THE DIVINE APPOINTMENT

“That’s called a divine appointment!” Jen’s friend labeled her story so perfectly after listening to Jen describe what had just happened to her.

Jen had told Lisa, a dear friend of hers, who had also become a dear friend of the Peace Path, about her uncanny encounter, how the visiting paster from downstate had asked for a favor. Over the years, Jen didn’t find it unusual to have interesting exchanges with priests, pastors, even a missionary once, in an airport. This exchange seemed, though, to be the direct result of a very specific prayer. She had been pleading for guidance.

AUNT CLAIRE

Jen found herself writing again, seated inside the little cabin by the water. A window-full of beauty beside her dramatically opened to her as a sailboat bobbed in the bay, a second boat anchored just to the right. The boats were just before a small group of islands. The mountain in the background framed the scene where a seemingly infinite number of lake blues danced in the light, more beautiful than she could believe. Getting in late the night before, the moonlight highlighted every shape and movement. At brink of day, the window-full was sparkly and bright. But she wasn't here to sit and absorb the lake. She came on a mission, to understand what had happened to her and to absorb the advice she had been given.

She put down her notebook and smiled thinking about her Aunt Claire telling her ‘one day she’d find a good priest.' Jen had laughed heartily as her aunt replaced the words from a matronly verse... ‘One day you’ll find a nice boy.’

It was a Monday. Jen knew that little fact because Mondays were her days of the week to be on duty with her favorite, but weak aunt. There weren’t that many Mondays, her aunt’s time ran out too quickly. In hospice care, many of the family members scheduled themselves to be with her. Aunt Claire was that special. No one would have given up the chance to be with her. Despite her condition, even now, her laugh was so large it was contagious, her spirit so beautiful it was like a song being sung straight from the heavens, her hug so tight, she’d poke an eye out with a lapel broach. Her love of children so strong, every child who was blessed enough to meet her believed they were in fact her favorite. She didn’t have an easy life, Aunt Claire didn’t, but neither her energy nor her humor were ever effected. What was her secret? Jen knew the answer to the question before she even asked it. Aunt Claire’s faith was her center.

Jen looked down at a rough edge of her fingernail, it had split when she was grabbing firewood earlier. Feeling its jagged edge, she remembered that Penny Lane had chewed her last emery board. She took a rock from a collection that was perched on the ledge beside her and scratched her nail against it until it was smooth. The annoyance removed, she examined the other digits, wishing it was that easy to clear her path in each way that was needed.

Back to Aunt Claire, Jen wandered back to that Monday afternoon chat.

“Do you still go to church?” Aunt Claire asked pointedly. Jen was in her second year of college. No excuses made, Jen had lost her way.

“No, I haven’t been in a long time."

“One day you’ll find yourself a good priest.”

That afternoon remained etched in Jen’s heart until present as she let herself feel her aunt’s love. Jen smiled when she pictured the way her aunt looked at her.

Jen knew she had come to write about, "one day you'll find a good priest."

PASTER ADAM

He had misplaced his cell phone, and Jen being the last parishioner left on the church grounds found herself chatting with the holy man with mission… who seemed to have become a regular man on a mission.

Jen had been sitting in her car after the service. It had been a profoundly sad day, where family and friends had just gathered to celebrate a life ended too soon. The friend was so many things to so many people, mostly she pictured him as a great father to really great kids. He was her husband's business partner. Life would not be quite as bright without him going forward. Sitting in the hot sun, she didn't want to go back to her life. She was still taking in that service that they had all just experienced together.

Her eye suddenly caught sight of the tall man in black walking across the grassy lot from the back of the church toward her. Instinctively she got out of her car to greet him. His service to their congregation was touching and meant so much to her, personally. His words were comforting and caring. She felt a need to introduce herself and thank him.

“Paster Adam, your service was amazing,” she wanted to say more but that’s all that came out.

“I think your car is amazing,” was his oddly unfitting reply. “I love fast sports cars. Is it fast?”

Jen laughed in surprise. “Yes, it is.” A tad unsure why the offer bubbled out, she asked, “Would you like a ride?”

“I actually would. It seems I left my cell phone in another car, en route from here, which is most likely at the restaurant in the next town north by now. I don’t even know where the location is, do you?”

Still in surprise from their unexpected exchange, she motioned for him to get in.

As if on cue, tears welled up in her eyes. “I know you’re not on duty.. but here you are in my car,” Jen found herself opening up to him before the car was evening second gear.

“A beautiful thing about being a man of the church, not one specific church, is that I’m always on duty. Tell me, what’s on your mind.”

