The headlines across all news media has my head spinning and my spiritual  knees becoming tired and worn out from my incessant prayers that somehow, somewhere as I lament,  will be part of God’s plan–as IF He needs my help–to miraculously intervene in this crazy mixed up world of the 2000s that I–and many others–feel is out of control and headed down a slippery slope, much like an avalanche that is out of control, gaining speed with every slide, destroying everything in its path. When I can’t wrap my head or heart around the “why’s” of this world, my thoughts often turn back to my Gramma Jewell, who was a bedrock of faith for our family. As I was doing some small household chores this morning, I got to thinking about social media and the things we post, mainly me, that tell others what we’ve accomplished…photos of family and pets…vacations at home or abroad…what kind of “posts” would my gramma have shared from her life than spanned the 1900s to the 60s? Here’s a few that came to my mind…

• Got married today. He sure is a handsome fella, hard worker. He’s pretty rough around the edges but my parents gave us their blessing.
• Got home from our short honeymoon today. I was so excited to begin making the old farmhouse “ours” but that all changed. Our few belongings were packed, waiting on the porch. The farm has been given to Clara and George. Where do we go now?
• Clarence and I welcomed our first gift from God today! Our beautiful baby Virgil was born.
• Somehow we are making it through each day. Clarence works from sun up to sun down in the fields. I’m keeping busy with Virgil who’s been joined by a few more “precious” gifts…Joy, Lyle, Russell…God–You sure are blessing me with these babies! It’s got Clarence rather concerned most days. Life in the 20s and 30s is some hard economic times for us farmers….but I sure enjoyed a good belly laugh today. I caught Joy feeding Russell and our newest piglet from the same bottle! It feels good to laugh, Father.
• Sent Russell and Jack to town today to buy flour. I sure hope they don’t get in a tussle on the way home. My Russell is a bit of a boy, never one to turn down getting into a scrap, but he’s kind and loving all the same. I did overhear those two bragging about Russell did smack some boy pretty hard while Jack held the bag of flour.
• The Lord has seen fit to give me and Clarence some more daughters and sons! My oh my, my life is pretty full! Our dinner table is crowded. Somehow we manage to feed our family, even if  it means daddy eats last and Jack and Helen share a glass for their milk. Thank You Father for our cows and Your bountiful blessings.
• Today I made 9 loaves of bread. I sure keep our woodstove stoked. We’ll enjoy that fresh bread for a few days, then I’ll make more. Making our bread has gotten easier. Somehow Clarence was able to get me a dough mixer and the older boys are a big help turning the handle. They don’t complain much. Maybe it’s because they know momma will make them “jiggers” for an after school treat. A lil bit of deep fried bread dough rolled in sugar sure fills up them empty bellies, Lord.
• My heart is broken Father. This baby I’m carrying came early. We’ve given him the name Robert. He’s so tiny….we’ll love him and wait for Your divine Hand upon His life…..
• We buried little Robert today. He lived 6 days. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him….I’m so grateful my sister Esther is here to help with the children while I heal….
• Clarence and I had a disagreement today. We’ve got some neighbor children who don’t have a momma anymore. Their daddy is working hard, trying his best. Those children are smart. I have figured out they know when supper time is at our house and that I won’t turn them away from a meal. Clarence sputtered at me that “it’s hard enough feeding my own kids, Sadie…” I usually don’t speak back to my husband but today was different “Clarence, those children are hungry”. I’m grateful the Lord helped me keep my tongue from taking on a tone that wasn’t pleasant or disrespectful to him.  Somehow, my soft gentle rebukes are enough for my husband to settle down. Somehow, our meager provisions fill hungry bellies.
• I think our family is complete now, Father. Baby Ann has joined her 10 brothers and sisters.  She’s perfect and precious, just like all my children that you’ve given us.
• I’m tired this morning. This war our country has joined has me up til 2 or 3 am praying for my boys. It’s a practice I’ve added into my daily life now.  I’m anxious for every letter I will get from one of them, and the hugs I’ll cherish when they come home on leave or for good.
• The war is over, Lord. Thank You that all my boys are home safe.
• Lord, I am overwhelmed by the blessings my children gave us. They put all their money together and built us a house. It sure is nice and oh my, I’ve even got a greenhouse to grow my favorite flowers. Maybe I’ll even sell some, but not on Sunday Lord–that’s Your day…and the berry plants! Why, I can see me canning jams and lining up pies on the washer and dryer for everyone to enjoy for Sunday dinners! The chickens better keep producing and providing. I’ve got lots more bellies to fill now, Lord, but I’m not complaining. Thank You, too, for our lil Brownie. He’s a good dog. Daddy got him for me since my eyes aren’t so good anymore. 
• Oh, the weddings. Sure am getting me some beautiful “daughters”.  The grandbabies  are starting to fill our arms and home! Each one is “precious”…I don’t have to decide who I love the most; I don’t have any favorites…they’re all beautiful and perfect.
• Father, You have always been faithful to answer my prayers. Clarence has made the decision to receive You into his life. I guess age 55 isn’t too late to change a man!

