It's so loud I can hardly hear myself think. "Has everyone in the world decided to cram in here," I think to myself. As I follow my dad down the grimy steps of the Tube station, I try to keep up with him as he walks quickly through the swarm of people. Pink tickets from the day before litter the marble floor that may have been white once upon a time. Bumping like a pinball through people, I smell the long work day on the man's coat next to me. Coffee wafts through the station from the Starbucks in the far corner, and there's no time to stop and look at the gorgeous and vibrant flowers in the flower shop. The huge clock dictates the movement of the swarm that scatters all over the station, and with a quick glance Dad hurries us on towards the turnstiles. As we near the gates and I begin to feel more and more like herded cattle, the one thing that should be on my mind is furthest from it.
"How am I going to get through the gate?" I should be wondering. I should be screaming on the inside, "Wait! Where's my ticket?"
But I'm not. I know exactly where it is. My dad has it. It's right in his jacket pocket where it can't get lost, forgotten, or damaged. He always seems to give it to me right as I need it. If he'd given it to me back at the coffee shop, I may have been too absorbed in the yummy smells to notice the importance. The man buying a large bouquet, with the assortment of the perfect flowers, for his sweetheart would have distracted me from the crucial pink ticket that I needed to accept.
Instead, when I'm standing in front of the turnstile, focused on the gate ahead of me, I'm presented with my ticket at just the right moment. Too soon, I would have lost it; too late and I wouldn't make it through the gate.
I was reminded of this point from a dear friend of mine last night. In discussing the topic of worry, he told me a story he heard about Corrie ten Boom from the weekend. Having been to her house and crawled into the hiding place that several of her friends hid in for many days, this story immediately resonated within me; not to mention, I've had several of the same experiences from living in London. My friend told me of how her dad reminded her of how he always provided her with the ticket at just the right moment and she never worried where it was. So it should be with our heavenly Father.
God himself speaks several times in His Word about perfect timing. Ecclesiastes chapter three is titled as "A Time for Everything," Jesus mentions in John 7 that it was not the right time for him to go, and Paul says several times in the books he wrote that God revealed Himself to us at just the right time. The two that seem to speak straight to the heart of the matter are Romans 5:6, "When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners" and 1 Peter 5:6, "So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and at the right time he will lift you up in honor."
I'm standing at the coffee shop, screaming at the top of my lungs, "God! Where is my ticket?! Where is the man who will love me for the rest of my life?" I'm not at the turnstiles, I'm at the coffee shop. He hurries on ahead, silently urging me to follow him and follow closely or else get lost in the swarm of people. Stay close or you'll get lost in the crowd or distracted by the sights along the way. I've called you to greater things and I'll show them to you at the perfect moment, just stick close, my beloved.
So stick close and trust that He has your ticket, just as He does mine.
Father, thank you for such a dear friend to remind me that you have my ticket safe in your pocket. Help me to remember that you'll present it to me not too early or too late. Thank you for wanting me to stick close to you, follow hard after you; please help me not to get distracted or discouraged along the way. Forgive me for screaming and worrying about when the time is right. I will praise you for keeping me safe, watching out for me, and providing me with more than I could ever hope for. How I love you.
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