7. Blessed Inconveniences
Blessed Inconveniences
The flowers that are bent on perfecting themselves, by becoming double, are sure to end in barrenness.… The true ideal flower is the one that uses its gifts as a means to an end. The brightness and sweetness are not for its own glory; they are but to attract the bees and butterflies that will fertilize and make it fruitful.
ST. AUGUSTINE IN HIS CONFESSIONS describes in intimate detail his own conflicts of soul, vacillating between good and evil, longing for eternal delights while held down by temporal lusts. He could not desire either one thing or the other with his whole heart. Soul-sick, tormented, accusing himself, “rent asunder with grievous perplexities … rolling and turning me in my chain. And Thou, O Lord, pressedst upon me in my inward parts by a severe mercy, redoubling the lashes of fear and shame.” He pours out his heart in thanksgiving to God for those ‘lashes” of many kinds, needful to save him from himself. Thanksgiving for lashes? Who can be grateful for pain? Only those who see beyond to the ineffable mercy, tender and severe, which is silently at work.
The word suffering is much too grand to apply to most of our troubles, but if we don’t learn to refer the little things to God how shall we learn to refer the big ones? A definition which covers all sorts of trouble, great or small, is this: having what you don’t want, or wanting what you don’t have.
The vicissitudes of travel furnish plenty of what Janet Erskine Stuart calls “blessed inconveniences,” occasions which fit both categories in our definition.
My husband Lars and I were on our way home from Madison, Wisconsin, with a change of planes in Chicago. We had an hour’s layover, so I sat down, as is my wont, and let Lars take care of everything. He has a way with people, and although we had boarding passes, he went to the counter, as is his wont, to check our seats and to find out if the flight was a full one. Sometimes when it isn’t he gets better seats. When the flight was called I put away my book and followed Lars in blind trust.
“They tell me the plane is half-empty,” he said, “so we can take any seats we like.” Tickets were taken, boarding passes inspected, and down the jetway we went. Funny—the plane was full. Even our seats were taken. We checked our seat numbers again, the people in our seats checked theirs. Another case of double booking, which we reported to the stewardess. She examined all boarding passes and found no explanation. Finally she found two seats, not together. Kind passengers offered to switch, so we settled in together, buckled our seat belts, and heard the door thud shut. The captain’s voice announced, “Our flying time to Spokane will be three hours.” I jerked to attention.
“Spokane?” I said to the man on my left. “Did he say Spokane?”
“Sure did. Where did you think you were going?”
Imagine the alacrity with which we leaped out of our seats, grabbed our hand baggage, and rushed forward. Imagine also our embarrassment and the disgust of the three hundred-plus passengers whose plane was held up for a full fifteen minutes before the jetway was reconnected and the door could be opened to let us off. We were thankful the plane had not been on the runway when we heard the announcement. The Boston plane, however, had left at 6:55, as scheduled, with our baggage aboard, not to mention a special seafood meal Lars had ordered which he was sorry to miss.
“Oh well,” said Lars as we headed back into the terminal, “We can catch the 8:55.”
“Hmm,” I thought to myself. “How does he know there’s an 8:55?” I am learning not to ask too many questions, however. I find it isn’t necessary, it doesn’t make for peace, and Lars almost always knows what he’s doing.
I sat down with my book. He went to the counter, returned with the word that he had booked us on the 8:55. There would be no dinner on that one, so we found a fast food joint and ate a styrofoam plate of nearly unidentifiable food, listed on the menu as Chinese. Strolling leisurely back toward the gate, I checked the monitor, wanting to make sure we were on our way to the right gate this time. There it was: Boston, flight number whatever, 8:25, DEPARTED.
I searched frantically for the 8:55. There was no such flight. What ever made him think there was? We stared at each other, jaws agape. I thought of a few nasty remarks I might make to my husband, decided against it, and then we both burst out laughing. Back to the counter went Lars.
“Sorry, sir. The 8:25 was the last flight to Boston tonight.”
“How about on another carrier?”
“No, last flight on any carrier.”
We found a hotel and flew home early the next morning.
The story is amusing—from a distance. But it had been a rather rigorous weekend and we were both very tired, very eager to get home. Suffering? Of course it wasn’t that, not in the usual sense of the word. Trouble? It was that. We wanted what we didn’t have—a flight home. We had what we didn’t want-a night in Chicago without luggage.
Why!
Irene Webster-Smith, missionary to Japan, took as her life verse three words from Philippians 4:6, “Everything by prayer.” I am trying to make this the habit of my life, no matter whether the thing looks big or small, so while Lars was making phone calls to find us a room I was asking God what He had in this for me to learn. He reminded me of a line in the Orthodox prayer I use regularly: “Teach me to treat all that comes to me with peace of soul and with firm conviction that Your will governs all. In unforeseen events let me not forget that all are sent by You.”
Had He not answered that prayer in that moment as we stood under the monitor? He was teaching me. He had given me peace of soul. He had not let me forget that He had something to do with the whole thing. He reminded me that it was not for nothing. Of course I wanted to know exactly what it was for, but there were no explanations. Weeks later He granted me just a tiny glimpse of a part of His purpose. I told the story to a group, and a young woman said to me afterwards, “I know why you missed two planes in a row. I put myself in your place, and I knew I would have been furious with my husband. God spoke to me about that. He also reminded me how stupid it is to lash out when somebody has made a mistake-after all, nobody would do a thing like that on purpose.”
There is a subtle snare in self-improvement programs. We may easily be like the flowers Lilias Trotter describes, bent on perfecting themselves, and by becoming double, ending in barrenness. We cannot make ourselves holy. But when we surrender ourselves to the Lord, learning day by day to treat all that comes to us with peace of soul and firm conviction that His will governs all, He will see to our growth in grace. He will so govern the events in our lives, down to the smallest detail, as to provide for us the conditions which may make us fruitful. It is not for our sake but for the sake of others. The beauty of the flower is not for itself. It offers itself to God’s sunshine and rain, gives its fragrance to any who pass by, but it must wither and die before the fruit can be produced.
It awes me to see this principle at work. It was a very small “death” for me to die there in O’Hare Airport. It was a very great grace that God should use it later to help one woman.
Faith need never ask, “But what good did this do me?” Faith already knows that everything that happens fits into a pattern for good to those who love God. An inconvenience is always, whether we see it or not, a blessed inconvenience. We may rest in the promise that God is fitting together a good many more things than are any of our business. We need never see “what good it did,” or how a given trouble accomplishes anything. It is peace to leave it all with Him, asking only that He do with me anything He wants, anywhere, anytime, that God may be glorified.