Well that's the way this story goes, so hold on for the ride. It starts with mini pumpkins. Decorated with sharpie from the gym lobby where the middle school students meet each Sunday. You see I get the privilege of getting small art projects put out, for the students, who feel more comfortable making something with their hands than playing games in the gym or striking up conversations with peers.
It has been so much fun, and a blessing to me in several ways, to see crafts as a part of a bigger picture. But the October craft, the mini pumpkins were piling up. The kids were creating them but not taking them with, as we had intended. I had piles of beautiful pumpkins, some done up in metallic sharpie, others zentangled, some with scripture verses, even one with a drawing of a dolphin jumping out of the water, carefully drawn on each segment so that when you spin the pumpkin the drawings animate. (Yeah, really cool!)
I asked a friend on staff at church if there was any event coming up at church that she could use the pumpkins for as decoration. She immediately brightened and mentioned that they were getting a room decorated for the International Center Students that afternoon. So after service I headed over to that wing and dropped off a crate of pumpkins. I wasn't intending to be there.
Nor was Mr. Taher, who was waiting for his host family. But the cool thing that struck me was that even though he was our guest, he immediately started helping us in any way he could. He moved tables and chairs like he was part of the team tasked with the job. He was outgoing and introduced himself with a handshake and a smile. And I found myself scrambling to look to his name-tag to see where he was from.
And my heart leapt a little. Bangladesh. The one foreign country I knew a little about. I smiled. "You're from Bangladesh! My uncle lived there for a while."
"Who was your uncle? Where did he live?"
"I think it was in Dhaka? He was there working with the translation team."
"No he lived in Chittagong, my province. He was my teacher."
By this time we were both grinning hugely.
The connection of a person special to both of us.
We talked about how my uncle would teach his Bengali students songs in Greek and Hebrew, and how my cousins would teach us songs in Bengali.
And I look at the odds.
I am one in 300 million Americans.
Mr. Taher is one of 150 million Bengali people living in a country roughly the size of Wisconsin.
The chances of us having a common tie is astronomical.
I wasn't planning on being in that room, nor was he, but we have a God who can handle those types of details. Those types of odds.
We both took photos, he to take back to Bangladesh, me to send on to my Uncle who now resides in CA.
He was enjoying the fall colors in WI. I talked about how magical it was growing up in the desert of UT and hearing about monsoon season. He said he wished he could be here for snow. And I remembered. I remembered my uncle telling us of how hard it had been to translate Psalm 51:7, about being washed from sins and becoming whiter than snow. Because there is no snow at the equator. I remember him saying that they considered everything from a specific flower to chicken feathers, but that it was difficult, because how could one explain a sparking expanse of snow in a culture where that did not exist.
I am praying for snow right now. Yes, it goes against everything in my culture, where we often pray that the cold will hold off. Because the snow and the winters here are long. But then I remember the magic of the first snowfall every year. And I think how much more that might be if you have never seen it. And I pray for snow for my new friend. For a fellow believer.
It is beyond my ability to grant. It lies in Gods hands alone. And it is he who weighs out the details. Sorts through all of our small wishes and knows the paths that a box of sharpies mini pumpkins might take you on. He gets the details that make up the fabric of our lives. And I trust that he will find the right answer, whether that favors my friend at the International Center, or my next door neighbor who is aging and wishes that we had a climate closer to that in Bangladesh.
So from art projects, to a place halfway around the world, to WI weather patterns. I think I should make pasta for dinner tonight.
