Postcards from God - Christianity Today

It was 10:00 a.m. the day before Thanksgiving. In just a few hours the doors to our inner-city church would open, and we would host our urban neighbors, many of whom were Native Americans, to a free Thanksgiving dinner.

I was making last-minute preparations when I heard a loud knock at the front door. Another interruption, I thought as I trudged toward the door. When I opened the door, I was greeted by two delivery men from Sears.

“Will you sign for this?” one of the men asked as he shoved a clipboard my way.

“Sure, what is it?”

“A freezer,” he answered.

“We didn’t order a freezer.”

“Someone did,” he said. With that, he and his burly partner pushed past me and wheeled a full-length deep freeze up the steep steps and into our church.

As I studied the invoice, I discovered a sister church had purchased the appliance for us. That’s strange, I thought. They never told us it was coming.

My mind returned to the Thanksgiving dinner. Within a few hours, the first flakes of snow started coming down. In Minnesota in late November, that can mean anything from a dusting to three-foot snow drifts. On this particular day, it meant the worst. By 4:00 p.m., the flakes had turned into a major-league blizzard. The timing couldn’t have been worse. By that late hour, all the food for our dinner had been prepared–a dozen turkeys, nearly a hundred pounds of mashed potatoes, and scores of piping-hot pies.

But we had no one to eat any of it. All our food and effort was about to go to waste.

That’s when we remembered the gift we had received only hours earlier. We wrapped the food and carried it upstairs to our new storage freezer. One week later we held the postponed dinner and served a hot Thanksgiving meal to a church packed with grateful neighbors and needy friends.

Looking back, I realize we received more than an appliance from a department store that day. We received a postcard from God.

What’s a postcard from God? It’s one of those providential, serendipitous events that appear in our lives and ministry–a reminder that God has not forgotten us. For me, it’s like receiving a short note that reads, “Dear Bob, I was thinking of you today. Just thought I’d let you know. Love, Your heavenly Father.”

The ways in which he sends these timely postcards are as unpredictable as they are amazing. The net effect seems always the same: to encourage and strengthen us, often when we need it the most.

I’ve noticed several characteristics in the postcards I’ve received from God. Perhaps these observations may help you recognize your own E-mail (encouragement mail) when it arrives.

A VARIETY OF COURIERS

While in college preparing for ministry, I worked as a part-time staff member at our church. One morning late in the semester, having run out of money, I slumped down in the college coffee shop and muttered, “Well, God, I guess I don’t get breakfast this morning. I thought you had promised to provide for my needs, but today I must be on my own.”

I watched other students gulp down steaming pancakes, slice up sizzling bacon, and enjoy plump omelets. Meanwhile I was gorging on self-pity.

Just then I looked up and saw a layman from our church standing in the doorway to our coffee shop.

“Hi ya, Bob,” he waved.

“Jim, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I sell light bulbs now. Thought I’d make a sale or two here. I ended up discounting the price to include my commission. But hey, it’s God’s money isn’t it?”

He slapped me on the back and said, “Hey, can I buy you breakfast?”

I am sincere when I say I had never seen him on campus before that day (our church was more than ten miles away) nor did I ever see him there again. As I gulped down my hot, golden waffle, I also had to swallow the disbelieving, unthankful attitude I had cooked up only minutes before. God had used Jim, an ex-convict turned light-bulb salesman, to remind me God does not forget about the needs of his people.

NEVER LATE

The years have taught me that God’s timing is perfect. When I’ve needed help and motivation to continue on, he is always on time. His postcards are never a day late or an hour behind schedule.

Once our congregation took a significant step of faith to hire an additional staff member. Some in the church rejected the idea from the beginning. The critics predicted financial catastrophe if we went ahead with the plan.

The crisis came during one pivotal board meeting. The board reports showed the critics appeared to have been right. Giving was well below needed levels to fund the position. Though we had prayed carefully about the decision and though the new staff member had known the risks involved, it seemed we had made a big mistake.

I had my concession speech prepared. Then, near the end of the meeting a board member produced a letter he had received from an attorney that week. It announced that one of our members who had recently died had bequeathed half of his estate to the church. We would soon be receiving a check for more than was needed to cover the additional salary for the entire year.

