Coincidences happen all the time.
My husband and my brother have the same birthday.
Both of my grandmas were named “Marge.”
My mom decided to name me “Cheyenne” when she was only 9 years old, not knowing that my last name would be the exact same letters: Cheney.
Sometimes coincidences give more meaning to your life. Like when my mom had to have her first colonoscopy and found out that her nurse home-schooled her kids too. We heard about it for the next 12 hours after her surgery. That common bond really put her at ease.
Or maybe it was the drugs. Either way, apparently this coincidence made her first colonoscopy a very meaningful experience.
And then there are coincidences like this:
Remember my post last week about the results of our Garage Sale? I talked about how God has given meaning to our heartache of infertility by giving us a “new song” of praise that it led us to this path of adopting. I spoke of Psalm 40:
“I waited patiently for the Lord;
He turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire;
He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a New Song in my mouth – a hymn of praise to our God.”
An hour after publishing this post, we were singing these very words in church. Literally a New Song to us – I later discovered our Worship Pastor actually wrote the song.
Talk about coincidence.
I need to start carrying a purse just so I have tissues on me. Good grief. Thank goodness we had already “greeted each other.” Boy would they have been in for a surprise when they shook my tear-coated hand.
I’m not kidding, next week I WILL have tissues on me. Because if that wasn’t enough, this week I sat down next to Tyler in the row and opened up the bulletin to discover that the sermon was titled “Adopted.”
Crazy, because I had just finished placing announcements about our Fundraising Dinner in everyone’s mailboxes at the church.
And guess who was preaching? Our Worship Pastor.
Darn it, I should have known. He has it out for me, I think.
Except that he had no idea I was going to hand out invitations to our dinner. Nor do I think he even knew about our dinner. It’s a pretty big church – we really don’t know him or his wife at all.
At the climax of the sermon, he shared his story of how his “foster” sister became his sister. From a name that represented a life of mistreatment and indifference…
… to a new name that represents her new life in a family whose love for her knows no limits.
I tried to not look at him as his emotion broke his otherwise seamless presentation. Seeing his emotion made holding back tears too hard. But his family was sitting, sniffling in the row right in front of us. Good grief… it was no use.
Following his story, he proclaimed that as Christians, we have been adopted by God. It is our identity. And as such, we are called to a life of hospitality to children who aren’t necessarily born to us- whether that be through adopting a child ourselves or through supporting adoptive families.
Meanwhile, people all around us held our picture in their hands, with an invitation to help us bring our baby home.
*whew* (holding back tears again)
Did you get goosebumps?
Some coincidences are more than a weird accident.
Sometimes… God acts on our behalf before we’ve even asked.