Providence or Miracle?

Being equally yoked has its nuances. Like all couples, Jayden and Heidi anticipated a happy future together, accepting that marriage is indeed a yoked relationship, as the Bible says it is, and rightly so. It’s among the very few happily ever after institutions, intertwining and interweaving the promise of togetherness.

Like it is for all new lovebirds, the infatuation wears off quickly once the rough edges get rubbed and scrubbed together, ruffling feathers with differing opinions, conflicting aspirations, and differing customs. The eyes are opened and the real person emerges. This is normal. Reconstruction builds a new foundation, and there follows a stronger, healthier, and more honest relationship.

Jayden gladly indulged this necessary transformation in all respects but one. Heidi framed yoking to mean like-mindedness, which was easier for him to embrace in the forward than backward sense, meaning the future rather than the past. The past had to start somewhere, agreed, but why must memories be like-mindedly yoked?

“I still say it was miracle,” said Jayden, slightly more emphatically. Heidi glared at him with a wary eye. Is he serious? “This is our personal history,” she responded.

How do couples merge dissimilar memories? This was the problem at hand. Is it even possible? Yet, that they should merge was not in question. Heidi’s thinking was that it’s only right that recollections of the same events should agree. After all, how would it look if they told different stories? No. God had brought them together. This they were certain of, and it was certainly true that they needed to tell the same story about how it happened.

“I’m going to look this up in the dictionary,” she said, paging ahead to the word providence. She proceeded to read it with a slight emphasis.

Orchestration of an event through forethought and judicious management of timeliness.

“See, this is what happened. God simply timed it so it would work out between us,” she said, assuming she’d won her point.

The look on Jayden’s face dismantled her sense of victory, indicating, apparently, that he still didn’t see it her way. It can be interesting to study the factors that incite an argument. There is usually a provoking insult. The conversation is going along just fine until someone feels assaulted, and repercussions follow. This is not what happened here. An earthquake is a better analogy where unknown tensions exist until it shakes out all at once, releasing built-up stresses.

In reply to Jayden’s look, Heidi gave a look of her own, casting doubt, incredulity, using countenance to mount a show of force. This she was good at, and Jayden knew that there were more weapons at her disposal than words. Heidi’s roommate, Jenn, was a master of techniques lawyers use to cross-examine witnesses, and she’d learned to impersonate her, so well, in fact, that some of her friends thought she’d make a good impressionist.

“How can you insist it was a miracle when you know it’s not true?” said Heidi, raising her voice slightly, partly because she wasn’t getting her point across and partly because of his stubbornness.

He was quick in his reply, “I’m right this time, and it’s right to insist when you know you’re right.”

The first sign of escalation is rising volume. What starts out as a back and forth volley steadily becomes louder as if belligerents are hard of hearing. Of course, it’s not the hearing at all, but the listening that’s at issue. Rebuttals are formulated while the other is still talking and firing commences at the first possible moment. This is the stage just prior to interruption and shouting.

“Jayden! Insist? Really? Since when did insisting on anything cause it to be right?” she asked, heatedly, heatedly enough to realize she was overreacting. She stopped. Silence ensued. She resumed with a calmer voice, “Okay, here, I’ll read the definition for miracle.”

An event not explainable by natural laws. A work of a divine agency, a supernatural phenomenon.

“See, they’re different,” she continued, “one is about God working within the laws of nature, and the other is God overcoming them.”

As for being equally yoked, they both knew the Lord and, having been raised in Christian homes, they both had similar aspirations regarding family, fidelity, raising children in the instruction of the Lord, commitment to Church, tithing, serving, and so forth. Still, it should come as no surprise that all relationships require growth, and growth implies growing pains.

By now Jayden thought it was just normal for philosophy majors to want to talk everything out at length. This he’d gotten used to. It took some adjusting, but he’d learned to speak more circumspectly because nothing ever gets by unchecked. She’d caught him too many times in some off-handed comment, trapping him in heavy discourse to sort out confusions and misperceived ideas and false understandings, many of which he didn’t know he bore.

