent days and weeks. When I spoke again I said, “Take me to Hooters for lunch.”

“What?!”

“Take me to Hooters on 19&41.”

“Why?”

“Isn't that your favorite place to eat?”

“It is. They make great chicken sandwiches.”

“Then let's have a chicken sandwich.”

We made our way to the only empty table we could see. It was in the back corner on the left. Close to the cash register where all the waitress congregated. I could see my son was pleased.

The sandwiches were delicious. The service was excellent. And, yes, the waitresses were beautiful.

But the sight to behold lay outside the building. After I finished my meal I sat gazing out the window at the rain falling on the pavement. I love the rain. My gaze ventured beyond the parking lot, past another expanse of pavement and through a patch of woods to a huge white statute of Jesus Christ kneeling in prayer...

I gasped.

“What's wrong?” asked my son.

“It's Jesus, kneeling in prayer.”

He walked around the table to see for himself. “There's a cemetery over there through the woods. You just can't see the rest of it.”

He had no way of knowing my thoughts over the past 48 hours. And I could not explain at that moment what the vision meant to me.

So I just tell my stories with full knowledge that those inconspicuous threads woven into the minute details of life not only cause my faith to continue to grow, but they bind us all together in strange and unique ways as God works His miracles in and through us when we least expect it.