Footprints

A very wise young woman encouraged me a while ago to choose special markers of God's love, little "mini altars" if you will, as a way to remember his faithfulness throughout the day when they show up in my life.  For her, it was hearts; heart-shaped leaves, heart-shaped rocks, heart-shaped spills, reminding her in every situation how much God loved her. 

For me, it has been footprints; in the wet sand on a beach, on decals stuck to the front of a bus, even little footprints of "Renae, I just couldn't hold it" tracked through the entire house, reminding me in every situation that God is with me.  It's like having a secret handshake with a close friend; the littlest thing can really make my day! 

That said, sometimes God goes beyond the simple-minded limits we so often choose to be satisfied with.  He is loving and faithful, but that doesn't necessarily mean predictable! 

Just the other week, on my way back from a short visa-renewal trip to Costa Rica, I was sitting at a familiar gate in Juan Santamaría International airport thinking about how odd it was to be flying from "not my country" to yet another "not my country".  Usually, sitting in an airport means that I'm about to see my family or that I just got to see my family for at least a little bit, and while I'd just spent a wonderful week with an old friend, there's nothing quite like the comforting feeling of home.  This was the first trip I've taken from one relatively unfamiliar place to another and back again, and it was a rather odd feeling!

Hiking Volcán Barva in Costa Rica

As I sat there talking to God about this temporary homelessness that is living in a foreign country, I started daydreaming about how nice it would be to see someone from home, from church maybe, because there's just something about being with someone who knows where you're from, not just where you are.  I racked my brain for reasons why anyone I could think of would be traveling through that tiny wing of Juan Santamaría . . . finding none, I settled back down to reading my book. 

Except it seems that God wasn't through with our conversation, because who should show up just then but the pastor of the little church I call home in barely-a-dot-on-the-map San Lucas!  God sent a kind greeting not from Ramsey, not from my physical family, but something better.  It was as if he had put his arm around me and whispered, "You have a new home now, with me, and your family is bigger than you could ever imagine!  I am your Father.  I take very good care of my daughters." 

And it's wildly true.