Gramma didn’t have modern appliances. Her home was clean, hot in the summers and cold in the winters. Her hands were always busy…making doughs…canning fruits and meats…washing clothes by hand…cleaning up messes…planting her vegetable garden…picking berries…folded in prayer at every meal and during those late night sessions with her Father..and always on the Sabbath.

She was never one to brag or complain. At least, I never witnessed such things. I was blessed to have her in my life for 14 years.  Somehow, she chose to keep her hurts and deepest concerns inside her quiet soul, only to be turned into a prayer when it weighed upon her mind. Maybe we could all learn a thing or two from her example. Not everything needs to be posted for family and friends to see, but rather turned into prayer at the end of the day or  in the dark quiet hours of the night, when all the chores have been done for another day, bellies are full, and the sounds of soft content breathing from sleepy boys and girls can be heard coming from bedrooms…. filling the air as a new day is about to dawn.

In an earlier post several weeks ago, I wrote about not believing in coincidences, that with God life is purposeful and He has sovereign control over paths of life even when I or you take a detour derived in selfish desires or curiosity. This week in March, from the 21st to the 24th, is forever etched in my memories because of significant events that have been life changing for me and DO confirm that God has a plan, one that is often unseen as He weaves lives together, writes stories, knits new life…This week in March houses the date my parents married…the dates each was called “Home”…I’d love to write about what this week means to me as it rolls around every year…

It’s 1945, a warm March day on the 24th. Dad is in the midst of a 30 day leave from his assignments serving in the U.S. Navy, a break from wartime battles…to come back to Saginaw and marry the gal he met when she was a mere 17 year old graduating from high school. In about a month’s time a wedding was planned. She purchased her gown at a cost of $27.50, flowers were ordered, food and beverages for a reception held at her parents’ modest home were made from loving hands. The sun shone brightly with a light breeze to comfort the guests, mainly family. Following a brief honeymoon dad returned to his duties and mom began marriage living and waiting for his return….

In the fall of 1998 my mom began experiencing pain in her abdomen and began losing weight. Having survived breast cancer already, I know she lived in denial for a few months that “something” more serious than aches and pains associated with aging  was a silent culprit. A visit to her physician and several tests confirmed our fears…a second cancer had come, this time attached to the bladder and slowly invaded the health of her kidneys. After two rounds of an invasive chemotherapy medicine, she stopped treatment. She left the hospital on a Thursday to be home, the house she and dad built together in 1953/54…on Sunday, March 21 she was called “Home”….when planning her service we were asked if the funeral was okay for March 24…my dad was in a daze and when I realized the date I asked “Dad, that’s your anniversary, are you up to it?” “Let’s do it”, he said. Once again, mom is separated from the man she married, but living and waiting….a new living, a new kind of waiting…

In February of 2012 it was obvious that my dad’s life was truly waning, the ravages of age and dementia taking their final tolls. My brothers and I got Hospice in place and living final days or weeks with our dad became the focus of our thoughts. On Saturday, March 24, my brother, his wife and granddaughter visited dad. By now he was non responsive, sleeping most of the day and night. They left for home late afternoon and 20 minutes into their drive, a caregiver called to tell Mark dad had quietly slipped away. He was gone….now “Home” with mom, parents, relatives, friends, war buddies….mom’s waiting for her “Johnny” has arrived in the twinkling of an eye…

Though their deaths have given me a lot of sadness, even in that I cannot help but smile to think how God orchestrated a wedding, two homecomings that centered around an earthly union on the 24th…how He wrote the final chapter in the lives of two people who were together just over 50 years, now together for all of eternity, living and worshiping the Lord they both loved and served…no more waiting.

