This world can seem like such a big place ... especially when family live so far away ... but it can also seem quite small. This weekend we were asked to host a pastor and his wife who were visiting from Australia and preaching at our church. We have spare bedrooms when family aren't visiting and were glad to be able to do it. Within a few minutes of meeting the couple we realised that we were very familiar with a lot of the same places in Australia. Many of the places where the pastor had spent his childhood were the same places I had also spent a large portion of my childhood. Several surnames he also mentioned were familiar to me - not as people I knew but as names my father and grandparents used to mention often in conversation.
However, it wasn't until almost twenty-four hours had passed (admittedly, we hadn't seen a lot of them in that time because of preaching commitments, dinner engagements, and needing to sleep), that we learnt that they knew my parents. Not just knew them, but knew them quite well. So well, in fact, that they described my dad as "a great walker and talker". Yep, that's him!
Australia has a population of twenty six million. It's a vast country. They could have come from anywhere in that country but the fact that they knew where I grew up was to me astounding. Then add to that the fact that they regularly stay on the same site where my parents live and actually know them well and it seems almost too incredible to be true. Now factor in that our church is by anyone's estimation on the rather small side and you have to ask yourself what are the chances?
This type of thing has happened numerous times before. One friend I met online in a Christian writing group used to babysit my husband's niece and nephew; another I had met briefly as a teenager when visiting another church. Once in Australia, when we had only just begun to attend a new church, the church happened to be farewelling a family moving back to New Zealand. After the service my husband spoke with the woman and casually asked where she was moving to. When she told him, he proceeded to ask her what suburb, what street, and even what house number. By this time I was beginning to feel rather embarrassed and a little anxious - was I married to some kind of psychopath or was my husband being uncharacteristically rude? Surprisingly the woman answered each of his questions, even down to house number, and then my husband said, "That must be next door to Such-and-such a family." It turned out that my husband had grown up with the brothers of this woman (she was much younger and so he hadn't recognised her) and she was moving back to what had been hers (and my husband's) childhood street.
Another time while in Australia we met Christians from the Solomon Islands who had been led to the Lord by missionaries from my husband's childhood church in New Zealand! And I could give other examples. Each as incredibly astounding as the one we experienced this weekend.
I love it when this kind of thing happens. I don't like to think of it as a coincidence (even though the world might call it such and then dismiss it with a shrug). As Christians we belong to a wider family, and just as parents we love to bring our children (and grandchildren) together, it appears to me that our Heavenly Father also likes to bring His children together. Certainly when something like this happens, it feels like a blessing (although a little scary, too - I mean, they know my parents!).
As they were leaving this morning they prayed that we would be blessed, but we have already been blessed just by having them in our home, and the gentle reminder that our God is sovereign and watches over us and delights in these little surprises.
We also feel blessed that we are able to share our home in this manner. When we first moved to New Zealand twenty-seven years ago I specifically prayed for two bathrooms (I had five boys!) and four bedrooms (so that my parents could visit without anyone being kicked out of their bedroom). This may seem pretty average in terms of house size etc but it was considerably more than we had had in Australia. After we purchased our home, I walked around it in amazement and exclaimed that God had give us more than we had asked for. That was true then despite the work that needed to be done on the house, and it is still true today.
So, yes, we feel blessed.
Recently DH completed a gate that has been in desperate need of replacement. It took longer than expected, partly because when he came to do it he discovered that it would be easier to not remove the posts that were already in place despite them being crooked (they were well and truly concreted in and so he devised a way to make them look straight without affecting their integrity) and partly because he is his own worst critic and he redid a section that I thought was perfectly fine.
However, she has watched with interest as we have recently sorted through all the boxes in the garage that were placed there at least two years ago - possibly more - when we were undergoing the most recent part of our renovations. She may have looked puzzled but for us to be able to say that we are almost done is a huge relief. I'm even starting to look at my quilts with optimism that they will soon be once again gracing our walls. But with a difference this time. Rather than hiding holes or imperfections in the walls, or drawing the eye away from less desirable aspects of the home, they will be a feature in their own right. Well, that's what I'm hoping will be the effect.
However the latest quilt that I finished earlier this year probably won't make it onto the wall, even though my original plans for it was for it to hang in the front entrance. But on laying out all my quilts earlier today and deciding where they would be best placed, I've decided this particular quilt will work better on a bed than on a wall.
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