I hadn't been to church for two weeks. The Sunday before Christmas, churches throughout the area had cancelled services because freezing rain had fallen in the night and ice was everywhere. The roads were treacherous -- even stepping out on the front porch was treacherous.
The Sunday after Christmas, I had family visiting.
So, here it was, finally -- a Sunday when I could get to church. I was really looking forward to it. I had marked exams all the previous day. I still had thirty-two (!) to go, and the final course marks were supposed to be in by the end of the day, but this hadn't swayed my determination to go to church.
I woke up in plenty of time, but I felt sick. A flu must be coming on. As I lay there mulling what to do, I realized this might be the Lord's way of telling me those exams needed to be attended to a.s.a.p., and that I was dreaming if I thought I could get all of them marked by the end of the day.
With regret, I decided staying home was the best thing to do. I didn't want to spread flu germs, and I strongly suspected that this blunt thought about the exams was from the Lord. Was it ever.
Part way through the morning, my flu symptoms had completely disappeared. (Isn't God interesting.) Still, it took me all day and most of the night to finish marking the exams. I finally got to bed at 4 a.m.
The new university term began on Monday, and I was teaching that afternoon. I had to take the train in, because there were mountains of snow, and bitter winds were forecast for that evening. I had my ticket all downloaded and tucked into my purse. I had put a brand new battery in my alarm clock to be extra sure the alarm would go off just before 7, since the train was scheduled to leave at 8:34. The station is a ten- or twelve-minute walk for me, even with no snow to walk through.
When I woke up, it was light outside. Much too light. I looked at the clock: 8:12! My alarm had not gone off.
I panicked. I checked to see if the university was perhaps closed due to the severe weather. Nope. I left a message with my department: "I don't know what to do. I can't possibly make it to the station in time, unless the train is an hour late."
I logged on to the railway website to find out the departure and arrival status. My train was running just over one hour late.
As I walked out my front door, my neighbors across the street were scraping the windshield of their jeep. They offered me a ride to the station, if I would wait a few minutes while the car warmed up. Even for a jeep, it was a tricky ride on the deep, unplowed snow, so I can't imagine how I would have made it in time if I'd walked. I arrived five or ten minutes before the train pulled up.
I knew I wouldn't want to take my car out any time soon in the predicted -30/-40 wind chills, and I was out of dry cat food, so I had decided I would take an earlier bus from the university back to the train station that evening, stopping off at a mall to get cat food and bite to eat for myself. I'd forgotten that the express bus didn't go past that mall, so I ended up at a different shopping plaza -- a much nicer one, with an actual grocery store inside. The Lord has good taste.
After my shopping and snack, I went back outside to catch the next express bus; the express buses run about every ten minutes.
At least fifteen minutes went by. It didn't feel very cold at first, but the winds were fierce and raw. The wind chill had begun to plummet. Another person waiting for the same bus finally suggested it would be faster to get on the regular bus that had arrived, heading downtown.
The bus just sat there. Another bus next to it was having mechanical problems due to the cold. We sat. And we sat. I began to get worried and a bit irritated. It was at least a ten-minute walk the train station, probably longer in deep snow. My train was scheduled to leave at 7:20. Was this bus going to sit there forever?
I had a nice chat with the lady next to me. Well, at least we're getting warmed up sitting here, I joked.
Finally, the bus began moving.
My walk was fine until I reached a stretch of unplowed sidewalk, a block or two from the station. Walking on piles of bumpy snow was an effort, especially with icy winds pounding me. By the time I reached the station, I was so cold I was close to tears.
Then my heart sank: People were standing outside. The station doors were locked. For the past two years, the railway has had a new policy of opening their (nearly always unmanned) stations no more than thirty minutes before a train is scheduled to leave, regardless of weather conditions. Yet I had checked the website twice -- it said the station would be open earlier.
Now I was mad. Surely it was 6:50 by this time. (I was too cold to look at my watch.) I snapped, at no one in particular, "The doors are supposed to be open half an hour before the train leaves!" Maybe snapping helped keep me from crying, I don't know.
A minute or so later, someone noticed that people were going inside. Ah, so that's it. The doors are on a remote timer. They open exactly thirty minutes before the scheduled departure.
I sat down inside and began to warm up. Warming up quickly was slightly painful; my body was still in shock.
As I sat there, it suddenly hit me.
Oh, my sweet Lord Jesus. My original plan would have brought me to the station at least twenty minutes earlier. There is nowhere nearby to warm up. I would have had to walk to find shelter, but in such extreme cold, this would have been very dangerous.
When I arrived back in town and got off the train, I thought I'd landed on another planet. The sky was eerie, almost solid white from the blowing snow.
The roads were completely deserted, so I walked home down the middle of the street. My scarf soon got heavily caked with ice from the moisture in my breath. But I was perfectly warm.
In the midst of this holy calm, I began to sing a love song to Jesus. I sang it all the way home; the walk seemed to last only a few minutes.
The adventure that had begun thirty-six hours earlier had ended in sweet awe.
So this is what it is, walking in the stride of the Lord. He allows the craziest things to happen sometimes. But if our hearts are surrendered to Him as fully Lord, He sets the agenda. He directs our path, not by giving us a list to follow, but by walking in our feet.
Whatever He allows in the life of one of His surrendered ones is part of His plan; tangled messes give us the opportunity to watch Him at work.
He let me feel sick when I woke up on Sunday, so I would have a fighting chance of finishing the marking.
He permitted my alarm not to ring on Monday. There's apparently nothing wrong with the alarm, because it rang yesterday. But on Monday, when I really needed it to ring, He "broke" it. He knew the train was late. He wanted me to watch what He would do.
He sent my neighbors out to warm up their car and had them offer me a ride to the station, so I would be sure to arrive on time despite the deep snow.
Later, He orchestrated a change of route and a series of odd delays that kept me from arriving too early at the train station, so that I wouldn't freeze.
He kept me cozy warm on my walk home, yet the thick ice on my scarf gave clear evidence that the temperature was still brutally cold.
Oh, but I'm a romantic. I think there's one more. He kept everyone off the roads that night, giving us a hushed, ethereal stage for our private serenade.
~ ~ ~
For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is perfect toward Him.
2 Chronicles 16:9a (21st Century KJV)