watershed (n) – a crucial dividing point, line, or factor :  turning point

. . .

 

Peeking through raindrops on my windshield, I scoured the Wal-Mart parking lot for an empty space on a busy Friday evening.  Through streams of water and upside down reflections, I spotted a promising lead four spaces back from the handicap reserves.  Delighted, I slowly rolled forward, basking in my good fortune.  You see, I’m a natural-born pluviophile– a lover of rain, but I am also a lover of strokes of luck, and finding a parking space in close proximity to both the entrance and the cart corral is a poor man’s jackpot–especially on a rainy day.  As I approached my rightful place, I gave silent praise where warranted, as I often do.  Thank you Lord, for giving me a spot close to the doors on this rainy day, I thought to myself.  I slowed down, began to orient my vehicle and suddenly, like a head cold on your birthday, unexpected and highly inconvenient, there it was– a shopping cart, abandoned and hovering in my parking spot.  With an irritated sigh, I quickly weighed my options.

Do I shift my car into park, move the soaking wet cart and then climb into my car… soaking wet?

or

Do I circle around and park fourth from the back before trekking up the entire row, only to arrive at my  destination… soaking wet?

I chose the latter and made my way around to where I had started, all the while cursing the name of the jerk who left their cart in the middle of a perfectly good parking space.  I mean, who does that?!  Would it have killed them to just walk their cart a couple of yards north and put it inside the cart corral?!  I wonder if they even care that they have now inconvenienced other people– a perfectly good spot, wasted, by a thoughtless, lazy lotus-eater.  No respect for other people, no respect at all!

In true Amber fashion, when I made it back to where I had begun, a fire burning in my belly, I decided to give it one more shot.  I won’t go down without a fight!  I may have to switch rows, but I know I can park closer than THIS!  As I neared the incident of the unspeakable crime against my sanity, my blood simmering low but steady, the soft red glow of the tail lights of a Ford F-150 caught my attention.  The promise of brake lights loomed in the distance.  My self-inflicted scowl softened into an expression of hope.  Like finding a $20 bill in an old purse the day before payday, unexpected and highly convenient, the pick-up politely vacated a parking space two spaces ahead of my fleeting windfall.  Delighted, I rolled forward, basking in my good fortune.  As I shifted my car into park and reached for my re-usable shopping bags, I gave praise where praise was warranted, as I often do.  Except this time, I didn’t feel a “You’re welcome”, but rather, a “Now, tell me Amber, what did you learn?”

. . .

How often in our lives do we spend time focusing on the abandoned shopping cart while cursing the name of the one who left it there?

How many times do we let our roadblocks determine our outlook for the rest of our journey? 

I have come to a profound realization over the past 24 hours, a realization that I seem to have to “realize” over and over again–sometimes God puts abandoned shopping carts in our way because He has something better in mind.

Ground-breaking… isn’t it?

Truth be told, my life has been full of abandoned shopping carts, often disguised as missed opportunities, unfair circumstances or broken dreams.  I can almost hear God audibly chuckle when I recall the numerous times I thought I had my life all planned out.  I’m quite the backseat driver when it comes to His plan for me.  I often rock myself to sleep with the silent hum of  “Are you sure God? What if? What if? What if…” 

Yet, many of the abandoned shopping carts have been the memorable catalysts of my life’s watershed moments.  I shudder at the thought of what my life would be like had “my plan” worked out perfectly.  It’s clear that many of the people to whom I feel deeply connected, would be just another face in the sea of humanity had I relied solely on my own cartography.

So as I sit in the basement of the home that I share with my husband, a man who I met at “the other church” in my hometown, a town that I swore I’d one day escape from, I can’t help but feel indebted to every unexpected and highly inconvenient, soaking wet, abandoned shopping cart, and the Lord who put them there.

 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

-Amber