A chance encounter with strangers from a different land. Yet, maybe they were less strangers to me than some locals I might bump into everyday – because we spoke the same language.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
Looked up from my Tozer, where I’d left my bookmark – mid-chapter on Faith. Looked up into a pair of kindly eyes, outshone only by the full head of white hair above them.
“Yes. It is.”
“It must mean something to you – you’ve been writing some notes rather slowly.”
“Yes. … This is one reason I often can’t lend my books to friends. There are many little notes on the side. The beauty of these notes is, I look back some time down the road – re-reading some of these books – and often just marvel at how God has been faithful and merciful. Maybe some of these notes had been addressed. Maybe they still haven’t. Maybe I just don’t need the answers. But He has been the same. He has not changed. And He already knew my today, from where I stood, wrote & questioned in the yesterdays.”
Exactly a year ago, I’d been reflecting on my first few days back in a place close to my heart. A day or two earlier, I’d been out with a friend, admiring tulips at their best. In my journal, I’d written a quote:
May flowers are brought to us through the April clouds and showers.
Exactly a year ago, I’d also just reunited with a community dear to me, and this was one thing from that reunion:
Do not weep and do not grieve or doubt, for Christ’s grace will be entirely with you. – Blessing of St. Mary Magdalene
Exactly one year on, I receive this email devotional, fitted for today:
The strangers shared much with me in the remaining minutes it took to get to where we were alighting (it turned out we were alighting at the same stop). He stood with his kindly eyes; she spoke with conviction about “ordinariness”. The blessedness of the ordinary – even if it lasts for a lifetime. We spoke about David, pre-Goliath. We spoke about Anna, Simeon and their moments. We spoke about the God who recreates “ordinariness” everyday faithfully – and with such colour that you’d think He was doing for the first time, each time.
After we’d parted ways, I walked on, but was still in my mind. Recalled a sermon by Rev Dr MC over a year ago, and the lesson I’d taken away then. Fitted for today:
The strength of the Lord meets the challenge of the ordinary