FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY: before {Is anything as it seems?}

This post has been in my head for a couple of weeks. Ruminating. Jostling for attention . . .

I still can’t explain what happened.

I’ll never be able to explain what happened.

The “stages of carving” pieces were given to my Renaissance Man by his friend and wood carving coach.

Last August Renaissance Man performed the funeral of a dear friend; a man who spent his entire life giving of himself to others, sharing the hope of the Gospel with those who needed to hear it. We all need to hear it.

J.B. was instrumental in worldwide disaster relief efforts, but on the home front, he was an acclaimed woodcarver and sculptor, and I was asked to help coordinate a display at the post-service reception to showcase the many facets of our friend.

At our home in Tennessee the “stages of woodcarving” pieces were carefully packed, driven to Texas, shared with his friends and family . . . and then, all too quickly, it was time to repack the display for the return trip home.

That’s when I saw it.

Or rather, that’s when I didn’t see it.

While admiring J.B.’s work, someone must have dropped the wood carving because a piece of one shoe was missing. My heart sank. At first I looked discreetly around the display space—and then I envisioned it dropping on the hard tile and flying across the floor. It could be anywhere. As the room emptied, I looked under every table and in every corner, but the little piece of shoe was nowhere to be found.

Reluctantly I reminded myself:  Sometimes you just have to quit, accept a sad reality, and move on.

And so we returned to Tennessee, the three pieces (less one foot) were set back up in Renaissance Man’s office with another special piece J.B. had carved for my husband’s doctoral graduation.

[Fast forward six months]

START

I’d spent the day unpacking and putting away dishes in the new-to-us antique armoire. Boxes and boxes of dishes that had been packed away for three years were finally seeing the light of day. It was like Christmas!

As I stuffed used newsprint into the last of the boxes headed for recycling, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was tired but satisfied at the day’s accomplishments. Our old house kitchen will someday be renovated, but for now, I could finally access my pretties and get them back into circulation.

I was mentally moving toward a hot bath when it happened.

My foot stepped on something hard on the dining room rug. When I looked, it was a small piece of wood. There had been no wooden pieces packed with my dishes, so I was afraid it had somehow broken off the foot of a dining chair although I couldn’t imagine how.

Looking closely at every chair, I saw they were perfectly intact—but something looked familiar about the little piece of wood.

I took it upstairs to my Renaissance Man to ask him to keep an eye out for something broken. His words were immediate:

That’s the piece that broke off of the carving.

The piece we left behind in Texas?

That’s impossible.

And yet, somehow, I knew he was right.

And then he proceeded to pick up the broken carving and place the tip of the shoe back in place. The hairs on the back of my neck raised. My skin prickled.

I was weirded out big time!

Still am . . .

It is impossible to explain how something lost and left behind in Texas could show up in Tennessee six months later after unpacking boxes stored for three years.

Seriously, just how does one respond to something like that?

STOP

Even as the heebie jeebies vied for my attention, I felt an eerie sense of peace and the strongest reminder that there is so much I can’t explain. So much I don’t know. So much going on beyond what my earthly, finite eyes or mind can see and understand.

I and my tiny piece of this amazing world are just a speck in all of creation, and yet God cares about that minuscule speck enough to bring my attention back to him.

I needed that reminder.

You see, in retrospect, I’d been asking God to

• fit in my box
• make sense of the senseless
• live up to my expectations
• explain himself

In reality, what I needed was a reminder (however strange!) that my job is to trust. Not to understand. Not to see the big picture. Not to convict other people. Not to have all the answers. Not to feel like a failure if my spirit is weak.

Simply trust.

I know . . . Trusting is easier said than done. But I suspect that if I practice more—when trust becomes the go-to response rather than the last response—there will be a visible difference in the way I feel about life. A difference in the way I live. You, too?

What is an area where you need to practice trusting? Let’s help each other!

I’ll go first:  I need to trust God’s timing for the sale of the fifth wheel (tentatively to sell tomorrow!) and the farm.

I’m linking to Five Minute Friday. Join me there?

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