Co-collaborators

In the morning, when I remind myself that my life goes better when I become God’s co-collaborator in creating beautifully lived days, I consequently compile lists of ways I see His help. Tonight is a little weekly prayer meeting that a small group from our church is trying to launch. The pastor called yesterday to ask whether I would substitute in leading the prayer time since the gal who has been doing so will not be in attendance.

Our pastor’s wife is in India, about two days into a 12-day journey. “Are you planning on dinner tonight?” I asked, thinking of what life must be like for him moving four kids and three dogs (two of which are Cocker Spaniel puppies) through day schedules. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll get an e-mail out so everyone is on the same page.” I note as I write this that it is 3:33 p.m. per my computer clock and nothing has come through.

So to be decent and caring and compassionate, I should contribute to this meal that is supposed to be happening (about which we have not yet received notification).

Then it occurred to me that in the stocking of my new refrigerator this morning (after tossing 2/3 of the contents when the motor died and the repairman came two days later to inform me of its permanent demise) that I had everything I needed to make a broccoli salad and baked potatoes with do-it-yourself toppings for a small crowd.

I have now finished writing five blogs and am on my way home to wash potatoes, pop them into tin foil, and stick them into the over for a baking hour. I have butter, a new 12-oz container of sour cream, grated cheese that survived a short exile on our kitchen counter, chives still fresh in the garden. I picked up a head of broccoli, not knowing that I would make it into a fresh salad—and I have sliced almonds, canned pineapple and dried cranberries. I also salvaged the Italian dressing from the dying-refrigerator incident, which is my traditional choice to dress this broccoli recipe.

And I will simply take one of the prayers out of the Book of Common Prayer and lead the group through a meditative exercise. Everything I need to help tonight is right where it should be so that I can help the crew, the pastor’s family and our small group, and to substitute for the leader who is not able to be in attendance.

When this happens, particularly after I have taken time to remind myself that I am a collaborator with God in the creation of the days of my life (we are co-authors in the existence that is Karen Mains), then I see, clearly and unshakably, that I am surrounded by His interactive, participatory love and care.

This is an unmovable conviction for me. The evidence is weighty. I am utterly convinced.

I spy God!