In Heidi’s defense, she felt it was the most direct way to achieving like-mindedness. Early relationships require a good deal of equilibrating discourse, mature relationships less. What she failed to anticipate was the mastery of an art form. From judo to scholarly disputation, all forms of art consume hours and hours of practice. If for no other reason, Jayden was improving because of all the time he’d logged defending himself against Heidi’s superior debating skills, prone as she was to applying philosophical maneuvers. Not that his arguments were better crafted in terms of warrant and logic, or cleverness even, but simply that he’d caught on. He could stay in the ring longer by ducking her knockout blows. Perhaps this was the source of Heidi’s elevated temperament as of late. It was getting harder to win.

In Jayden’s defense, he honestly felt avoidance was the best policy. Indeed, he was getting much better at thinking before speaking. Thus, nobly, the present discussion was not the result of some off the cuff remark, but deliberate engagement. He was willing to pay the price, whatever it might cost, to resolve this important discrepancy. He felt strongly and he wasn’t backing down.

“And that’s exactly what God did,” he said, “God miraculously mediated events that would never have happened otherwise.”

Heidi didn’t like this one bit, but neither could she be accused of fighting to win simply for the sake of winning. God had dealt with her before on this when she was arguing too frequently with Jenn. She had a good excuse.

“It’s Jenn’s fault.” Jenn was always outgunning her, so how could she get her point across unless she used winning techniques? If she couldn’t assert herself properly, then she couldn’t even stay in the conversation with such a masterful opponent. One technique is to buttress arguments with examples. She did this for Jayden. It would make it easier for him to see where she’s coming from.

“Jesus turned water into wine, Peter walked on water, now those were miracles: healings, raising the dead, the resurrection, those were real miracles. What happened to us was merely a providential act of intervention, for example, like when Peter approached Jesus about paying taxes. Jesus told him to go down to the water and the first fish he saw would have a coin. Peter used that very coin to pay their taxes—that was providence. God merely arranged for the fish to be in the right place at the right time. I wouldn’t think he miraculously created a fish with a coin in its mouth out of thin air. Or, should I say out of thin water?” said Heidi with a hint of sarcasm, once again trusting she’d resolved the issue.

Jayden would have challenged her examples if he didn’t buy them, but they suited his understanding just fine. “I’ll go along with that,” he said, musing, “a coin dropped in the water and the fish saw something flashy. It tried to swallow the coin but couldn’t because it was too big, and somehow it got lodged before the fish could spit it out. I know the difference between miracle and providence. The only question left unanswered is what happened to the fish. Peter was a fisherman, so I suspect he put an end to the poor thing’s suffering and made a meal of it.”

Jayden carefully adjusted his jesting to match Heidi’s sarcasm. She wasn’t intentionally being sarcastic, and he wasn’t intentionally being facetious. She used it in her last sentence and he used it in his last sentence. In terms argument, they’d reached their point of stasis. This was good. So many belligerents talk past one another without ever addressing the real contention. Neither wanted to let this happen. Differences of opinion are inevitable and, in marriage-bound relationships, it’s only right to get at the heart of the matter.

It’s only Right…

Jayden very much appreciated that Heidi’s mindset was to attack the problem and not her opponent, although at the moment he had no way of knowing he’d tapped into the heart of the matter. Mindset encompasses the way you understand things. For a thinker like Heidi, the right mindset here was about how they came to fall in love, which, in turn, pertained to this business of what’s only right.

What troubled her was more theoretical than practical. In fact, it’s fair to say it was more hypothetical than theoretical at this point because it was all behind them. There was nothing to be done about it. Still, for some reason it just didn’t seem right to her that God should’ve chosen a prospective husband for her the way he did. Not that she was dissatisfied, quite the opposite, she was ecstatic over Jayden and didn’t want someone else.

She very much appreciated that Christ-like behavior and Christ-like character are not the same. After a full year and some months of dating, her initial struggle over his good looks had long subsided, mostly on account of familiarity, seeing so much of him. He was the real deal. And, every once in a while, when he walked around a corner or came in unexpectedly, she noticed his handsomeness. It no longer clouded her discernment.

Dark brown hair, heavy dark eyebrows, great smile, he was attractive and she realized she was wrong to complain about it. God thrust him into her life—that’s how it happened. And, even if it took her a while to focus on the inner person, Jayden had proven himself inside and out.

