T-shirt is spelled LOVE

I don't pretend to think that everyone who reads what I write believes the way I do. And that's ok.
I don't believe in coincidences, and I've had some pretty amazing things happen to me over the last year and a half.  If I wasn't sure of God's existence before walking this ragged road of struggle, I would believe in him now.

Here's a story of just one tiny way I felt noticed by God.  More than noticed; loved. adored. delighted in.

My church had a clothing give away a couple of weeks ago.  It's an amazing endeavor and with more than 500 volunteers, more than 1000 man hours worth of work, and an incredible feat of organization, they are able to take in thousands of articles of clothing and shoes and sort them into gender types and sizes and put them out in such a way that the community can come in and 'shop' for what they need without paying a dime.

I went one day to help with the set-up process.  I wound up working my way through several huge trash bags of donated clothing and purged the torn and stained items, while smoothing and folding and sorting the good ones.  I worked with another woman and we enjoyed chatting and watching with amazement as the stacks of clothing grew around us. We weren't permitted to 'shop' before hand to ensure that the community had a fair chance at everything donated.  I was pleased to see so many really good items in the bags.  At one point, I came across a dark grey Banana Republic shirt with a sheer ribbon collar. It was my size. I held it up in front of me and said to the girl I was working with- "If I were tempted to take anything, it would be this shirt.  I love it!"  She nodded in agreement and held up a beautiful dress in her size.  We were so pleased that so much of what had been given was name brand and good quality.

I had planned on going to the event. But the day before, I started getting cold feet.  While I could use some more clothing ( as I had lost weight over the last 18 months, and also purged a lot) and Ivy had just grown up into the next size meaning we had nothing for her, I was hesitant.  I knew I needed things, but I have seen my needs so creatively provided for that I didn't want to go and take away from a family who might need it more.  However, as I was climbing into bed that night, I really felt that I was to go.  I felt as if God was whispering.. why can't I provide for you too?  I was still hesitant, but made a deal... if I woke up in time, I would go.

Yep.
I woke up.
In plenty of time.

I headed over to get in line.  As I entered the room filled with thousands upon thousands of pieces of clothing I was overwhelmed. I had anticipated chaos with people grabbing everything in sight, but instead there was peace.  Excitement.  Generosity.  A friend of mine was volunteering and found me behind mountains of clothing.  She asked if she could help me search for what I needed.  I sent her off to gather an armful of items for Ivy, and as she deposited them into my bag, she asked if she could look for me. I told her my size and off she went.  She came back later and added to my stash.  I left after an hour of shopping with a heavy bag and a much lighter heart.  Seeing the group in action giving to the community in such a beautiful and practical way was a gift to me.

I headed home to sort through the clothing and put the items into my laundry baskets.  As I was enjoying seeing all the things my friend had pulled for us, I grabbed a dark item.  I pulled it out of the pile and the realization overwhelmed me.  The shirt.  The very shirt I wanted.  The tiny, single item out of the bazillion pieces in that space had found its way to my bag.  My friend, who had no idea about the shirt, had seen it and thought of me. It was a gift to me straight from the heart of God.

I have pages of moments like this listed in a notebook I started keeping that remind me that I am not forgotten.  Living life as a single mother has been the most difficult thing I have ever done, and yet not many days or weeks go by without an addition to my notebook of a special way I am shown that I am loved.  I feel unworthy of the attention by the God of the universe and yet... also so comforted.  Just as I love seeing my own children smile when they are given good things, I am now experiencing being on the receiving end.  I love getting to share these stories.  They are the sliver linings to my dark clouds, the smile in the midst of tears, the awareness that not one moment of my journey is missed or being experienced alone.  That realization is what gives me the strength to get out of bed each day and believe that this isn't the end of my story.  I'm so thankful for the bright places as I walk out of this dark tunnel. Coincidence?  Not a chance.