Her hand wiped the table clean as if directing the music of her praise song, her vocal statement uttered to herself--but purposefully out loud to bring her morning worship to the Lord. She caught my attention immediately and I listened--purposefully.
I looked over at my sis as tears naturally began to well up.
"This song means a lot to us, it's special to my sister," Lauren said.
The waitress, she stops singing, folds her hands in front of her and looks at me as if searching for my own truth.
She speaks: "You are recovering, aren't you." (It was a statement, not a question).
"Yes," I said. And I knew what she meant as all three of us began to sing the chorus again, a dream of Heaven and eternity.
"I have a son in Heaven. It's been five years."
She cupped her hands over mine, continuing to sing, lavishing her words and her quiet confidence in her Lord.
"Wow, that was wierd," Lauren would say as we headed out.
"These things happen to me a lot. You know. I write about it. This time, God showed up to both of us. You experienced this blessing with me! How cool is that! Sometimes, God is not exclusive. I think this was more for you."
Driving to St. John forty minutes down the road, we'd find ourselves later standing in an antiquated cemetary among numerous grave markers embellished with my family name, listening to thunder and lightening cracking the dark, ominous sky. (This story to be cont.).
No Lord, I could never imagine what amazing blessings You pour out to me, even while sitting in a small hotel, in an out of the way town, by perfect strangers. (or walking the streets of Flagstaff). These things have an eternal meaning, for You purposed us to reflect Your glory here and I have met your servants along the way. Thank you for singing waitresses and for giving me glimpses of Your Glory. Amen.