Yes, this is a hard week for me, but it’s also a good one, full of wonderful memories along with examples of how to live, how to love, how to let go but not forget. How to look for and recognize God’s Hand in my own life…how He’s directing my own steps…weaving and writing my own story…one that I hope and pray leaves my children and grandchildren feeling the same as me…grateful for who God gave me as parents…grateful for a heritage of faith….grateful that though I miss both of them tremendously–admitting that at age 68 there are SOME days I long for one of dad’s hugs or mom’s quiet voice telling me “It’s about time you got here” (when we walked through the door every time we came to visit)….I. Am. Grateful. With a heart that is both empty AND full, I marvel at God’s timing. It’s perfect every moment, every day, every week…I can kind of hear God saying sometimes as He guides me through life “Let’s do this…..” and all the voices of loved ones who went before me joyfully proclaiming “It’s about time you got here!”. When the twinkle of God’s eyes and gentle voice calls me “home”.

Recently I saw a meme on social media that said (my paraphrase) that when a person pops into our dreams at night, it’s their way of saying “I miss you” and “I wanted to visit with you”. While the sentiment behind this statement is very endearing and most likely comforting for many people, myself included at times, in reality it makes me cringe with everything inside me when I measure it up against sound theological doctrine. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but as a woman who truly wants to know God, understand His ways and ALL of scripture–even the hard stuff–I can’t ignore telling you that our loved ones who have died do not come back to visit us in dreams with messages. Certainly, it doesn’t mean that our dreams don’t allow us to enjoy good memories of our dearly departed loved ones. Lord knows, I have and do dream about my now deceased parents, brothers, grandparents….it’s never occurred to me they are trying to talk to me. 

When I dream about my dad he is vibrant, full of energy and love, laughing and loving which was the core of his personality. Dad lived with dementia for 3 ½ years which robbed him of who he was for almost 90 years. In some of my nighttime dreams he is no longer living in memory care, has returned to our family home, yet as I journey through the dream I am worrisome, concerned that his room at the care facility will not be available for his return even though I have been paying the fee every month.

Dreams about my mother are different. She died of cancer and often my dreams focus on her love for her home…cooking and baking…being with all of us which was one of her favorite things in life. I can still remember a dream when she and I were at a banquet (party) and she was enjoying a third piece of cake. I had said to her “Mom, you’re eating a lot of cake!” to which she responded “Didn’t you know that HERE we can eat all we want with no fear?” Perhaps the excess cake incident gave me a glimpse of heaven’s bounty without earthly boundaries….

My brother also died of cancer. Our relationship hit some rocky spots for a few years and thankfully before he died proper amends were made from both of us. When I dream about him we are happy, laughing, young, full of energy and he is whole again.

Last night I dreamt about my dear Aunt Esther and Uncle Harold, though the dream’s events focused more on her than him. Set in a home that was not theirs, she was busy in a kitchen full of bright white cabinets. She was preparing a meal, scurrying about the kitchen with no effort. My son’s family was with us and there was an implication that when the day’s activities settled down she’d be reading and teaching our grandson, age 3, from a stack of books. All of the images in my dream make sense…Aunt Esther was a teacher by profession. She loved to teach and learn new things. She enjoyed hosting family dinners in her home. She was a wise, loving woman who sought after God and the study of scripture. When I woke from the dream I thought it odd that it was Aunt Esther I had dreamed about. She’s been gone a while now. When I opened my social media account I saw a post from her son. Today is her birthday. I know there are no coincidences with God and as I said, I don’t believe that Aunt Esther is missing me and came to let me know. Even so, if it sounds contradictory, perhaps God gave this dream on this day with her as the focal point, to give me some time with her.

That’s how I think about all my dreams that have my loved ones “back in them”. I choose to believe it’s God giving me a little bit more time with them during my nighttime hours of slumber and rest…knowing I will have all of eternity with them when I pass to heaven. Years ago I asked my dad if he ever dreamed about his parents after they died. “Yup”, he said. “I think it’s God’s way of letting us have a little more time with them.” I drew comfort from his gentle wisdom and insight in that conversation.  Now I’m enjoying wonderful memories that flood my dreams….visits…meals…laughter…with dad, mom, Dave, John, in laws…aunts and uncles….soaking up all the “little bits of time” being returned to me.

