鈥淲hat a fantastic walk I had today,鈥� I told my co-worker, sticking my hand in my pocket to remove my drivers licence. I鈥檇 put it there before leaving on my noon break so I could legally drive to the nature trail鈥檚 head. No licence met my fingers. My heart sank, realizing the extra expense and inconvenience ahead.
鈥淕o back and look for it,鈥� Judy said, when I told her. 鈥淩ight now, before someone picks it up.鈥�
鈥淥h, Jude. It could be anywhere. I wandered off the path several times. I鈥檇 never find it.鈥�
鈥淎ny idea where you dropped it?鈥�
鈥淥n the last half of the trail,鈥� I said, recalling when I鈥檇 last checked my pocket. 鈥淚f I had my bike, I鈥檇 go back.鈥� But home was twenty minutes away.
The office door slammed behind my sweet co-worker. I barely had time to wonder where she was going before she was back. She鈥檇 made a quick trip home, just a few blocks from the office. 鈥淚 stuck a bike in my trunk,鈥� she said, tossing me her keys. 鈥淕o.鈥�
Obviously belonging to one of Judy鈥檚 grandchildren, my chariot felt far too small. Nevertheless, it carried me faster than I could walk. I re-traced my steps. Pedalled in and out of the botanical garden. Wound through the arboretum. Nothing.
I headed for the longest straight stretch I鈥檇 walked, about a quarter mile of clear flat space, native grasses on both sides. No intersections, no turns. I seemed entirely alone. Good thing, I thought. I must look like a bullfrog riding a grasshopper. To keep my balance, I had to weave like a proverbial drunken sailor.
A lost licence is a small trouble, but in my case, my own fault. I chided myself for not securing it better. 鈥淟ord,鈥� I prayed, as I have so often. 鈥淵ou know exactly where my driver鈥檚 licence is. Would you please help me find it?鈥� Even when our troubles are small, I鈥檝e learned, Jesus cares.
A hundred yards ahead or so, I noticed another biker travelling in the same direction. How odd, I thought. He wasn鈥檛 on this stretch when I鈥檇 entered it. Suddenly he stopped, balanced on his right leg and leaned low to touch something. I couldn鈥檛 see what. I imagined a sticky chain or tangled pant leg. After a quick glace backwards, he straightened and carried on.
I kept pedalling, scanning the path. When I passed the spot where the other biker had stopped, I slowed, paying even closer attention to the trail鈥檚 edge, wondering what had made him pause. There lay my licence. I whooped, braked and picked it up, glancing ahead to see if I could catch up to the other cyclist, hoping to thank him for bringing my attention to the spot.
The trail was empty. He鈥檇 disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.
God cares about every little detail of our lives. And yes, he often works in mysterious ways. Thanks, Lord. And you too, Judy.
