|Photo: Raul Lierberwirth, Creative Commons, cc license|
|Photo: Theen Moy, Creative Commons, cc license|
Seven-year old Daniel skipped beside me, gripping his Sunday School papers, while we shook the ushers' hands and stepped into the dimly-lit worship center. It was crowded but we found three seats, knowing Mark would join us shortly. Pushing my hair back, I stood and joined the singing.
"Go back," I felt God say.
"Now? I just got here. Leave worship?"
"Go back. Go now," God shoved me mentally.
"Daniel, I'll be right back. Stay here, okay?" I could see my friend Daisy just two chairs away and knew Mark would be there any minute.
"Okay, Mom," Daniel said, his forty-nine inches so short in the dark room.
In the hallway, her husband was alone as I approached.
"Is she in the bathroom?" I guessed, heading that way.
"No, she went out to the car."
I spun around and bounced downstairs. He called out the car make and model but Honda-something was unfamiliar to me anyway. I walked the parking aisles, looking for a head in a car.
"Lord, help," I asked.
Three passes later, I found her and knocked on the car window, crawling inside. Her eyes were red and she swiped a sweatshirt hand across her cute freckled cheeks.
"Hi, God loves you so much, do you know that? He told me to come back. He knew," I said softly.
We talked and opened up our lives together. Worship in the parking lot looked like praying, raw talks, and reminding ourselves of God's heart.
Thanks, God, that you are perceptive and tender, and that you are good at nudging me hard some days.