Just like that, the conversation began, like a longed-for gift on Christmas morning.

“I have been praying for answers and none have been coming, Paster Adam.” She began. “I have several questions.. you really don’t mind..” Her voice cracked, “I really can ask?”

Tears streamed with such powerful emotion as she felt a straight line to her Father, with this kind and gentle spirit seated in her car next to her.

“I need to forgive a man who hurt me.” She paused.

“I believe he was just doing his job. But it hurt so much. It still does.” Another longer pause.

“Our priest at my church ended my faith formation program. Well.. it was much more than a program, it was my offering to our community. It was where I found my faith. It was where others found it. It was called a 'Peace Path.' He took it from us.” She found herself rambling now, spewing like a balloon with a leak.

“He said the grounds were a safety issue and a liability. I have a feeling he was supposed to do this. Because... because of it’s closure I have such a sense, a calling, to write our stories down. But how do I tell them?”

Finding focus from her stream of rambles, “My question is.. Is it a sin to talk about someone if what you’re saying really happened?” She felt relief that the words finally formed from her complicated feelings.

“Two things come to mind,” he replied like a prescription was being filled from the drug store. “First, you know the truth will always set you free." He let those words sink in. "And, secondly, tell it from a loving heart.”

Yes, yes, this... she knew she could do. This would be the paper to her script. She excitedly said, “Yes! I started this chat with the fact that I know he was doing his job!”

Jen knew she was getting an answer to her prayers.

She reached into her bag beside the driver’s seat as she drove north. She pulled out the little, green pocket bible. “I travel with it everywhere to keep safe. And, I believe you were meant to find me today, Paster Adam.”

“What else are you thinking about, Jen?”

With that she told him about how chaotic her life had become. She made no time for peace, no time to learn about her faith from her students, no time to write.

She added that she knew she had been and was continuing to be tested.

More and more opportunities to work further and further away from her desires to pursue her faith were at every turn. She didn’t know how to say no to what she felt was taking her in the wrong direction.

Back when she decided to get her real estate license, she was committed to sharing her proceeds with the Peace Path, to build new ones. Lately it seemed though all she did was work. She still loved the work as much as when it first began, but the work was no substitute for the profound peace she got from teaching, working the path, and writing its stories. How was that recipe working for her lately, anyway?

Again, Paster Adam had two thoughts for her. “First,” he began, “Tests are for good reason. God already knows how we’ll do. But, we don’t know how we’ll do.” As he spoke, Jen listened intently. “My mother was a math teacher and told me once she didn’t have to give her students tests to find out if they knew the material. She gave the tests for the students to see how much they knew the material.”

Jen knew exactly what he was talking about. Jen knew she was being tested by so many things that kept her from her mission. Now seeing these things as distractions, diversions, obstacles, she was determined to get back to work with focus.

Paster Adam went on, “Secondly, there’s an expression in the military… it’s called an 'About Face.' Stop what is the wrong direction and turn to what you are supposed to be doing.”

She knew he spoke with wisdom, meant for her this fine day.

As they talked more on their drive, he asked more about the Peace Path. She told him she believed her story was about spending a life dedicated to finding the good in the world, not being drawn to and dwelling on the negative. He assured her, telling her she was on to something good, indeed.

THE FOUND PHONE

As the pair got to the restaurant destination in the next town, only to find the phone not in the car as the paster had expected, the two headed back south, back to the church again. Their chatter on the way back was about how she knew he had been written into a chapter. He confessed that his wife always encouraged him to get into editing, a passion for story telling was his. Jen squealed with joy, would he help edit her story?! (Was Aunt Claire’s foretelling coming true?)

Back at their starting place, now walking across the grassy lot where they had met earlier, the two newly formed friends walked with focus to find a phone. Jen, raised in the Roman Catholic Church, told the Methodist paster that when she can’t find something, she calls out to the patron saint of lost things, Saint Anthony. “Would you like me to call him for you?” She asked, coyly with a smile.

“In my faith, I just ask our Lord and Savior to help me find my….” Before he could finish his sentence, he reached through the back entrance of the church and picked up a phone that had been lost.

She laughed. He smiled, knowingly. She then saw an umbrella she had left earlier as well, right under where he had left his phone. They warmly exchanged looks of thanks and appreciation for each other.

She would get back to her writings. She had stories that needed to be shared.

A month later, she and Penny Lane sat in the rented cabin by the water with notepad and a long weekend holiday set aside for writing. What a gift. She made a note to thank her husband for the generosity of spirit and support.