If I were to transcribe the half-dialogue/half-impressionistic thought life which sometimes passes as prayer in my head, it would go something like this:
One has to question these sorts of interactions--what's God up to? Is it God? And what's my motivation?!
On the other hand, there is something very compelling when God invites you into a game (yeah, I did think it was him). Why would I refuse?! I couldn't.
I almost hoped we wouldn’t find the passport in the usual way--turning tables upside down and digging through trash cans, cupboards and suitcases. What kind of a story would that make?! Not the supernatural kind.
As it turned out (if you read previous posts), neither of us. It turned out exactly as God said: “I know where the passport is. You can look, but you won't find it. You'll have to depend on me to return it to you, or not." (I'm glad the 'not' part didn't happen.)
I declare myself the winner. I’m sure God does too.
I won the passport, and a good spiritual workout; only God knows what he won, but I'm guessing he got to build in a bunch of faith and trust in those of us who were praying through this game.
With the space of a 9-hr. flight to meditate on all this, memories surfaced of several other recent games of chicken, when I was led to disregard certain ‘problems’ as phantoms. To move past them, and see the hand of God.
Moses, at God's word, found himself staring into the Red Sea, waiting for it to part--with a crowd of fleeing slaves around him, and Pharaoh’s army bearing down. The Sea parted.