He was filling out, looking manlier, and she picked up on his deepening sense of responsibility, eagerly wanting to assume the duty of family provider. In this regard he’d mostly applied for jobs that offered career potential, which wasn’t necessary as they planned to move away after her graduation. As it turned out, this made it easier for him to accept the job he did. His sudden decision to move back, hurriedly, wanting to be near Heidi, brought him up short, and he took his first job offer.

“I appreciate your eagerness. It’s only for a year,” she said by way of consoling him.

She was maturing too. For one thing, she was practicing good stewardship over her spiritual gift. Some gifts are broadly appreciated and well regarded across the church. Others take some getting used to before they’re properly accredited. Heidi’s gift needed a lot of abrasive sanding and grinding down to smooth it out in Jayden’s mind, but this was all settled.

He was doing his part being careful about what he brought up for discussion, and she was doing hers, exercising her gift sensibly. The ability to look in through the eyes and perceive the soul is unique, after all. It took a long time for Jenn to give her any accreditation at all, doctrinally astute as she was, eventually conceding the Holy Spirit’s empowerment only after witnessing it firsthand. In time, she came around and asked Heidi to look in through her eyes too. She wasn’t disappointed. Heidi’s perception proved enlightening and helped her to admit to a few peculiarities. Some minor fixing was needed.

As for the heart of the matter, Heidi just had to labor through it, working it out in her mind, accepting that God’s ways are higher than hers. She did so, but not without diagnosing a recurring pattern. God would place some snarly burden deep inside and let her work it out by thinking and praying, praying and thinking, which, by now, was a well-established discipline of hers, one that she’d cultivated with care and wonder.

Her father suffered a similar dysfunction, that is, regarding snarly burdens, and he too turned to praying and some heavy duty thinking when under stress. Noticing the connection, Jenn was quick to assert it may well be a case of the sins of the father being visited to the third and fourth generation. At least this made doctrinal sense. No one could dispute her sharp eye, and she’d putt up with Heidi’s stupors for over three years, qualifying her a say in the matter.

“Possibly,” said Heidi, neither affirming nor denying the assertion.

The word she’d been repeating to herself for the umpteenth time was, “Blindsided!”

That’s how she saw it then, but recently she was asking, “Was it right?”

Was it right for God to heavy-handedly thrust a boyfriend into her life? Wouldn’t it have made better sense for her to meet Jayden on her own, and subsequently seek God’s affirmation? This is how it happens for everyone else. Such repetition, coupled with her accusatory question had the effect of reinforcing her memory.

“Heidi, you’ve said it yourself. If wasn’t for your moment of exhaustion right after your big sophomore speech, you would’ve broken it off between us,” said Jayden after she filled him in.

“I know,” she replied, indifferently, as if his point was irrelevant.

“How many times have you reminded me of that VERY vulnerable moment?” he asked, reminding himself of just how narrowly his good fortune played out.

“I know,” she repeated.

“What if you stayed strong? The best I could’ve hope for was to wait until after you graduate college. You’ve told me this many times. Look at us now, happily talking about marriage. Call it providence if you want, call heavy-handed orchestration if you must, but I call it miracle,” said Jayden.

“You have some things right,” she said, “but your wrong about miracle. You see, there’re two ingredients at play, Jayden. There’s the history of what happened: facts, dates, events; and then there’s the interpretation of the history. Your problem lies in the interpretation.”

This time Jayden was the one with a wary eye, glaring, “The next time you pray, ask God if it’s only right that I have to date a philosophy major.”

Heidi knew he wasn’t serious, but the way he put if made her wonder if she was taking this too far. She let up, and then took to wondering, “Why is it so important that Jayden see it my way?”

Falling into one her stupors, meaning she altogether lost awareness of where she was in place and time, she recounted how he wanted her to go to a Christian college. She ended up in a secular college. Was this providential? Maybe not. This was her choice. As a high schooler she planned to study law and ended up in philosophy. Was this the Lord?

What about her wanting to play tennis on the college team and ending up in intermural leagues? Then too, she tried to play summer tennis against Jenn and Sally but ended up officiating because she couldn’t compete. It was sitting around watching them that gave her plenty of time, and this is when she first started her praying-thinking sessions. Was that providence? Coincidence? It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to play tennis.