This thought provoking question was posed in my morning devotion reading: Who would you like to have at your dinner table? I didn’t have to hesitate very long before someone popped into my head, and no, it wasn’t Jesus. Though He certainly would be the best guest, I had to go with someone else. I chose my grandparents, Eduard and Ida Hillert.  Let me explain why.

The current war events in Ukraine have stirred many emotions in me, also causing a lot of questions about my mother’s parents to resurface. I’m of European ancestry, mainly German. Grandpa’s Declaration of Intention to pursue United States citizenship (of which I have a photocopy) shows that he was born on December 24, 1884 in Koenigsburg, Poland. Family oral history states he was orphaned at age 4 at which time he was cared for by a foster family into his teen years, following that period of time he lived on his own until coming to America July 26, 1911. One of my first questions is “how did his parents die…what was going on around their home around 1888 to lose father and mother….did he stay in Poland with the foster family…what kind of trade did he learn as a young adult?”

When my mother told me about how her parents met, it was always accompanied by some giggling. Apparently my grandparents met at a dance and he was quite taken by this slightly older woman. (Grandma was born in 1882) Memories tell us that he proposed to her three times before she responded “what do I have to lose…no one else is coming to court me”. Grandma’s father was a schoolmaster, taught in their home, and according to my mother her German was impeccable compared to grandpa’s working man dialect. Mom told me grandpa envied his wife’s grammar and control of her German.  They were married October 8, 1908 in Poland. Together they had six children and while grandpa made the oceanic voyage to America in 1911, she and the oldest child Natalie did not join him until October of 1913.

The SS Cassel carried my grandfather from Bremen, Germany to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania but he made his way to Saginaw, Michigan where he settled on the east side of the Saginaw River to work, eventually buy a home, and wait to bring grandma and Natilie to him. They sailed to America on the Kronprinz Wilhelm from Bremen. I located a photo of the 14,908 ton ship which was built in 1901, scrapped in 1923. All the families, men, women and children, those who manned this ship–all the conversations in multiple languages, experiences, now gone, forever perished beyond imagination. The SS Cassel was built in 1901, was sold to the French for a time, before being scrapped in 1926. She could carry just over 2,000 passenger….I wonder how many people she brought from Europe to other countries besides America…all the old left behind, new lives being carved out amidst many unknown,  all with a hope for a future that included safety and security…

Back to dining with my grandfather. I’d like to ask him when he first heard of America and how his goal to come here took birth inside him. How did he feel about going from extreme poverty as a farm laborer to gain a position with a railroad company working on mechanical repairs to the engines? How easy was it to learn to speak German, Polish, Russian and English? Were you always a Lutheran and how did your relationship with God ebb and wane in the face of adversity, both in Europe and in America?

I would ask him what my mother was like as a little girl? She was the youngest. Is it true you really spoiled the girls with new dresses every year when many families were struggling financially during the Great Depression? 

What was your reaction, grandpa, when Hitler went to war in your homeland? Was it difficult to think about relatives you and grandma left behind who were now under that cruel regime? A paragraph Form 2202 says you will “renounce” forever ALL allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty….furthermore you swore that “I am not an anarchist”.….and by evidence of your signature that was your oath on May 22, 1939 to the Clerk of the Circuit Court in Saginaw, Michigan. In the lower corner of this form is a photo of my grandfather, no smile, looking very serious in a suit and tie. It’s apparent that pursuing citizenship in America was not taken lightly.

I would reminisce with grandpa and ask to hear story after story about his life…meeting and marrying grandma…coming to America….having five children born in Saginaw, the boys having to enlist in the armed forces in World War II to fight German men….was that heartbreaking? How did you reconcile that in your mind? Were any and all loyalties to the “MotherLand” now permanently gone, just like the scrapping of the very vessels that brought you here? I’d want to know, to hear him explain in English with accents of German here and there.

