How insignificant our daily footsteps seem as we plod through the ordinary. If we only had a clue to how orchestrated they truly are. Join me as I gape in awe at some of our recent ones.
*A shopping trip to Mega LumberLand with detailed list and full intentions of buying bathroom remodeling supplies that fell paint-roller flat for no particular reason. Hence, we left with confused expressions and not so much as a paint brush.
* A compulsion propelled me to excavate the mysterious treasure trove of Mom’s cedar chest. This led to organizing the pictures inside-which overflowed to labeling and sorting all of our own family photos-which led to me vowing to go through every scrap of paper in our office-which led to ‘why don’t we just paint the walls,’ which led to engulfing mass chaos inhabiting three main rooms in our house.
*After writing Mom’s eulogy, I put the papers in a padded folder to try to look muy professional, on a day I felt anything but that.
So why are these random actions significant? If we gone into our crazed inspiration mode, where nothing in our path is sacred in our remodeling path, when Mom died, we would have been down to one bathroom.
And no shower.
For eight people to navigate for four days. Not that it couldn’t have been done, but so we were blessed that we didn’t have to.
And despite the office project insanity, all of Mom’s pictures and special items from her past were pre-laid out for us like a memorablia fan. What great memories they triggered to pass on and made her tribute sparkle.
The padded folder. After giving the eulogy, I scooped all the papers off the lectern that I had gently laid aside as I had read through them. Whew! I was so relieved that I hadn’t blubbered, passed out, or fell off my heels. Now I could just sit down and be in the role of just being the grieving daughter. Once I plopped in the pew beside my husband, the pastor began the sermon, starting with: “I had planned to do a twenty- minute sermon, but it seems that Kelly stole my notes.” The place erupted.
I whispered to Cliff, “Do you think I should I take them to him?”
“Well, yes!” he answered incredulously, as my father-in-law flashed a proud fist-pump for my slick thievery.
I frantically retrieved the papers and tiptoed them up the center stage steps, as if no one could see me. I handed them sheepishly to Pastor Dale. Later, he wove the incident in as a perfect illustration for a point he was trying to make. It was like he had seen it coming, it was crafted in so masterfully.
Besides my mom would have thought this episode was hilarious!
In awe, I sat, as he continued to read on. Psalm 121 was one he plucked out of the blue. There was no way he knew it was one of the very last pieces of scripture I read her. And why did I pick that one? I had no idea it was one of her most loved passages–until I read through some of her bible study workbooks a few days after the all the funeral dust had settled.
So all these incidents got me to pondering: If God shows himself at time a time when our feelers are up and tuned as a result of a desperate need to see His hand in the situation, how often does He ordain our oblivious daily steps? Don’t we need to see him as much in the hum-drum? Do we need to slow down and be intentional about watching for what He is choreographing around us? Or do we just allow His orchestrated notes be stealthily whisked away by thieves such as the time-crunch and busyness gods, chasing the stupid, or just flat being weary of life’s harshness?
Well, I’ve decided to steal God’s notes from Psalm 40:4, for I’m certain He’ll smile and flash a fist-pump when He hears me pray: “Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods. Many, O’Lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you have planned for us no one could recount to you; were I to speak and tell them, they would be too many to declare.” Yes, Lord, open my eyes, because I don’t want to miss a thing! Amen.