Nonetheless, she most assuredly wasn’t looking for a boyfriend in her sophomore year philosophy class. Jayden was the most providential event in her life. Then again, he only came along because of her speech. Her speech—without a doubt—was providential! There is no other way to interpret it. One day out the blue her professor called out her name in class. The next thing she knew she was preparing for a departmental speech. What about her father’s debate? Surely God had a hand it too, blatantly so, she suspected.

On the one hand, all these incidents prompted her to be thankful, but on the other it stirred up her snarly burden. What exactly are the limits of divine activity? She took to compiling them into a list. A list, in fact, that was soon including a number of more recent incidents. The notion struck her that she should record them in her prayer journal for a permanent keeping. Not that she was keeping track, at least not purposely or, rather, at least not for a purpose.

If Heidi wouldn’t argue simply for the sake of wining, surly she wouldn’t keep track for a hidden purpose. This could only send up a wrong signal. Was she building up prayer leverage? Heaven forbid it! Then, what was she doing? Consciously, she was noticing how God operates. Pragmatically, she was testing the waters, experimenting, scoping out the perimeter of what’s only right. Hypothetically, God could’ve let her meet Jayden on her own. Why didn’t he?

If that had happened, then she could at least claim some measure of responsibility. The choice of a lifelong mate has enduring repercussions. The more she thought of it, the more it was gnawing at her, this business, for it seemed only right that God should’ve given her a more of an active role. It was her life. Was it not?

In the back of her mind she knew God couldn’t deny her logic. It was safe to chronicle the incidents in her prayer journal, in black and white as they say, making them as plain as day. If only she didn’t have a sneaking feeling that something in her reasoning wasn’t sound. If so, he who causes all things to work together for good was bound to point it out.

The only other way around it was to hold that God had actually denied her what was only right. This was unlikely. Even so, God probably has a way of righting his wrongs. For this reason she favored the notion of arguing for what’s only right. It was less accusatory than saying God had done something wrong.

“It’s time drop this,” she said to herself, telling herself she was dragging this out far too long.

Stupors are stupors, but you need to come for air before the whole thing turns stale. Still, its good to be conscientious. Humans are the only species who have second order thoughts. Heidi liked thinking it out, but it was important to be mindful of where one’s thoughts are headed.

Stupors are stupors, but incidents are incidents, and for now, by far and away, the most significant incident was her relationship with Jayden. Jayden, who hadn’t intended to take a philosophy class, and who hadn’t even met the prerequisites to register for the class—talk about providence!

Jayden had his memory too. Why must it be difficult to reconcile them? Someone’s accounting was off. Miracle? No. Providence? Absolutely! It fit right in to a long string of incidents that proved it. It only remained for Jayden to get his story straight.

Two Letters…

In the time they’d been together Heidi hadn’t identified Jayden’s spiritual gift. It didn’t take a gift, however, for him to recognize when Heidi was tussling with something. When this happened, as it was now, it could only mean another intractable afternoon at Cumberland park. The last time he had to endured hours of her philosophical rummaging until she resolved her unrest. It had a happy ending, but it was painful for the uninitiated by-stander, as he saw himself. He tried to set it aside and talk about something else.

“You have your memories and I have mine,” he said.

This was a good solution, let memories be memories, but Heidi gave him a look. He sat thinking. He didn’t want her to mention Cumberland park. He needed to do something to deter her and that’s when he remembered his two letters.

Heidi was free this evening in terms of homework. She came over to help him get settled into his new place, an apartment he rented off campus. He was graduated at this point, but returning to campus to be near Heidi was an easy decision. He knew the area. Finding a job and an apartment near by were straight forward. Besides, there was a wedding to plan, that is, there would be once he proposed.

She knew he would as surely as she knew God’s intrusions were providential. Her strong confidence resided in Jayden’s reason for moving back after spending the summer working on trucks in his father’s garage. It was because he couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from her. Supporting his decision, she argued that planning a wedding to take place back home was like long distance planning. Why make it more difficult by being separated?

