Appointments in the Snow

As I walked to chapel along the lane last week, I prayed that I might be of some use to the Lord or another person. A passing motorist evidently pitied me and offered a lift. He was a young man in a landrover, whom I assumed to be a farmer. In fact, he was visiting some family and had flown from America that morning, where he now resided. I explained that I was minister at Martin Top Chapel. He had not heard of it, but he told me he had started to attend a large church in America, for he had been seeking God. In America, an evangelical pastor is a common sparrow, two-a-penny; increasingly, in England, a rare bird of paradise. I said I would pray for him, that the Lord would draw near to Him, that He shows Him eternal truth from His word. He said he would look the chapel up before he flew home to warmer climes, so perhaps he reads this now.

What a lucky occurrence for me, that I should be given a lift for two miles of ascent! Far from it. There is no luck in the economy of God, no random encounters, no accidental manoeuvres. Had he arrived 30 seconds later, I should have left the lane and taken the old Roman road, now a track, across the fields. Our conversation was not lengthy, nor particularly profound, but it was enough. We prayed for my benefactor in that week’s prayer meeting, as I have myself each evening since. I asked that in that large American church, He discovers for himself the very meaning of Life, Christ Jesus. God providentially arranged our meeting.

On the following Wednesday, I caught the bus to Chatburn and walked up from that direction, for variety’s sake. There I met a woman walking the dog just as dusk descended and the roads grew dark. She was affrighted by my appearance, so I introduced myself as the Pastor at Salem Chapel. She knew it, and had been before, and said she would consider coming again.

There are no accidents, only appointments.