Just when I start to feel like maybe I’ve fallen off God’s radar, He reminds me that’s just plain crazy.
After all He’s done in me, for me and around me, I should never doubt Him or question His care for me. And yet, sometimes I do.
I’m ashamed to admit this, but when I’m in the middle of circumstances that stretch me beyond my comfy point, I am spiritually wimpy enough to sometimes wonder if God has forgotten to take care of me. Like maybe He’s too busy dealing with things in the Middle East.
I know in my head that’s not true. I know what His Word says—that He promises to never leave me or forget me. I know His Spirit even lives inside me, so where I go, He goes. What I experience, He experiences. What I feel, He feels.
But sometimes I long for Him to put a very personal exclamation point on His promises. And I’m so thankful when He does, when He bends low to meet me where I am.
I think I experienced that recently when I was at a Greenville hospital to have two MRI scans. MRIs certainly aren’t the worst medical procedures to endure, but having two, back to back, meant lying still and flat in that little tunnel for a long time, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
And because these scans were just two of too many medical appointments in recent weeks, I was fighting hard to honor a commitment I’d made years ago: that I would look for opportunities to bless and encourage others at every single appointment and procedure. In the past, that commitment has allowed me to glimpse God’s redemptive purposes in surprising places and saved me from being consumed by frustration and despair.
But on this MRI day, I confess I had a stinky attitude about the whole thing.
My first stop was the hospital business office and after a short wait, I was called back by a guy named Alex with a thick foreign accent. He was very friendly but I sensed he might be a bit unfamiliar with the patient registration process.
As he was struggling to open the right form on his computer, I happened to notice a decorative rock on his desk that had a Bible verse printed on it. I can’t recall the exact reference, but the verse was about trusting God.
“I like your rock,” I said. “I sure did need this reminder today.”
Alex smiled and launched into a wonderfully encouraging mini-sermon about God’s faithfulness. He then hesitated for just a second, said, “I’m not sure why I’m going to tell you this,” and related an amazing story about how God had recently answered a huge prayer for him and his family.
I thanked Alex for sharing exactly what I needed to hear, and he laughed and said, “I don’t even usually do this job. I’m actually a translator here at the hospital.”
Well, yes, Alex, you were translating for me. You took truth you’d learned about God and translated it to someone—me—who was struggling at that moment to understand His ways.
It may not sound like a big deal as I retell it here, but it was a big deal to me.
I don’t really wrestle anymore with doubts about the existence of God. I know He’s real. But sometimes when I get weary of hanging on by faith to what I believe about His character and love for me, it sure is nice to be reminded.
And on this day, God graciously made His presence known through a translator named Alex. The guy who wasn’t supposed to be in that office … but was.