Four years ago I was in a terrible accident. Rolling over four times, I broke my neck in four places. During emergency surgery my vocal cords became paralyzed. I often wondered why God spared me. I thought, He must have a purpose for me. After three months of prayer, my voice returned. Over the next three years, however, I still wondered why God saved me.
During this questioning period, God nudged me to join the choir and get more connected to my church. I made excuses, but I still felt led. Finally, I prayed that if someone from the choir heard me singing and invited me to join, I would.
Oddly, after praying that prayer God led me to join a men's Bible study. The first meeting, I asked God where to sit. At the Bible study, we sang, and the man sitting next to me—a choir member—invited me to join the choir. My wife and I did. I understood for the first time I needed to be connected to my church and start serving.
Next, our church called for hosts of small groups for the "40 Days of Purpose." Again, I felt God calling me. Again, I hesitated. I thought, I'm not a group leader—an outgoing, touchy-feely, people person. Bargaining worked the last time, so I did it again. I would host if he would provide a group.
When I heard that over 400 hosts signed up, I was convinced that they wouldn't need me. But a couple was assigned to our group, and commonality drew us together. We both owned nearly identical vintage motorcycles, and we were both looking for someone to ride with regularly.
Some might say, "That's just a coincidence," but it's hard to dismiss God perfect planning when you consider what happened next.
When our entire group met for the first time and we introduced ourselves, the motorcycle story came up. We were delightfully surprised to discover that four couples in our group (that had never met before) had similar motorcycles. We knew this wasn't a coincidence.
I'm a work in progress; I have a long way to go. As I continue to pray and follow God's leading, He shows His purpose and that there aren't coincidences.
