Driving through town, we arrived at Broad and Hwy 1. At that corner a left turn takes you to Walmart, while a right turn takes you toward the park. Engrossed in the ‘80s hits playing on the radio, the daughter didn’t notice anything amiss until the car began to turn.
“Dad, you turned the wrong way!” she said, with typical teenage derision.
“Did I?” I asked, as she realized something was up.
“Wait, where are we going?”
“To the park!”
Not exactly the height of excitement for a 13-year-old, her only response was a muttered, “Oh.”
For the next few blocks, she continued singing along with the radio, no doubt now wishing she’d stayed at home instead of tagging along. After a couple of turns, the park loomed in front of us. Being late afternoon on a weekday, I was somewhat surprised to see only one car at the park. On Sundays the parking lot is usually full of park goers. Apparently, this was not a midweek destination.
After maneuvering into a park space, we alit from the vehicle and moved toward the park entrance. As we did, our eyes fell upon a solitary figure, lying face down next to a path. ‘Huh, I wonder what she’s looking at,’ I thought. It didn’t take long to realize she wasn’t looking at anything. Quickly we began to hear a faint, ‘help.’ We hastened our pace, and soon discovered the prostrate park goer to be an elderly woman.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” I clumsily asked. Of course, she wasn’t okay.
“No, I’ve fallen,” came her soft response, “Can you please help me up?”
Over the next few minutes, we tried to make sure she wasn’t injured, then helped her roll over and sit up. She leaned back against me as she used the daughter’s phone to get ahold of a family member. Finally successful, her son dropped what he was doing and drove to the park. As we awaited his arrival, the daughter and I helped this stranger on to her feet and walked her back to the parking lot. When her son arrived, we helped her into the car and wished them both well. Then we began to talk about providence.
Every Sunday we pass a small park just a couple of blocks away from church. Most Sundays I observe to the carload of worshippers, “We should stop by and check that park out some time.” Weather, work, school, and myriad other mundane realities conspired to keep this idea from fruition. As we left for Walmart that day, something inside me said, “Now is the time to visit that park.” Sure, it was out of the way. Sure, the wife needed key ingredients for dinner and stopping at the park would delay the evening meal. Of course, 13-year-olds aren’t too keen to visit a city park with dad. Yet, I just knew this was the time to visit.
Had our visit happened on an earlier date, we would not have gone to the park that day. Who knows how long this elderly woman would have laid there, face down, until someone else happened along. Instead, weeks of busyness paved the way for the daughter and I to arrive at the park on the right day at the right time to lend a hand.
That is a clear sign of providence at work. God providentially caring for people, not through signs and wonders, but through something as mundane as a hectic schedule. Unbeknownst to us, and to the woman in need, God used our hectic schedule to delay a visit to that park so that our arrival allowed us to be present right when we were needed.
Sometimes it is easy to be frustrated by life. There are things we all would like to do, that just don’t work out. There are others which we’d rather not do, but they cannot be avoided. Yet, in all of these circumstances, we are called to trust that our moments are unfolding according to a grander plan. The key, it seems, is to be attentive to the moment we are in, so we may be good stewards of the moments we are given.