I watched the color drain from the face of one of the most vocal critics. We had come down to the eleventh hour, but God sent us a postcard reminding us he always knows what time it is.

IN HIS OWN WAY

For a time I doubted my call to the ministry. During that season of uncertainty, I was invited to preach in a black church. That morning I delivered a message I had used several times before, but this congregation responded with much more enthusiasm. They seemed to urge me on. I felt a sense of joy trickling back into my soul and began to feel uplifted.

Then, during the middle of the sermon, an usher appeared, walking down the center aisle with a tall glass on a tray. She came all the way to the front and handed me a glass of cold orange juice. Not knowing exactly the proper etiquette for this church, I put my sermon on hold, drank down the juice, and thanked her.

I then went on with my message. Again I felt love and encouragement from the congregation urging me on. When I finished speaking, something happened which I was totally unprepared for–the congregation rose and gave me a standing ovation. I felt neither pride nor arrogance that day–actually it was a humbling experience. Though I felt unworthy, I was thankful for such a display of affirmation.

I realize the danger of interpreting events and circumstances as messages from God. Our own ego needs and distorted perception can twist situations to fit our own agenda. But that day it seemed to me that God was encouraging me to continue on in the work I felt called to. He had signed that postcard in his own distinct signature, using a loving congregation as his pen.

ALWAYS TO THE RIGHT ADDRESS

Unlike letters or packages that arrive at the wrong address or even the wrong city, I believe God sends his postcards precisely where they need to be delivered.

I was driving to our denominational headquarters one late winter day following a sleet storm. The road was glazed with a fine quarter-inch layer of ice. But since the interstate was virtually devoid of traffic, I pressed on, driving cautiously through the countryside. I came over a slight hill and to my horror discovered a car parked crosswise, straddling two lanes.

I pumped my brakes and managed to stop my car only inches from the vehicle. Inside it an elderly woman gripped the steering wheel, staring straight head and making no attempt to move.

Suddenly, in my rear view mirror, an 18-wheeler appeared, going full bore. When he saw the scene in front of him he pulled the cord in his cab, and his air horns bellowed like angry bulls.

No time for braking. With his speed and momentum he would surely jackknife on the ice, sending his truck into both cars. He loomed closer in my mirror, and I closed my eyes to prepare for the impact.

It never came.

Instead, a deafening noise and a blinding spray of snow passed me at 50 miles per hour just to my left. The entire rig disappeared into a furious snow squall in the median area. When the truck came to a stop, it was buried up to its wheels in snow.

As I got out of my car the trucker emerged from his cab. We were both shaking. Dressed in a leather vest and cowboy hat, the driver stood on the shoulder of the road and shook my hand.

“The Lord must have been looking out for both of us today,” he said.

“He certainly was,” I stammered.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m a pastor,” I replied.

“I’m a Baptist minister’s son,” the trucker grinned. We turned toward the elderly woman’s car to see if she was unharmed. Before we could reach her, she pulled away and disappeared over the next hill. We were both so glad to be alive we didn’t even care.

God sent an unusual postcard that day–a near crash exchanged for a flurry of blowing snow. Out in the middle of nowhere, God knew the precise location to send a clear message–that he had a pastor and a pastor’s son in view and that he had reasons for both of them to go on living.

POSTSCRIPTS

Piles of unwanted junk mail are delivered daily, much of it to pastors, it would seem. As catalogs, sales brochures, newspapers, and a host of other materials accumulate on my desk, my goal is to dispose of the piles as quickly as possible. In the same way, our lives and schedules can become cluttered with committee meetings, weekly deadlines, and urgent calls to make. Our goal can become simply to get through the day.

In the midst of sorting through such clutter, it’s easy to overlook the simple notes our heavenly Father sends to remind us of his love. When I take the time to sort through “coincidences” of my life, I discover simple but much-needed messages reminding me, “I love you. I haven’t forgotten you.”

Signed, Your God.

- More from Bob Moeller

Share

Sign up for CT Pastors