Our WayMaker

I call it my “sacred ground” moment. God kissed my cheek through a bullet-proof glass window and whispered, “I will do it. Do not fear. I am making the way.”

It was 2008, and while our visas were being processed at the US Consulate in a major city in Asia, my husband and I sat in our daughter’s doctor’s office just a few city blocks down the road. The doctor gave us the news: surgery needed to be done now. I will never forget his words, “If we don’t do the surgery, and you go back, don’t bother coming to see me again.” As a nurse, I knew what this meant. “I absolve myself,” he was saying. We had managed our daughter’s health condition well, had her stateside doctors’ blessing to return to our country of work, but things took a turn for the worse, and this surgery, a last-ditch effort for her condition, was all we had left.

There was no alternative, and yet I could not see the way ahead. A few days earlier, we had crossed a border to renew our visas and take our daughter to her specialist for a routine check-up; what was supposed to be a “quick trip,” became an all-consuming crisis. How could we afford the surgery? Where would we live, let alone, how would we be able to afford housing in one of the most expensive cities in the world? Fear and anxiety gripped me and my stomach, riddled with ulcers, flip-flopped. My husband and I left the doctor’s office with our daughter and our oldest son. We stood on the busy street in a daze. Red taxis lined up, honking, as though rushing us on to the next thing.

“I’ll pick up our visas,” I said to my husband. “Can you take the kids back to the hotel?” I got in a taxi, and we swerved our way up hills and through traffic lights until we reached the gates of the consulate. I quickly wiped the tears off my face and took a deep breath.

It was the last appointment of the day, and instead of one of the typical desk workers calling me to the window, a very astute looking woman called my name. She took down my information, and after a brief exchange she handed me my kids’ visas. When she asked me why we had come to this particular city to renew our visas, I explained my daughter’s medical condition and that it looked like we wouldn’t be leaving just yet. I shrugged, anxious to leave.

“Wait,” she said. “Are you okay? Are you…going to be okay?”

Her question pierced my heart and as I stared back at her friendly face, I could see the concern in her eyes. She seemed genuinely interested. I shook my head no, willing myself not to cry, not to break down in front of the “visa lady” who later turned out to be the Vice- Consulate General.

I told her very simply that our daughter needed surgery and we needed a place to stay. I said all this reluctantly, trying to put on a brave face, while my to-do list grew longer and longer. I would need to call people in our organization, our home church, our daughter’s stateside doctors, our insurance company, etc, etc, etc.

She slipped me her number and said, “My name is Lisa. I get off work in 15 minutes. I want you to call me in 20 minutes. And…”

Lisa began to pray—eyes open, looking at me through the bullet proof glass, using all the “right” words to evade surveillance, carrying on a conversation with God, for me and family. Chills erupted all over my body, my eyes brimmed with tears, my face felt warm. I suddenly felt a sense of complete peace, enveloped in a heavenly host of love.

The next day, we had dinner with Lisa and her husband; the day after that, we attended their church. Within 24 hours, extended-stay housing, childcare for my 5-year-old son, meals and transportation, and hospital check-ins were arranged by Lisa’s church. A close friend in the States reached out to the alumni chapter of my former university and they covered my daughter’s ENTIRE hospital bill that remained after insurance. And what really got me? Friends from our country of work came to help, whether they happened to already be “coming through” or felt led to care for us specifically. It went above and beyond anything I could have planned for or dreamed of.

There’s so much more to this story and I will never understand how everything fell in place the way it did. All I know is, God orchestrated the most gracious, ever-loving song of provision in the days that followed my initial encounter at the consulate window.

It is my holy ground story…the one I return to again, and again, when all solutions seem to evade me, when all hope seems lost, when any ounce of courage to believe, fades. I return to the bulletproof window in a city far, far away and remember that God provided in a way that has caused me to never doubt again. Honestly, it’s the truth.

Jehovah Jireh, the God of All Seasons, our Loving Provider is a beautiful mystery. We may not always see God’s provision, we may not acknowledge it because sometimes provision doesn’t come in the way we want it too. Yet, God makes our way. Even now, in this season of unexpected challenges, I wait expectantly, eagerly, with a rearview mirror’s perspective of the Provision-monuments stacked behind me, knowing my God will provide. It’s like Joshua when he set up at Gilgal the twelve stones taken out of the Jordan.

He said to the Israelites, “In the future when your descendants ask their parents, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them, ‘Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.’” (Joshua 4:21,22)

God made a way, a miraculous way for the Israelites, and Joshua memorialized it and said, “Tell them…”

So friends, I’m telling you…God provided and made a way for my family, when I couldn’t see the way. He will do the same for you, and that is our Blessed Assurance.

What provision monuments do you look back on in awe?