Dimes in the Darndest Places

I love to travel, but I hate to travel alone.  Sometimes, however, I just have to. 
And this was one of those times.



I had just had the most wonderful January weekend with my husband in the Seattle area. We had just snowshoe hiked on Mt. Rainier, witnessed glaciers, travelled to the top of the Space Needle, and shopped in the Pike Place Market.

Monday morning came and he had to get to work and I had to return home.  Alone. I had an appointment on Tuesday afternoon and my flight was scheduled to arrive late Monday night.  It was raining in Seattle when I departed, but that is nothing new.

For some reason it took forever for my plane to get off of the ground and into the air.  The flight was running behind and everyone on the plane was stressing about making connections in Atlanta.  The ATL.  I have flown in and out of there enough times to know that delays in Atlanta are almost a given.  I wasn't too worried about it.  I knew I was on the last flight out to Wilmington, but they had had all day to get behind schedule.  However, I breathed a prayer asking for favor with my flight connection.

I arrived in Atlanta with thirty minutes before my flight was to depart.  No problem, I thought.  I know the airport well and was prepared to make a mad dash to my gate.  I jogged as fast as my legs and carry-on bag would allow and arrived at the gate to find...the door closed.  Breathless, I gasped, "What!?!?"  Her reply, "We didn't think you would be able to make it in time."

So me and my carry on made our way to get our prearranged hotel arrangement voucher and a boarding pass for Tuesday morning from the Delta counter.  We stood outside at ground transportation waiting for our shuttle to a hotel I had never heard of.  Other shuttles came and went and returned, but a few of us continued to wait.  We even had the excitement of seeing an unattended bag being confiscated by airport security. 

It was actually colder in Atlanta, Georgia, than it had been the entire weekend in Washington. I had a ski jacket, boots, mittens, etc., all packed in my bag that was sitting snuggly somewhere in the airport.

I cringed as we arrived at the hotel.  It was nearing midnight by now.  I requested a 5 am wakeup call and found the elevator to my room.  The sign on the door said "no smoking" but the guest before me must not have seen it.

I dropped my belongings on the bed and picked up my cell to call my husband.  I was mad at the airline, disgusted with the hotel, concerned about tomorrow's appointment, and tired.  All good excuses to have a good cry about now.

Before speed-dialing my man, I remembered my request for God's favor with my connection.  Why hadn't He granted me favor?  It wasn't because I didn't ask this time. I did.  Now I added the feeling of being ignored to my list of excuses to cry.  But no tears fell.

I was being a big baby.  Big deal.  A night in Atlanta.  So what?  For crying out loud!

I hit the send button on my phone.  My husband answered and I began to tell him about my situation. I spelled it out in great detail...the late arrival, the closed door, the frigid wait. And as I started to plop down on the chair so that I could give a few details about my accommodations, God showed up at my pity party. Even when it wasn't a big deal. There, barely visible in the dimly lit room, was a dime--wedged between the arm and cushion of the chair. The tears began to freely flow at that point.  I interrupted myself as I said, "I found a dime."

My husband knows what dimes mean to me.  When I find a dime, it is a tangible sign from God that He is aware and that He cares.  God may have answered "no" to my prayer for favor with my connection, but that did not mean that I did not have His favor.  He knew right where I was.  And in the midst of my pity party, He said, "I care."

Get out of Jail Free

The conversation began with my son saying, "Do you know what intrigues me?" 

My not-so-intelligent reply, "Uhhh...no." 

"If I were Paul, and in prison, and God sent an earthquake, and the doors opened, and the chains fell off, I'd be thanking God and getttin' outta there!  Why did Paul stay?"

Good question.

It got me thinking...what is it that makes us stay even when we don't have to?  I mean in a good "stay" way.  Not a bad "stay" like when God frees us from our stuff and we continue to lug it around with us as if we are still tied to it.  But the good kind of "stay", like when our circumstances make us want to get outta Dodge, but we don't.

And how do you know when to go and when to stay?  I tend to second guess myself (major understatement!!)  Was it God getting me out of a mess I got myself into and I need to give Him the glory and go, or am I in the perfect will of God and need to stay and finish well?  Even after being beaten with a stick and thrown in jail, Paul didn't seem to waiver on whether to stay or go.  He stayed.

I can't answer for Paul, but for me I'd have to say I go back to my purpose...or rather God's purpose for me.  What has God asked me to do?  Does this offer me an opportunity to do that?  Then I stay.