Finances were very tight. In fact to use a euphemism coined by my mother-in-law, we were squeezing nickels tight enough to make the buffalo poop, and we were still struggling.

Not every bill could be paid. We made a list of the most important expenses: mortgage, groceries, clothing, and gas. Health insurance was no longer an option. I had to trust God that we would remain healthy and accident free until we could have coverage again. This was a great plan until the care insurance came due. There wasn’t enough money. Either it would be insurance or groceries.

I set the bill aside, praying some kind of miracle would happen before our ten day grace period expired. The ninth day dawned. No miracle. Not even a glimmer.

My morning readings included Luke 12: 22-30:

Don’t be anxious about what you are to eat, or drink, or how you are to be clothed. God knows you have need of these things….Consider the lilies of the field. They neither reap nor sow, and yet not even Solomon in all of his glory was not arraigned as one of these. So, if God clothes the grass that is here today and is thrown into the fire tomorrow, how much more you, Oh ye of little faith?

I loved this verse, but I was a realist. God wasn't going to pay my car insurance.

I arrived at work a little early, eager to share my reading with Teri, friend, co-worker and fellow Christian. We usually sequestered ourselves for a few moments in the optical lab, sharing devotions and faith experiences. Teri was of the same opinion: too bad we couldn’t take the passage at face value.

Our receptionist poked her head through the lab door. “We have an adjustment.”

Terri went out. The door had not stopped swinging before she was back. “I think you are meant to help this woman.”

Thinking she was one of “my” patients, I went out.

I had never seen the woman before. Nor had I seen the sweatshirt she was wearing. The front was emblazoned with lilies. Underneath were the words: Remember the Lilies….Luke 12:27.
On my way home from work I stopped at the mail box and gathered up the day’s mail. Among the usual ads and bills was an envelope from our insurance company. I was positive it was our cancellation notice. It wasn’t. The envelope contained a letter and a check. After more than a year, the insurance company had finally tracked down the uninsured motorist who had rammed the back of our car. At the time of the accident he had given us an expired license, false address and had fled. We paid for the repairs.

I looked at the check. It was enough to pay our insurance premium to the penny.


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