I recently spent time tracing the footsteps of Orville and Wilbur Wright.
I had two speaking engagements in North Carolina, less than a week apart. Rather than fly back and forth, Kim and I decided to have me stay down there. She found me a cool place on the Outer Banks, near Kitty Hawk, where the Wright Brothers had their historic first flight. I used the time to think, pray, and make progress on my first-ever children’s book about, of all things, a penguin with a dream of flying.
It felt perfect, and you can be sure I will be sharing more about my experience in the weeks and months to come.
One day, after spending time on the beach, I took the boardwalk back to my condo. There on the handrail, I spotted a rock. I identified it as a “kindness rock,” but rather than being a more typical hand-painted version, this one was engraved with a Bible verse.
I was going to leave it there until I remembered something I wrote a few years ago: these are made to be left behind for someone to find, and whoever finds it is who it’s for.
I was definitely the one who found it, but still, the fancy engraving almost prevented me from taking it. Alas, my disdain for hypocrisy prevailed, and I picked it up.
Here’s the crazy part. Just that morning, as I was praying and pondering how to use the remainder of my life, I was listening to a reflection on a meditation app called Hallow. The person was sharing some of the things God says to us in the Bible. I recognized a snippet from a passage in Jeremiah: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord. ‘Plans to prosper you and not harm you, to give you hope and a future.'”
I remember thinking to myself, That’s gotta be my all-time favorite Bible verse. It’s served as a source of great comfort so many times in my life, especially when my dreams felt like nothing more than figments of an overactive imagination.
I’ll let you guess what verse was engraved on the rock I found.
In many of my speaking engagements over the last year, I’ve encouraged people to follow the example of Mister Rogers, who was a master at making people feel seen. He did this by practicing what I call the intention of attention. He intentionally paid attention to whomever he was with, making them feel like the only person in the room. He’d notice something special about the person and share his observations with them.
We can do this, too, and we should! I always remind people that the more specific we are in our compliment, the more the other person feels seen because it’s obvious that it’s not a generic praise that could’ve been given to anyone.
I think this is how God works, too. The rock I found on the Outer Banks in North Carolina that featured my favorite Bible verse during a time I was specifically pondering my future is but one example.
I’m no theologian. I am not armed with bulletproof arguments for the existence of God that will win over the most ardent atheist. All I have is my personal experience including many moments like these.
Some call them Godwinks. Some call them coincidences. Because I have encountered too many of them that have been too personal, and too specific to things only my heart is privy to, I ascribe to the idea that “coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”
If you’ve never had one, here’s an idea: why not ask for one? If there’s one thing I know about God, it’s that he’s ridiculously generous in showing himself to one of his children who is earnestly seeking Him.
Too often, however, we find ourselves feeling unworthy to even ask, afraid of what he might say, or so sure that we’ll be met with silence that we don’t even bother.
Children have an openness to wonder and enchantment, and a willingness to believe in impossible things. Adultitis has but one mission: to harden our hearts and choke that spirit of possibility right out of us. For too many of us, it succeeds.
I’m glad it failed in the lives of those brothers who came to Kitty Hawk.
Just as I am no theologian, I am no mystic, either. It’s not like I receive these personalized messages all the time.
Just often enough to remind me that he’s there and just specific enough to let me know it’s me he’s paying attention to.
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