My grandfather died in 1948. He succumbed to cancer. I never knew him, only by the memories shared to me by my mother, my aunt, and my dad who married into their family in 1945.  Grandma passed away peacefully in her chair one evening in 1952. One thing my mom always said about her father (Pa as she referred to him)  was “he would have spoiled you, Susan…he loved his girls”. Though the thoughts of being spoiled sound good in the moment, gifts and trinkets fade, tarnish and eventually are thrown away. What I’m craving is actual conversations, stories and experiences to be told with gaiety and laughter when sitting at a meal. Having dinner with my grandparents would be grand. I can only draw from my imagination what those conversations would sound like. 

Two things bring me comfort in the absence of physically knowing my grandparents. First, I have the memories that have been told to me by my parents and secondly, I know that when I get to heaven they will be there. I’m hoping–guessing?–there will be plenty of time to find a table, prepare a delicious meal of good German foods, pull up chairs, and with fork in hand ask “So, grandpa, grandma, tell me about ……”

Until then, I’ll cherish what I know now, what I’ve been told….I’ll try to use their life experiences to have empathy and great concern for the people in Ukraine, praying many will be able to relocate to new homes…near and far…to once again feel safe and secure.

It’s 1979 and I was very lost. Not physically but really, deeply lost emotionally and spiritually. I thought I had made choices in life to set me up for recognition, success, value, social and economic status, a “happily ever after life” when I left home at age 21 to marry a man that I met in high school. After four years of feeling unloved, unwanted, and pretending that “everything was okay” to my friends and family, I found myself tired of being sick and tired, tired of the battles to know who I was as a woman, a wife, a friend….one of God’s kids…even though I was very far from Him. In fact, until 1979 I realized I was only pretending to know Who God was. Ash Wednesday 1979 changed my entire life. Everything.

When I left my marriage of four years, after a short time living with a friend, I moved back into my childhood home. Fortunately, a bed was still in my “old” bedroom and I soon fell into a new rhythm of living with parents, going to my full time job, all while transitioning from being married to returning to single life that came with an adjective that caused a lot of pain–divorce. After the initial shock of my new found circumstances, my parents rallied around me and we began this new life as a family of three, making many mistakes–mostly me–as we trudged our way through each day not really knowing how to always act or what to say. Coming home at age 24 was difficult. I had grown used to coming and going as I pleased–for the most part. I had given up all household chores but that didn’t mean my mother let me off the hook! On the contrary, coming home didn’t exactly earn me a free ride.

Coming home also meant being part of my parents’ routine, especially since my move in date to my old bedroom came right before the Lenten Season in the church year. My home church–which I had not been inside of since my wedding except a couple times–hosted a mid week lunch on Wednesdays during Lent with an evening service. Mom and dad attended both and soon I joined them, mainly for the free meal and to be around people who would turn out to be positive influences in my emotional and spiritual healing. So, the Sundays I attended church with my parents, which led into Lent carved a path laid out by God and one that shook my world.

Please imagine that you can see me sitting in the pew, several rows from the front of a very large sanctuary that can easily seat 750 people. On this night, Ash Wednesday 1979 there were probably less than 200 people in attendance. I’m next to my mother and Pastor Jim is giving the message. I don’t remember at all what his text was, what he taught us but I distinctly heard one sentence that he said…”Jesus died for your sins”. How many times had I heard that simple truth since my confirmation years at age 14? My usual response that I muttered to myself upon such a statement was to say (huffing with pride) “ya, for y’all, because all of you are pretty messed up….” THIS time,  that familiar pride didn’t kick in along with a haughty inside laugh. What happened instead is that it was as though I was the only person in the room and God allowed me to hear “corporate” YOU become “personal” YOU, YOU Susan. YOU. My entire body took notice when I comprehended what I’d just heard and if acknowledging my emptiness and need for a Savior wasn’t enough, God sealed the experience with a deposit of the Holy Spirit that started at my lower back, traveled up my spine, causing me to literally shake my shoulders and head as though trying to shake off a chill. I looked around to see if anyone noticed what had just happened. Nope. That brief moment was between me and God and honestly, I’m not sure I understood the massiveness in the mere seconds He touched me. Confirmations would come later and new spiritual senses would allow me to fully understand the new work that had begun in me. I didn’t tell anyone about my experience. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how people would respond. Would they think I was crazy? The Holy Spirit wasn’t exactly Top 10 teaching topics in my church at that time. I didn’t even tell my parents. This was something special and admittedly, scary. An unknown totally foreign to me.

