A Divine Appointment

Some of you have read my post from last month about Julie Weller, a remarkable woman and a beautiful influence on my life. This is another piece of that story that I've been hoping to share for awhile. It's a bit of a love story, about how God takes care of His children even on the dark and ugly days.

On Labor Day last year, my older son accompanied me to Los Angeles so I could tell Julie goodbye. We left by plane about 6 A.M. to return home about midnight that same night. On a previous visit, I had rented a car to travel between the airport and her house, but this time I didn't have it in me to drive. So, with some hesitation, I rented an Uber for the first time. That decision turned out to be so beyond my expectations.

I had been up late the night before, packing and--let's be honest--crying quite a bit. So, I was worn out before I even got up at 4:30 A.M. to head to the airport. I fully intended to sleep on the plane. However, as the sun slowly crept up in the Eastern sky, the stewardess on the flight kept talking and flipping the lights off and on. Sleeping was out of the question. By the time we landed in L.A., Peter was awake and excited to be in the city. I, however, was a tired, nervous and emotional wreck.

We called for an Uber driver and went to wait at the stand. A man with an Uber sticker pulled up in a car with tinted windows and began yelling at the girl assigned to his car. I started feeling even more anxious.

Then our car pulled up. Our driver introduced herself to us--an extremely sweet lady with a clean vehicle, playing classical music. She asked our names. Then, the ride began. It was going to take about 45 minutes to get to the hospital, and again, I hoped to sleep. By then, though, bright Los Angeles daylight was heating up the freeway making it hard to do so. Plus, I felt odd sleeping in her car, especially since she kept glancing at us as if she wanted to talk.

I'm not a person who loves small talk, but under normal circumstances, I would have tried my best to make conversation. This time, though, I was tired and emotional. I felt spent. Exhausted. Sick. It is a funny thing, though. . . I kept feeling like God was nudging my heart to say something to her.

I REALLY didn't want to. I curled up, silent, looking out my window instead. I even prayed and asked God if I could just have some time to myself and not have to talk to anyone. Ha. His plans are so much better than mine.

After about 20 minutes, she tells my son, "I don't mean to bother you, but you look so much like someone."

"Who?" We ask politely.

"Do you know who Keith Green is?" She says.

Of course, we do.


Keith Green, courtesy of Wikipedia

My kids grew up knowing some of his music, even though he died the summer I was eleven. Tom and I still sing some of his songs at church and around the house. Keith changed the world.

So, we told our Uber driver yes, we know who Keith Green was. I told her how my son Peter not only looks like Keith did, but is also a musician. Peter plays music in our church. We talked until it got quiet again. Then, she asked us, "Since you're believers," she said,"can I be really frank with you?"

"Of course." 

She told us that after she saw us, before we even got in the car that morning, she could sense an anointing of God on us. She said she could tell that we weren’t faking, but living authentic lives for Jesus. She had wanted to say something to us then (This is why she kept giving us strange looks, starting—then stopping—to speak.). However, she didn’t want to behave unprofessionally. What if she was wrong? How would all of this sound if she started talking about it to us and we didn’t even believe in God?

But we did believe in God. So, then she opened up to say she was wrestling with Him about something in her life. She was thinking about being a missionary, but struggling with that decision. She came from a war-torn country and suffered a lot there as a child. She was blessed by the opportunities available to her and had become comfortable in her new life in the United States. Frankly, she didn’t want to suffer anymore. She didn’t want to leave. Yet, she felt as if God might be asking it of her.

She told us that she was thinking of her former country and wondering why God lets people suffer when he could fix all their problems if he wanted to. She felt troubled by all this and wondered if I could possibly understand her feelings.

By this time, I was quietly bawling in the back seat. Through tears, I told her that I could indeed understand. First of all, I had been a missionary myself for many years. Secondly, I was on my way to visit my friend who had cancer, knowing that although God could heal her, and bring her back to us fully recovered, he wasn't doing that so far. I had learned a lot about suffering during my time as a missionary, but I needed to remember the lessons I learned back then. God always, always, ALWAYS has a plan. I've seen that to be true time and again in my own suffering. He was always good. Even when we couldn't see it at the time. Now, in such a time of grief, I needed to remember it again.

She told me it was hard to come to terms with the fact that sometimes people in other countries are persecuted just for their faith. They go to jail after doing nothing wrong, innocent, but punished. My son and I looked at each other across the back seat and smiled. We began to tell her of our friend, who was held captive for seven weeks in one of the hardest prisons in the world, and how God used that time to work miracles. How he, with his wife, saved lives in that prison, secured the releases of other prisoners, taught about Jesus and started a microbusiness to benefit captives who were without resources for food and beds. God allowed such a horrible, scary thing to work something amazing. He is good. Even when it's hard.

Then, the driver cried. She said God sent us to her. We said God sent her to us. We needed each other to talk to in such crucial moments in our lives. Who would have thought this would happen? But God did.

I told her I was hungry and would like to stop for food on the way to the hospital, so she pulled into a drive-though. Then, she offered to buy Peter and I lunch. We told her she didn't have to do that and she said, "Please, let me do this for you. Let me bless you." She went on to say that she wished she had more time with us to talk. We were nearly to the hospital and she wished there was a way she could hear more of our stories about life lived as missionaries overseas. 

And then, I was caught stunned like a deer in the headlights. Bewildered, I unzipped my backpack, the one I had organized tightly and carefully the night before. In my limited space that had to include a change of clothes and plastic flamingos for sweet Julie, I had slid two copies of our book, Stacking Stones. 

I leaned forward as our driver paid for our food. "I don't usually do this," I tell her, "but I felt prompted by God to put this in my bag and bring it with me. I guess it was for you." I set the book on the front seat, and she looked at it, puzzled. "It's a book of our stories," I told her. "From when we were missionaries." 

More tears. 

We rejoiced together that God sent us to meet at such difficult moments in our lives. Then, she began to ask Peter questions about what it is like to be a missionary kid. If she went overseas, she would be bringing her daughter.  She had lots of questions about what the life of a missionary kid looks like. Again, I marveled at God's grace. I was so grateful that Peter was with me and realized that their meeting, too, was a divine appointment. 

About five or ten minutes from the hospital, our driver pulled over and turned off the meter. She told us she didn't want to charge for the rest of the ride. 

Blessed as I was by the conversation at this point, I had been feeling nauseous since we left the airport. By the time we got to the hospital, I was so upset about saying goodbye to Julie, I literally thought I was going to vomit. As our driver drove around near the entrance, trying to find the best spot to let us out, I told her, "I have to get out right now. I think I'm going to be sick. You need to stop the car." So she did. Then, she took my hand in hers, right over the emergency brake. 

She prayed for Peter, Julie and me, and as she prayed, hours of nerves calmed down. My stomach settled, my heart settled a bit--I actually felt fine. I felt peace. 

She asked if I was okay, squeezed my hand, and I walked in that peace with my son into the hospital lobby. Yes, it was a hard day. Yes, I had to sit down and cry another time on the way to Jules' room. It still hurt. We were still suffering. This time, though, my tears were from grief and not fear. This time, I knew that God was there with us, in control, and I knew that he loved us because He had sent me someone to remind me. 

BEST UBER RIDE EVER.

Thanks, Nini. Wherever our God leads you, here or to foreign soil, may you walk with Him closely and may He continue to bless you abundantly every day.