This was what they told their friends. It made sense, it was true, but it was also the kind of thing you tell your friends when the real reason is too personal. She didn’t want to be separated from him either. Moving back was her idea, and it would certainly seem reasonable to friends.

“They’ll understand,” he said, “and they’ll be excited for us when we officially announce our engagement.”

The letters were in a box with his personal stuff, but it was his private personal stuff, stuff that he kept in a safe place. They were still in their original envelopes, addressed, stamped, but never mailed. Although he figured once they were married he would keep no secrets, these letters contained private content. He wouldn’t have dug them out except it dawned on him that they could help. As it was, he wondered why he addressed and stamped the first letter. It was the second letter that counted.

It was impulsive, maybe, more than he realized, and no sooner had he grabbed them than he felt hesitation. Heidi looked at him as he stood holding something behind his back. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to let her see them, but then again, they may be just the thing to bring this to rest.

“What do you have in your hand?” she asked.

“Never mind. I was going to show you something but I changed my mind.”

“You can’t keep it from me now that you’ve aroused my curiosity.”

Pausing, still vacillating on whether he should go through with it, he eventually relented, but not without some preparatory words to put things in context.

“Look, Heidi, I know something is bothering you and I know how you get. You’ll torture yourself until you get to the bottom of it. My duty is to help you, and if listening while you sort it out is the only way, then fine. I’m here for you. Only, let me state my case for miracle, just once, and without feeling pressured that we must agree.”

Heidi noticed something. She would have responded, normally, rebutting, but he seemed unsettled. This wasn’t like him. She thought it must have something to do with what he was holding.

“Okay. Tell me what you want to say and I’ll keep quiet,” she said, softly.

“For me,” he started, “I just believe there were too many coincidences. I registered for Professor Dimitri’s class by accident. But what if I hadn’t spoken up in class? I wouldn’t have drawn fire, and you wouldn’t have spoken up on my behalf; I may never have found an occasion to introduce myself. I was hesitant.”

“When I did ask you out, you gave me your father’s phone number instead of simply saying, ‘No thank you.’ What if you weren’t tapped to give the departmental speech? Or, what if I decided not to attend it? You said it yourself. When I caught up with you after your speech you were about to let me down easy, except you were mentally exhausted so you let me keep talking. I’m just not taking it for granted. That’s all. To me, such a long line of providential occurrences adds up to something more. Let me explain.”

“The way I see it is that when something isn’t humanly possible it must be divine. Regardless of whether something is providential or miraculous it’s still divine activity. Right? I ask myself whether providential activity isn’t really a modest form of miraculous activity? What if we could draw a sliding scale with providence on one end and miracle on the other? Do you see? After a certain number of providential events it adds up to a real miracle. God’s intervention between us was anything but modest. It was powerful. I can only conclude it was miraculous,” he concluded.

There was something in his tone of voice, so sincere, so earnest, so honest. She couldn’t bring herself to challenge him. He could tell he was winning her over and it made him feel better about his letters. He handed her the first one.

Dear Beloved of my heart,

I traveled a great distance to reach you, penetrating deep jungles on the darkest of nights among prowling beasts of prey, fording fierce and dangerous rivers in spite of piranhas that eat to the bone. I traversed strong winds on high seas with no more to navigate than the evening stars. I scaled sheer mountains against unimaginable odds with no protective gear, crossing barren landscapes in the dead of cold. Without food, without shelter, suffering parched thirst, I pressed on into the sun scorched desert, thirsty, mile upon mile.

It was all was for naught. You wouldn’t have me.

I came bearing precious gifts, offering you my hand, my home, a paradise in the land of palm trees. I come from an Island that caresses anxious thoughts. The sun shines gently upon the sands under bear feet. The weather comforts. Food and drink nourish. Health is restored.

Freshly speared fish is cooked on open fires. Tropical fruits are of the rarest delights. People and culture are friendly and loving. 

You said no.

The gifts I bore were beautiful to the eye, stringed seashells and carved coconuts laced with fine pearls. I offered them to you as the merest token of my love, a love filled with desire, brimming with fervor, overflowing with passion, but you spurned my overtures and refused my hand. I besought you softly, tenderly, caringly, but you would not.

