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An inconvenience turned divine

Lillian Giesbrecht

When I answered the door and saw her standing there with a suitcase, I sighed internally, “Oh, no.” I remembered how once we had told her to come whenever she was in one of her marriage dilemmas – but now? The timing couldn’t have been worse.

It was the grubbiest day of our renovating spree. Furniture had been pushed into the spare bedroom and along the hallway. The living room and dining room walls were draped with plastic sheets, and the floor was covered with large chunks of cardboard. The renovator surely didn’t expect traffic.

Hoping my reluctance wasn’t showing, I invited her in and beckoned her to follow me to the cluttered spare bedroom where we could talk. Closing the door, I said, apologetically, “If you can cope with this chaos, please stay.”

“This is great,” she offered shakily. “Just forget about me. I feel like sleeping forever. I’m so tired from crying. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a sedative and knock myself out.” Through her sobs came the briefly told story of a nightmarish husband and wife tangle.

As I left her to sink into oblivion, I felt despair as to how we were going to help her, seeing that we had neither the time nor the emotional energy to enter into her grief wholeheartedly. I begged God to see us through this unwanted twist.

Later in the evening, the renovator gone and she more relaxed, we visited briefly over supper in a disoriented kitchen. We did nothing more than listen to her soul pouring itself out. Perhaps in the morning we’d all think more clearly and have fresh insight and wisdom.

Ironically, in the morning, we learned that God Himself had counselled her in the night. With great interest and even greater joy, we listened to her experience. Not able to sleep, she’d turned on the light for something to read. First, however, her eyes had fallen on the wilted and dying plant I had had full intentions of discarding. She identified with it, thinking her life had become just like it, though once she had bloomed spiritually. Then, as if guided, she found the book, Insecure Christian. Rather than try to sleep, she devoured its wisdom. Contrition started. Brokenly, there in that disorder, she had offered back to God her dried up life, and repented to the best of her knowledge.

When she had finished recounting her episode, she asked to be taken to the bus. There was a new tone in her voice. “He doesn’t want to see me, I know, but I’ve got some answers now. I’ve got things to say. I’ve got to try at least.”

How overwhelmed and surprised we were with her changed attitude, and with the fact that God hadn’t needed our human counsel at all – only our chaotic situation. As we waved goodbye, my husband and I could only marvel at how such a huge inconvenience had turned out to be so divinely designed; the timing, which we thought couldn’t have been worse, had turned out to be just right for what God had in mind.

Don Miller said, “Let us watch our interruptions. We may find in them God’s messenger.”

Lillian Giesbrecht is a writer from Kelowna, B.C.

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Last modified May 3, 2001.

© 2001 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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