The Messenger

The Messenger

Isaiah 41:13

We all have those periods in our lives when stress of one kind or another has grown inside us to a point when it becomes an entity unto itself. It threatens to kidnap our self-will and overtake what is left of our ability to function under circumstances we feel are beyond our control or influence.

For some of us – unbelievably—coping with extreme stress is the ‘normal’ life. Resources for the basic functions of standing, walking, speaking, or eating are reduced to minimal survival levels. I am blessed to recall only a handful of days, weeks, or months when I was stressed to the point that I could barely keep from unraveling, minute-by-sleepless minute.

Experts on spiritual development theorize that emotionally extreme life-blips such as the loss of a loved one, divorce, loss of a job, etc. and their corresponding stress are typically accompanied by “faith crises” when we tend to question God and seek His strength and guidance. In my case, I was completely surprised when God showed up in the midst of my crisis! [Not exactly in person, but via a messenger He sent to intercept me.]

In my period of personal unraveling, I felt as though I had spent almost my entire life climbing the ladder to reach the high dive. During college, I inched my way nervously to the end of the diving board. After completing a five-year degree program during which I gave more of myself physically and mentally than I ever knew I could, I was perched there at the end of the board – waiting.

The economy was in a serious slump after graduation and jobs were scarce at best. I remained trapped precariously at the end of the high dive with nowhere to jump to. I refused to turn around yet and rethink my position; there I waited for months.

Naturally I was obsessed with the search for employment – résumés, phone calls, letters, and desperate road trips. I created the sickening stress by questioning every decision which led me to that point: my major, my portfolio of work, whether my search had been too narrow. After three interminable months, I was waiting for a response to an interview in Greenville, South Carolina.

Hoping for a distraction from my obsession, I made plans to meet my college roommate for the weekend in Atlanta. We agreed to rendezvous at one of the big department stores near her office in the northeastern part of the city.

The job prospect in Greenville was starting to feel like a last resort and I had no other leads to fall back on. As I drove through the area of Atlanta where Interstate 85 connects the city to regions north and east, the road signs pointing to GREENVILLE were literally everywhere I looked. I soon realized I had picked the wrong neighborhood to escape my nerve-fraying, psyche-grinding job search!

Oddly enough, I arrived early at Lenox Square to meet my friend. I truly don’t believe I have ever been early for a meeting, before or since then. I wandered through the store and decided to go ahead and find someplace to sit near the entrance where my friend would be looking for me.

It must have been a bit too cool -- or more likely too hot -- on that March day for me to find a bench outside, so I chose to sit in the small glassed ‘vestibule’ at the rear entrance to the store beside the ladies’ jewelry and cosmetics counters. A woman was sitting on the bench that faced the parking lot, so I sat on the other bench along the sidewall perpendicular to the first bench where the woman sat looking out, but not at anything in particular.

As a first-class, off-the-scale introvert, I immediately decided that the space was too small for two of us and predicted that the other woman must be waiting for someone, like I was. Upon closer inspection, I saw that she could have been a ‘bag lady.’ She appeared to be perhaps in her late 60’s, had grey hair struggling to escape a faded knit cap, and wore multiple layers of old mismatched clothes.

Yes, she had shopping bags on the floor at her feet, but they were not bags with recent purchases from the store where we waited. She was probably a common sight near downtown Atlanta, but not in the suburbs where I came from. She sat in noticeable contrast to the colorful perfumes, silk scarves, and glittery earrings visible through the glass wall at her back.

After some absent-minded small talk, nothing so personal as introductions, the ‘bag lady’ launched into a detailed and impassioned description of how “her” house was positioned in a dangerous curve of a busy road where drivers usually go too fast. Her attention seemed to drift off a bit as she continued her story about the risky road and how “God planted magical trees” in her yard along the side of the road that saved the life of a boy who recently lost control of his car. “If those trees hadn’t been there….” She had explained it all to the EMTs at the scene of the accident.

I pretended to politely follow her story about ‘magical trees’ and thought it was a little coincidental that she would talk to me – a recent graduate of landscape architecture – about the optimal placement of trees in her yard to protect the public health, safety, and general welfare. Suddenly the bag lady (now the ‘tree lady’) came out of her foggy distraction, looked directly at me and said, “You know He’s watching over you, don’t you?”

I was so shocked by her question that I dropped my guard and the stress-heaved emotions just under the surface broke through. I started immediately to tear-up as I choked out, “Yes ma’am, …I know.” Deeply embarrassed that I was crying in front of a stranger, I quickly exited the glass doors leading outside and continued down the sidewalk out of sight. After barely recomposing myself, I was still in shock when I remembered I needed to go back to meet my roommate at the glassed entry.

In the moment, I was relieved that the ‘tree lady’ was gone and her bench was empty when I returned shortly after my awkward exit. Now I know for sure that in fact she had been waiting for someone – me.