Recipe for Grace: One CPAP Machine, 70 Loving Guys, One Great Banquet Community, Marinade for 72 Hours with a Whole Bunch of Jesus

By Troy Foster

I almost didn’t go.  A good friend of mine asked if I’d attend a Great Banquet a few weeks ago.  He and his wife know me about as well as anyone; they know our family; and the kids adore them.  He knew that I wanted to be more involved with our church, service in the community, and most importantly, he knows my story.  When he asked, I was honored but filled with dread.  I didn’t want to go somewhere – anywhere really – for 72 hours without contact with my wife and kids.  While I wanted to give, grow, and hopefully help our kids know God, this seemed to be a bit much.  On top of it, one of my first thoughts was that I have a CPAP machine for sleep apnea, and was either going to lug that around (embarrassing) or snore beyond anyone’s imagination (embarrassing and disruptive).  That was almost the nail in the coffin.

But, Henry had told me that he had seen God.  In fact, he told me about the angel’s tower in Heaven, how it looked and sparkled.  And he asked “Don’t you want to see it?”  So, I thought about that.  Thought about how my friends, with hearts of pure gold, have never asked me to do anything.  So, I was in.

And petrified.  Though I’m paid to speak in front of groups and am an advocate, on the personal side, I’m terribly shy and socially awkward.  Uncomfortable could not begin to describe my feelings at the outset.

Then it got hard.  Someone shared a story that unlocked my feelings.  Fear, sadness, drained, loneliness, joy, and happiness.  All at once.  Feelings that I thought that I handled rather well, given that we have two sons with degenerative illnesses with no cure.  In fact, I thought my purpose in being there was to learn and help guide them on their journey – so that they could love and know God.  But, I soon learned how wrong I was.

I rarely cry.  Or haven’t in the last few years.  It is a valve that I think is too dangerous to turn – and there was just too much.  This past weekend, I let that guard down, and cried more than not.  Shed more tears, hugged more guys, and filled more Kleenex with snot than probably in my lifetime.  I learned that I was there for me. 

I was there, as Henry wisely intimated, to develop my relationship with God.  The warmth, serenity, peace, love, and happiness that I felt, and continue to feel, is inexplicable.

Crazy Talk

Most of what I heard, felt, and have described – I would have labeled “crazy talk” if someone had told me.  I’ve always believed in and felt the presence of God, but not so intimately – ever.  And two experiences since I’ve gotten home have solidified how “real” the experience was for me.

First, Henry and Luke.  When I got home, Henry wanted to know if I learned about Jesus.  And then before he fell asleep, he asked, with his eyes blinking slowly and his words soft from the sleep right around the corner, “Daddy, did you see him?”  He grasped my hand as he spoke.  I hugged him and whispered in his ear “yes, I did buddy.”  And he fell asleep.

Then, after sharing some of my experience with Luke, he went to get his children’s Bible.  And he read a passage to us.  He’s a reader; so we got another passage for breakfast and dinner yesterday.  He loves God.

Second, and even funnier “crazy talk,” has to do with my CPAP machine.  I had it on last night, much to my wife’s delight.  But in the middle of the night, I woke up with a song in my head.  It was a song that we had sung over the weekend “God is a Friend of Mine,” and I started humming it.  And I smiled when I finally listened to the words – not just the tune. 

When I got back into bed, I put my face mask to the machine back on.  As I did one of clips on the face mask fell on the floor.  It’s happened before.  So, in the dark, still humming “God is a Friend of Mine,” I felt around with my foot.  Didn’t feel it.  So, I got on my knees and felt nothing within my reach.  It started to become a bit comical to me.  So then, I was on my knees, laughing at myself, humming – actually singing at this point “God is a Friend of Mine,” and then lay flat on the ground.  In that position, the clip to the mask was just within reach.  I grabbed it, laid there for a minute, and appreciated that a message had been sent loud and clear in something that I would do everyday and not hear if I wasn’t listening.  Well, I was listening.

And plan to keep that intentional listening central to my life.  Who knew that you would find Grace in a recipe like this?  I guess Henry did.  Since it's everywhere, if we're open to it, I shouldn't be surprised.


If you would like to read Henry's story, please let me know.  Three Candles is a book that shares his wisdom.  I'd be happy to get you a copy.