Synchronicity Strikes Again!

SERENDIPITY STRIKES AGAIN   

          “Look out!”

Skating backwards, I released my male skate partner and quickly spun around to see what the commotion was about. A waltzing couple had stopped roller-skating right behind us. The warning made me quick-stop, avoiding a messy collision. The skinny blond man with the big voice was off to the side of the roller rink, smiling like The Good Samaritan.

“Whew! Thank you,” I said, rolling over to him. “Hi, my name is Carolyn. You must be an angel.” I reached for his hand in gratitude.

          “I’m Greg. Call me Road Angel. That’s my nickname,” he said, still grinning.

          I chuckled, “Well, that’s appropriate.”

My partner sped off to the now faster music and I talked with my new friend who saved me. I thought he was interesting, so I invited him over for a homemade dinner the next night.

*  *  *

          When Road Angel came to my condo, he saw my Bible on the top shelf of my bookcase, an old holiday gift from my sly Grandma Vernie.

Road Angel opened it, then looked at me curiously. “Have you read it?” he teased.

It did look dusty. “No, just the red-inked quotes from Jesus. The rest of it turned me off with all that violence and patriarchal dogma they try to shove down my feminist throat.”

           “That is not the way of Jesus,” Road Angel said, looking concerned. “You could keep reading more. Maybe your bias is just a way to stay estranged from the church.”

          Estranged? Not even acquainted. I was never properly introduced. I thought religion was for simpletons and widows. I was raised without spiritual guidance from my parents. My dad wanted me to make up my own mind about church when I grew up. Even as an adult in my 40’s, religious rituals were foreign to me. My mom was quasi-Lutheran. Her mother, Vernie, a professional pianist, played her church’s organ, and sometimes took my mom with her. But luckily my parents took me to the roller rink on Sundays, instead of church. Road Angel disclosed at the rink that he attended a weekly Bible study group. I was surely a novice compared to him. I didn’t know where to begin. “So, where should I start reading?” 

          “Start with Matthew.”

*  *  *

          I read it the next night. It was about Jesus healing the sick, talking in parables, and salt-of-the-earth stuff. As I was reading my Bible, my former next-door neighbor, Linda, called me, wanting to reconnect. We hadn’t spoken since I moved away from our townhouse complex over a year ago. Not a close friend, she kindly gave her teen daughters’ hand-me-downs to my daughter, Natalie, and we cat-sat for each other. All I knew about her was that she seemed religious from the Christian crosses I saw on her walls.

After we caught up a bit, Linda asked, “Would you like to go to my church with me?”

Linda had never invited me out before. Why now and why church? Then an eerie feeling rose up in me as I recalled an old, dark, probably haunted brick church near my childhood home on the corner of Pleasant Avenue in Minneapolis. It had always given me the creeps. But her invitation was so timely, I had to consider it.

          “We could sing together,” she said to persuade me.

          I resisted. “I doubt if I would know anything you sing at church.” I felt less than secure, quite unreligious, and more estranged from the church than Road Angel could ever imagine.

          “You never know. Just come along.”

*  *  *

          So, I went. Linda picked me up in her tidy sedan. I’d forgotten how wholesome she looked; she was a slim brunette, perky and petite. On the way we saw two bumper stickers that seemed to know where we were headed, “Met Jesus?” and “Honk if you know Jesus.” I was also reading a book at home on meaningful coincidences, also known as synchronicity or serendipity, when these weird signs began to show up.

          Grace Church was massive, almost intimidating, with hundreds of people filing into the pews. I sensed a lot of anticipatory energy, yet I felt out of place. I wouldn’t know anyone, except Linda, and she was singing in the choir on stage before she sat next to me. I wouldn’t know any of her churchy songs.

          We were early so we went into the church bookstore and I saw a big book there titled Amazing Grace. It stood out from all the hundreds of other spiritual books in the little shop.

          “Oh look, Linda. That’s the song I sang at my Grandma’s funeral. Her name was Grace. I love that song.”

          Linda looked up at me and nodded. Then she left to change into her choir robe. I took my seat with the congregation near the back, feeling alone, out of place, and conspicuous. What the hell am I doing here? Don’t cuss, Carolyn, you’re in church!

Randomly, I opened the Bible from the shelf in front of me. I began reading on the exact same page that I had been reading at home, the now familiar Book of Matthew and the Beatitudes. Hey, what a coincidence. I’ll tell Road Angel about this.

          The choir sang with a fervor. Afterwards, Linda sat next to me on the bench. I still felt uneasy, even though the pews were padded and the parishioners closest to me had just welcomed me. Next a large video screen flashed on and the lyrics lit up as I recognized the first line to the one gospel song I knew, Amazing Grace.

          I stood there astonished. “Really? ‘Amazing Grace?’ We’re singing that? Oh, cool.”

          Linda turned to me, “God sure is trying to get your attention.”

          Together we sang Amazing Grace. It was a soothing, bonding bridge between us. I felt so comforted by the inspirational lyrics and familiar melody. It felt like coming home.

          “We haven’t sung that one in months.” Linda said, smiling.

I nodded. Some strange serendipity had somehow struck. Next, we were asked to open our Bibles. It was again the same page I had opened earlier.

          “Wow. This is too weird,” I said. “That’s what I was reading at home.”

           Linda grinned like she understood. Her eyes twinkled with light.

The grand finale was at the end of the pastor’s uplifting sermon. “The Christian doctrine actually contributed to women’s rights,” the pastor explained from the pulpit. “No other religion gives as much value to women.”

          True or not, it hit me where I lived.

          Had God been watching my every move? Hearing my every thought?

All my objections were addressed and overcome as if the preacher could read my contrarian mind. I turned to Linda, threw up my hands in surrender and said, “Serendipity strikes again.”

A true story from Sprinkles from Heaven - Stories of Serendipity by Carolyn Jaynes, M.A