When we got home from church that evening, we settled into watching TV–lots of 700 Club episodes in my weeks back home–probably had a cup of tea and a light snack–the three of us cozied up in the living room, bedtime somewhere 10 and 11. For some odd reason my mother came to my room that night to tuck me into bed, this 24 year old daughter of hers that had caused her a lot of prayer, tears, arguments, and truthfully–shame. I layed under the covers that night, waiting for sleep to come as mom sat on the edge of my bed, her beautiful hands and long fingers stroking my hair, pushing strands away from my forehead with her gentle strokes. While loving on me with such tenderness she asked “Is it good to be home?” Before I could answer, God deposited another spiritual truth into my spirit…I was experiencing TWO kinds of home….the house I grew up in since 1954…and God’s home….salvation, made possible only through His Son Jesus Christ. Mom was asking how it felt to be back with her and dad…God was asking if it felt good to finally be a part of His family…..Still trying to process everything that I knew had changed for me that night in church, I answered my mom, “yes, it’s good to be home…as I recalled the tingling up my spine…God’s physical manifestation of His presence in me.

When I woke the next morning, I headed off to work, still thinking quietly to myself about the night before, and how good I felt. I had renewed hope, joy, peace. Other than being thankful for having these new emotions to explore, I didn’t give a lot of thought to this “Jesus thing”. But God wasn’t finished letting me know that change had indeed taken place. Steve F.,one of our vice presidents, approached me near my desk and said–finger pointing at my face–”you’ve changed. You’ve done something different with your makeup. You look different today.” I stood there laughing, defending myself! “No, nothing’s different. Same ole me”. We both laughed and went back to our desks. Wait. Wait. “Wait”, I told myself. Something DID happen. First I got a Holy Spirit back massage, now I was witnessing a facial from Him too! Looking back, and applying what I know now, my entire countenance had changed. No makeup artistry can do that–well maybe–but in all sincerity only the deep work of the Holy Spirit can produce results that cause others to notice, ask questions, and walk away without any answers that make sense.

So, these 43 years later, I am SO grateful I can still remember my Holy Spirit massage. My “cosmetic makeover”. The gentle strokes of my mother’s hands as she soothed a shameful, hurting child who had also been touched by the Master’s Hands. All because I came home….”Yes, mom. Yes, God, it’s good to be home….

*******

My friend, if you have read this and don’t have a relationship with Jesus, I urge you to simply look up and fix your eyes on things above. Maybe you need to close your eyes. Maybe you need to sit down. Whatever or however you need to do to find quiet, may you do so. And like me, all those years ago, come to a place of humility and accept that YOU are a sinner–all of us are–we ALL fall short of God’s glory…but Grace. Grace and salvation are yours. Ask. Receive. Be welcomed “Home”. If you don’t know how to talk to Jesus, if you aren’t sure about this “Jesus thing”, please contact me. I’d love to talk.

Growing up, I was fascinated with being surprised. Learning new things. I was curious, inquisitive, to the point of driving my parents crazy with all my questions. Looking at my life and personality now…I haven’t changed. I STILL love learning how things are made, how our world was created…trying to wrap my mind around the vast expanse of our universe while trying to comprehend there are no boundary lines. There’s no end, no wall a space traveler could bump into and declare “There! I made it, time to turn around…” I cannot comprehend the concept of infinity and eternity even if I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the wonder and awe trying to answer my curious questions and wonder.

Intertwined with my amazement about our world  is my conceptual understanding that I am living a life that does not hold or entertain “coincidences”. I used to accept seemingly strange or quirky experiences as good fun, an opportunity to shrug my shoulders and laugh them off as a nice lighthearted moment. Not anymore. Before you get worried that something catastrophic happened to change my mind, you need not worry. Actually, my arrival at this place of no longer being surprised or challenged by an unexpected set of circumstances evolved over my 40 years of following Christ, reading scripture, discovering some key passages, and listening to many different biblical teachers.

