The windshield wipers swished frantically in the blinding rain as we headed for Austin. Phil had a conference and I was going to enjoy a relaxing weekend. Getting a later start and being slowed down by the rain put us reaching the outskirts of Austin just as the darkness was closing in. Tired and hungry I began canvassing for the restaurant where we wanted to eat. I took the side road where I remembered it being and nothing was recognizable. Again I circled the mix master trying to trace the location, assuming it possibly was no longer there. Frustrated after circling several times we decided to head toward the hotel and find a place along the way. Just as we passed through to the other side of the mix-master we spotted our seafood place; we hadn’t gone far enough. I turned into the crowded parking lot and sighed relief as we finally exited the car.

Inside the small restaurant people lined the chairs and walls waiting. Phil made his way to the restroom while I inched through to one available chair. Looking around I noticed an older man sitting several chairs down. “You are going to eat dinner with him,” I softly heard. Wondering where that came from, I heard it again. “I want you to eat dinner with him.” By now my heart was racing, palms sweating, and wondering what I was going to tell Phil. Just as Phil appeared, the manager was calling the older gentleman to be seated. He walked in front of us and as the manager was taking him to his table the older man was whispering in his ear. After the man was seated, the manager came toward us and bent down and said, “That older gentleman would like for you to join him for dinner.”  Looking puzzled, Phil glanced at me wondering what to do when I heard, “Sure” roll off my lips.  As we walked toward the back of the small, crowded room the older man was smiling. “So glad you joined me,” he gestured. Since this wasn’t our first time to have this type experience, I knew God was probably orchestrating the whole thing.

We made the usual small talk, asked the familiar questions, smiled appropriately and paid attention. He was older, probably retirement age and no wedding ring. The conversation was easy; he was soft spoken, kind and enjoyable to be around. As the conversation seemed to steer itself I was looking for the door opener, the ice breaker and as always it came. Phil and I had openly prayed over our meal and invited him to join us so he knew we were Christians. That groundwork was laid early on. Being an accountant, he talked about computers, creating a website and problems doing it. Now I had the door opener; the ice breaker.  “You know, these young kids today all know so much about computers; I bet there’s someone in your church who can get this thing up and running for you. That’s where I’d start.”

Tenderly, he replied. “I don’t go to church. I’m an agnostic or I think that’s what I am. I’m not sure God exists.” The door was now fully opened. The hurt in his eyes intensified as he unveiled a life of hurt, broken dreams and hopelessness at the age of 80. He told of being a church member, head of a church board of directors, and working hard to live a good life but tragedy met him at every turn. Death of children, divorce, and loss of hope sent him far from God into a world of doubt and unbelief.  Life failed him; the church  failed him; and he failed himself. Mistakenly, he thought God failed him.

Tears filled his eyes as he selectively provided information to connect the dots of what he now saw as wasted years and a failed life. He knew all too well the pitfalls of religion and religious people, but he knew little about relationship with a loving, unchanging God. Carefully we shared personal experiences that were equally painful in our lives yet God brought us through a time of forgiveness and healing. He listened, hungry for truth and hope.

We sat, drinking our coffee and talking for hours. He shared; we listened and when it was right we interjected. Looking around I realized where we were sitting was perfect. We were out of the mainstream of the room and cornered off in a way that allowed freedom to talk privately. No other table in the room offered that. Even the music that was playing loudly when we arrived had been lowered to create a calm, quieter environment. Just as the conversation was winding down, I asked him if I could pray for him. He nodded and grasped my hand. Phil reached for his other hand and together we extended God’s love. Then I made a suggestion.

“Get a new Bible, one easy to read like the Message Bible, and read the book of John. Take your time; ask the Lord to open your eyes and your heart to hear His voice. You’ve heard all the voices of this life trying to derail you; let God show you who He really is in your life.” He nodded. “I’ll do that.”

The manager brought the ticket and Phil took it. “It will be a privilege to pay for your meal,” he said. We rose to leave and the manager of the restaurant tapped me on the shoulder. As I turned around he said, “That was an honor to watch.” Surprised, I looked around and realized others were also looking. Even though we were discreet, many seemed to know and sense what was happening. “That was a divine appointment,” I whispered to the manager. “I agree,” he smiled. “You come back anytime!”

The manager followed the older gentleman to the door, patted him on the shoulder and invited him back. We walked him out to his car, gave him one of Phil’s cards with all our phone numbers and took one of his. We committed to pray for him daily and asked him to call or email. He laughed; after all it was his problem with computers that opened the door to a very intimate conversation.

As we reflected over the night and even to how many times we circled the mix master, it was a divine appointment, perfectly timed. We got to share our own faith journey with someone who had struggled with theirs. We were all at the right place at the right time to be reminded that God is always pursuing His children. He doesn’t want to lose even one.

“Where can I go from Thy Spirit? Or where can I flee from Thy presence?”

 Ps. 139: 7

Kathy Henigan Jimerson