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Wondering Why We're Sent

When I walk into a roomful of strangers, I engage in what is, at best, a self-imposed test in discernment; at worst a superficial gamble. I scan the women to whom I will be speaking and instinctually begin an imprecise version of memory, flipping cards in a lame attempt to match the earnestness of their smiles with the state of their souls. I do it with pretense, albeit pretense with an asterisk. Pretense: I want to know their stories. Asterisk: I want to know their stories to know if I'll hit my mark. I toss God a prayer: Okay, You sent me here, now show me why.

Then I wait.

But at a recent event, he didn't answer. Or so I thought.

Several of us were chatting easily over dinner, typical mom small talk - number of kids, gender, ages - when a card was flipped and the match was breathtakingly unexpected.

"And how old are your children?" a soon-to-be grandmother asked.

The question was directed at a young red-haired woman across the table.

"I have two boys," the red-haired woman said. "Twins."

I had heard her mention a daughter earlier, so I asked, "And a third, right?"

Her eyes dropped and her voice became a choked whisper. "I had seven-year-old daughter. She passed away."

Her tears were instant.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

Heavy, awkward silence.

Lying in bed that night, her pain hovered over me, threatening to swallow the distance between my heart and my brain. The thought of my own seven-year-old daughter being anywhere but tucked snugly in her pink flannel sheets was too daunting to imagine. Pretending it couldn't happen to me was the only solace that finally brought sleep.

The next morning, the ache of her loss pounded in my chest as the sun rose over Lake Michigan. Then - a flash of hope.

This is why you brought me here, I prayed. You have something you want me to say. A word of truth, a touch of healing, a drop of grace. I'll do anything you ask.

After my morning session, I approached the woman with a smile she graciously returned.

"I couldn't stop praying for you last night," I said. "I want you to know you have freedom here. If you need space, take it, but I'm here. Whatever you need."

The sentiment was enough to bring a mix of tears and nervous laughter. No more information was given, but I'd let her know I cared and that was enough for now. We had more time and I trusted that God's healing touch was divinely embedded in a remaining session.

As it turned out, she took my advice on getting some space. I didn't see her again until the next morning, and I was relieved that she'd at least be in the final session - God's last chance to heal her soul via me. Only right before the session, instead of taking her seat, she thanked me and said goodbye; she had a long drive and needed to be going.

My gamble in discernment was a bust and, truth be told, I was a little irritated with God.

That's it? You're just going to let her leave? But I've got stuff she needs to hear! And what about the video clip? I HAVE THE PERFECT VIDEO CLIP!

Driving home, I was unsettled: What is my deal? Filled with regret: Why didn't I ask her daughter's name? Angry: God, I begged you to use me. Why didn't you?

The rebuke came swiftly and it stung. Maybe, Suanne, my plans for her had nothing to do with you. Maybe, I didn't need you. You are not her Savior. That job belongs to me and me alone. I AM enough.

Ouch. Depressing. Depressing because I almost wanted it not to be true.

As a leader in ministry, I used to think God's primary purpose was to use me. Now, I'm wondering if what he really wants is to change me and perhaps - if I'm lucky - he'll use me in the process.

Maybe I should have done more for that woman. Maybe I did all I could. I'll probably never know, but at the end of the day, if I trust that God is who he says he is, then my only choice is to believe that the life of a broken-hearted red-haired woman is in completely capable hands.

No games. No questions. No gamble.

June12, 2009 at 8:29 PM

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