I was part of a missionary group that traveled to Craiova, Romania, after the fall of communism. One thing I relished was my morning prayer time. I found an out-of-the-way overgrown cemetery, the perfect place for meditation. I memorized the path: Turn right at the yellow fence, go up the hill toward the smell of baking bread, turn left at the rose garden, pass the two barking German shepherds then cross the sidewalk stained with mulberries.
One morning, though, I wasn’t able to find the usual landmarks. “Where am I? I don’t get lost this easy!” I said aloud. Finally I knelt down on the street next to the curb, bowed my head and had my morning prayers right there. Then I headed back to our lodging. The next day I had no trouble finding my way to my usual spot.
About a week later, following Bible study, two local women, Alice and Camellia, approached Dafina, a local pastor. I was perplexed when I saw them making gestures toward me.
“What were they talking about?” I asked Dafina later.
Camellia had been struggling with her faith, he explained. Early one morning something awakened her and told her to look out the window. “She saw you kneeling in the street. She was so moved that she ran downstairs to tell you she was committing her life to God, but you had left,” Dafina said.
All along I thought I was lost. But someone else was lost and I was right where God wanted me.
