Down at the end of Deerfoot Lane, where pavement gave way to ruts and rocks, He met me, perched on a sun-warmed boulder, the valley and mountains beyond hinting of other places, other lives. And I, like a fledgling jay, waiting to soar.
In songs sung around a campfire He met me, sparks reaching upward to the stars, prayers lifted with them, rising, glowing, in the night. And I, singing with those kindred hearts, belonging.
In the chapel in the meadow He met me, in hymns sung with gusto, and a preacher weeping as he shared the words of life – His life, and mine.
In the quiet wooded walks beside Strawberry Creek He met me, in the scent of cedars and the soft rustle of squirrels digging for their treasures. And I, like an explorer of old, with bated breath, discovering.
In the silent sift of snowflakes He met me, settling on branch and cone and needle like a whisper from heaven. And I, like a princess in the moonlight, waiting; hopeful.
In granite peaks glowing pink at close of day He met me, their hard faces reflecting a distant beauty, not the less for the secondhand light.
My faith and my life had their growing in the mountains, in the scent of sage after a thunderstorm, under the sheltering canopy of pine, in the warm meadows and the flash of a flicker’s bright wing.
It was there that He first met me, breathed life into my spirit and opened my soul to the silent words of life around me. Those memories are carved deeply into my spirit; altars of remembrance, warmed by His tenderness, scattered along the path of my becoming.
I no longer live among those reminders of His finding me, small me, wondering and reveling in the miracle of it all. But He meets me still, older me, in His bending to me in my days, ordinary and otherwise. I am glad that our relationship is not dependent on place or city or temple, but on His presence, which fills the earth.
“Behold, I am with you always,” He said before His bodily presence left us. He dwells with us in Spirit now, filling us, holding us in the mysteries of this life before Life.
I love to hear the stories of how He met others. Sometimes it’s a slow and quiet becoming; sometimes a sudden shift from darkness to light. Miracles all, filled with the wonder of His coming to meet us, to see us, to welcome us in all the places around us and all the spaces inside us as we learn to live in the warmth of His presence along this long road home.
What is the story of His meeting you? I’d love to hear it.
5 thoughts on “Where He Met Me”
Beautiful, Andrea. I met Him on the same Deerfoot Lane that you did many times, and at the rock on the dirt road at the end. Your description of his creation and His spirit meeting you is awesome! Thank you for letting us into your life in this way!
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I wish I had known you back then, 1972-79. You came in 1976, right?
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I came here from Tim Challies’ site, and I like your post; I’m not normally inclined to comment, but today feel led to share something.
He initially met me, inviting me to come and learn of Him, in my car one night in January ‘98, on my way home from a business meeting. The Grateful Dead cassette tape I had been listening to ended, so I ejected it, intending to put in another one for the rest of my drive. The radio came on while the tape was out, and it “happened” to be on a Christian station (why, is another story…..). During the 30 seconds or so it took for me to put the tape away, and start to choose another, the man on air got my attention. (Side note: at that time, my wife was two years post-stroke, which left her partially left-side paralyzed and cognitively “different”; we had two young children, by then aged 3 & 10. So, I was an unbeliever in the midst of a life-changing and dominating trial.)
It seemed to me that the guy speaking was talking about my life! I continued listening until the end of the broadcast. At the end, another man informed me that I’d been listening to John MacArthur on Grace To You, preaching from a sermon series titled “Benefiting From Life’s Trials”, from the 1st chapter of James. I pulled over to the side of the road to jot down the contact info, because I definitely wanted to hear more of that guy’s teaching. (Only then, did I put in the next tape and continue home!) I’d never heard the Word preached before; we were attending what turned out to be a “dead” Methodist “church” at the time, unknowingly getting our ears tickled every week.
When I got home, I called Grace To You, and ordered the series. Thus began my walk with Him, resulting in my rebirth a few months later, and continuing by His Grace, to this day. My wife was also saved along the way, albeit by different means. My wife’s name is Pattie, and today, March 17th, providentially “happens” to be the 25-year “anniversary” of her stroke.
“St. Pattie’s Day” is a bitter-sweet Ebenezer for us…….
I’m sorry this ended up being so long!
My husband and I were part of the Methodist renewal movement for the first few years of our marriage. Your story gave me chills! I can never get enough of hearing testimonies.Thank you so much for sharing!