A Stone of Remembrance
Yvetta Varatharaj (WRIGG Writer)
As women, we often have the privilege and responsibility of setting the spiritual temperature in our homes. I recently had an experience that I believe will be a marker in our family’s spiritual journey, much the way the Israelites left memorial stones to give God glory and remind future generations of what He had done for them (Joshua 4:20-24).
A few weeks ago we woke up to find that both our cars had been broken into. Everything had been rummaged through. There wasn’t much of value in there, but the burglar did take a black bag, thinking it probably had a computer inside. There was no computer, but what it did have were receipts and truck weigh tickets from our recent military move. To the culprit, these items were worthless. But to us they were invaluable—without them we would not be able to get reimbursed the thousands of dollars due to us for moving ourselves.
That morning after my husband left for work, our kids and I prayed some big prayers. We prayed that the bag would come back to us with the papers intact. Praying big is risky, especially when you pray with little hearts that are going to ask some big questions if God doesn’t answer in the way they expect. I don’t always have the faith to put God on the spot like that, but this time I did.
I put out a message on our neighborhood network page to let people know what had happened and to keep an eye out for it, but didn’t share my address for safety reasons. For the next couple days, every time I left the house I kept glancing at the side of the road hoping that the perpetrator had discarded it in an obvious location. I wanted so badly to see God answer, but I was searching for the answer in my own wisdom, thinking I had figured out how He would come through. I would have been thrilled if He had chosen to answer that way. But God had something else in mind.
A few days later, the kids and I were returning home after a day out and about. We pulled into the driveway and I noticed something leaning against the front door. It was THE black bag—in perfect condition, with papers intact. I took it inside and showed the kids. You can imagine the celebration that ensued! We talked about how our amazing God came through in his own amazing way. Dad came home from work shortly after and was in disbelief to hear the news, as we all were. There was much rejoicing!
We tried to think of how it could have happened, but it was clear that we would not be able to figure this one out. God knew the story because he had written it, and we were left to wonder at the miracle he had wrought for us.
I couldn’t help but share with anyone who would listen. Like the Israelites, I “memorialized” it in my own way. In this case, sharing our testimony with friends and family, as well as a post to social media and an update on our neighborhood page were the most tangible ways we could give God the glory. This is a stone we will visit often and remember God’s faithfulness.