It’s really humbling to meet the things that make you Much-Afraid, and believe me, my impending doom (er, dentist visit) really had me licked last week. I spent some time white-knuckling Bible verses and hymns, but in the end, Jesus got through to me.
Through my parents, who talked my fears down to a reasonable size, and my brother, who promised prayer in a comical way. Through Deuteronomy, because “The eternal God is is our resting place, and underneath are the everlasting arms.” And through my dear friend, who suggested I see the dentist’s hands as His.
When the dust cleared, I discovered that my dentist is quite a kind guy. That I get to keep my tooth. And I can laugh, even in the dentist’s chair.
Lost courage: found.
But when I walked out of the dentist’s office, I discovered that my wallet was lost.
Seriously? Was God trying to teach me some kind of lesson? I didn’t know. All I knew was that somewhere (most probably in the bus I’d ridden), my wallet and I had parted ways.
I couldn’t imagine I’d ever see it again, but I scraped together my pitiful crumbs of faith, and called it a mustard seed. Maybe I had been careless. Maybe I didn’t have much trust. But I could ask Him to show off His power. So I did.
Still with little confidence, I started off in hot pursuit of His answer, not knowing there would be many answers…
Beginning with the fact that I was with friends, and wouldn’t need to walk my shekel-less self all the long, dark, chilly way home. And continuing with the friendly uniformed bus official who just “happened” to be standing at the bus stop, ready to give me a phone number.
Then there was the chap on the other end of the line who spoke English. Which is really good, because I still don’t know how to say “lost and found” in Hebrew. I did know how to say “wallet.” Which is also really good, because once my call was forwarded to lost and found, I largely limped along in Hebrew, deeply thankful I had any words at all.
But they didn’t have my wallet.
So I put my credit card on hold, went to Bible study, and asked my friends to pray. Then I called again. And gave them my name. And (could it really be true?) they said they had my wallet! I set up a time to retrieve it the next morning, and went to sleep incredulous, but happy.
“Hope,” the Bible says, “is the assurance of things unseen.” I was about to need every speck of assurance I had. Not in a stressful way, but in the merry, topsy-turvy chase that second-culture life often leads you on.
The next morning, I made a beeline for the central bus station, a bustling, mall-like building. The hunt took me through unmarked swinging doors, up dingy stairs, and past the employee cafeteria to a tiny room crammed with purses and bags, where a very patient fellow explained there are actually many lost and found offices in the city.
Uh-oh.
A glance at the number I’d called pinpointed the office I wanted, but the next question was whether my wallet had been sent in the once-weekly shipment of items to the central bus station or not. A bit of waiting. Several phone calls. And apparently neither office had it?
Hope is the assurance of things unseen. Finding some chutzpah I didn’t know I had, I got insistent — in Hebrew, no less. There was a pause, and then: “What is your name?”
The other office had it.
It was a whole new adventure finding the right bus, but I found it. And the small staff trailer on a bus parking lot, full of fellows on coffee break who didn’t see me until I laughed at my own seeming invisibility. And the man behind a desk, who waved them away, reached into a cubby and pulled out —
my wallet.
Just days before, my friend had told me, “The smaller we are, the larger He can be in our lives.”
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may spread a tabernacle over me.
PS A friend just pointed out that it’s FAITH that is the assurance of things unseen. And that makes me smile.
Elisabeth Adams 