One of the first scripture verses I encountered when reading through the Psalms was Psalm 37:23. Here, I am using the Common Jewish Bible translation because, well, I like it, ok? It reads: “ADONAI directs a person’s steps, and he delights in his way.”  Other versions say “establishes”, “orders”, “blazed by God”. I’ve used this verse when teaching people that God indeed plans out our day and the very path/direction we are to go. From personal experience, I can tell you it’s pretty cool to be able to look back on a day and see the how’s and why’s of where God took me. I’d like to share a few.

A number of years ago I was headed to Kroger for our weekly grocery trip. On the way I spoke to God out loud, explaining to Him (as if He needed my help) that I had some extra money and would like to shop for some new clothing items. In my mind I thought I’d go to Target but He clearly interrupted my prayer and told me “No, I want you to go to Younkers”. I was caught off guard. I was surprised. “Younkers?” I asked. I reminded him I NEVER shop there…their prices are above my budget. But, as I got closer to the shopping mall,  the leading didn’t leave or fade and next I knew I had parked my car and entered the anchor store at the end of the shopping mall. I made several purchases (they DID fit my budget) which made me happy but I was confused. I obeyed. I went to Younkers but there had been no one, no obvious indication of why I was there. Until I descended the elevator. As I passed the jewelry counter I casually asked the lone clerk, an older woman, “how’s your day going?” Her face turned toward me (I had obviously caught her off guard) and she replied “not so good.”  I stopped, thinking our conversation would be very surface in nature, but before I was fully prepared, she began to pour out her heart to me. Her marriage of nearly 50 years had ended. Her dependence on her husband’s income as his spouse was over. She had taken the sales position at Younkers in an effort to begin providing for herself, start over….anyone who’s been through the trauma of an unwanted divorce can understand. I had some experiences similar to her as well as our daughter. I drew from those paths to let her know that she’d be okay, that God heals, restores, and provides in ways we cannot imagine. She thanked me for encouraging her and we said our goodbyes. I thought I was headed to Target but God knew a beautiful woman in Younkers needed His message of love, hope, and encouragement.

When our children were elementary school age, we took them to a waterpark in Michigan for a one day excursion. We enjoyed all the attractions the park had to offer under a hot summer sun which included floating down the “Lazy River”, a winding path that soothed tired muscles and allowed complete enjoyment with little to no effort. All four of us liked the river; it was a perfect ending to our day, and added to laughter and great memories we looked forward to sharing during the almost two hour drive home. We got our hot tired bodies to the car waiting for my husband to let us in, toss in our bags, but to OUR surprise, the car keys were not in the pocket of the shorts he had worn all day….yup. The car keys enjoyed every water ride he went on….and now they were gone. We made our way to the park office to ask (literally cry) for help. “Oh, this happens so often”, she said. “Chances are your keys are in the Lazy River. It’s easy!” she said. “Just walk backwards in the river while running your foot along the bottom edge of the wall. If they are there, the current of the water pushes stuff to the side.” We did as she instructed, leaving our two kids sitting at a table by themselves. I’ll spare you with the number of people who said “hey, do you know you’re going backwards?” “Whatcha doing?”….Every memory from the waterpark has faded except that one and the conversation with our kids at the park table eating a slice of pizza while we waited for a locksmith to arrive. My husband was angry at himself. I was tired and by now trying to entertain two kids who were anxious to get home. As we discussed our current situation, it was our daughter who spoke up and said very confidently “Well, maybe dad lost the keys so we’d have to stay here longer. Maybe there’s a bad accident on the expressway God is saving us from.”  My husband and I looked at her, looked at each other, and without hesitation we agreed. How could we argue with a youngster who was paying attention to important lessons being taught not only by us, but by others at church.

Perhaps the most poignant teaching I learned about “coincidences” was from Rabbi Daniel Lapin, a biblical scholar I’ve come to enjoy. In a short YouTube video, he teaches there is NO Hebrew word for coincidence because with God there are NO such thing–everything He does is with purpose. When I heard that I had an aha moment and tied it right back to Psalm 37:23. Thanks to Lapin’s teaching I’ve got a richer understanding now as I think about my day, what I will do, where I might go, the journey to get there…who will I meet? What will my message be? Where are we going, God? I’m willing to listen, willing to obey, willing to go. But, please, no more lost car keys, ok? Unless You may be protecting me from something that I may never know about other than to know You are good. You love me. You establish, order, blaze…each day and path.