Leaving me with no choice I returned the way I came, walking again over dry sands and frozen tundra, climbing treacherous mountains and sailing high seas, crossing dark jungles and dangerous rivers, but my zeal remained with me no more.

With saddest regards,

Lost Forever

“What is this?” asked Heidi in utter astonishment.

She could tell it was Jayden’s handwriting, but what was it? She was about to press for an answer when he asked her a question.

“What do you think of it?”

“It’s awesome, whatever it is,” she said.

“I wrote you after your dad told me that you didn’t want to go out with me.”

This hit her. She remembered. She remembered when she thought he’d lost interest in her. She remembered that if it wasn’t for her speech, her vulnerable moment, that maybe she never would have said yes. It all came back like a ton of bricks.

“I did write it to you,” he continued, “but I never intended to send it or that you would ever read it. I’m only showing it to you because I think it makes my case for miracle.”

He stopped. He waited to see how she would react. Something was different. She seemed moved.

“You wrote it to me, then, as a way to get through to me?” she asked, her astonishment taking its time to subside.

“Yes,” said Jayden, “to you. It was Stan Edgar’s idea. He said he always writes two letters. One to vent his emotions and clear his head, and a second professionalized version that he actually mails. He calls it emotional deflation. It’s his way of coping so that he can optimize his rational thinking processes. He pours out all his feelings in a letter and holds nothing back. This gets it out of his system. Then he rewrites the same letter, but more effectively than if he hadn’t dealt with his pent-up feelings. He told me it’s good therapy and calms down his stress. I thought it was worth a try because at the time I couldn’t get you off of my mind. This is my venting letter, and I think it does a good job of showing how insurmountable an obstacle I faced to date you.”

“So, you wrote another letter? But, I don’t remember getting a letter from you,” she queried.

“That’s because I didn’t send it,” he said.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“It’s here,” he said, handing it to her.

They exchanged letters, but Jayden didn’t feel comfortable about letting her read this version either. It didn’t apply as directly to their argument. Heidi looked at it and, sure enough, at first glance it looked to be a perfect replica of the other, but its words were very different.

“Why didn’t you send me this one?” she asked.

“Read it first. Then I’ll tell you.”

Dear Heidi,

I found you attractive ever since I first saw you, and you became more appealing to me as time passed. You seemed confident and genuine. I looked for a way to meet you and carefully waited for the right moment. It came unexpectedly on the day when you defended me in class against those hostile comments. It was the right moment and I introduced myself, but you seemed not to notice.

I tried to meet up with you again, to get to know you, and nervously I took initiative. I gathered my courage and sat down with you at the Canteen and started talking to you as if we knew each other. In my heart, I already did know you. But, although you were polite enough not to chase me away, nothing happened.

We drank our coffees in the cool morning breeze but you misread my intentions. You forced me to rise to the occasion once again, gathering boldness and crossing uncharted lands. I feared I might drive you away, but I asked what it would take for you to notice me. The look of in your eyes said it all.

It was over, but you threw me a lifeline with your father’s number. Once again, I mustered up my courage and drove out to meet him. I spoke to him man to man. I submitted to the questions of a concerned father, concerned for the wellbeing of his daughter, and rightfully so.

Alas, there is still no path forward. He said you would decline my request for a date. I am writing you this letter as a last resort. Meeting your family was like a gift to me. I want to give the same gift to you. Please come home and meet my family. I hope I am not being too bold, but it’s the best way I can think of to show you who I am. Please accept my invitation.

Yours forever,

Jayden Davenport

“This is lovely. Why didn’t you mail it to me?” she asked.

“Because it was right before your speech. I knew you were busy preparing and I didn’t want to distract you. I was afraid you might use your speech as an excuse to decline,” he said.

“It was a bold request. I don’t think I would have said yes to go home with you,” she admitted.

“I know,” said Jayden, “there was coldness between us. We weren’t talking to each other at the time. I was also afraid it might drive a wedge of awkwardness between us.”

She paused as if thinking it over again.

“You wrote this letter when I thought you had given up on me, didn’t you?” she said even more softly, more gently, more to herself than to him, revealing a sense of sorrow, until a smile overcame her.

“You should’ve mailed the first letter. It might have worked,” she laughed.

Jayden smiled.