It was a Wednesday evening early this past Spring. The snow was gone but the nights still came early. Our prayer time had just finished. Glancing over at security camera monitor, I noticed a car parked peculiarly in the alley behind the building.

As the folks continued fellowshipping, I went out to investigate. I approached the car from behind. The driver’s door was open and the driver was doing something secretly in the shadows. I assumed it was drugs.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

A man swore and told me to leave him alone.

I told him he was in our parking lot and he swore at me again. He slammed his door and started the car. The white reverse lights flashed and the tires of his car spun in the asphalt.

The car turned in my direction and I scrambled for cover. I reached the corner of the building, but discovered that it didn’t offer much protection. I braced for impact.

At that moment, a truck turned into the alley. It’s headlights shone brightly in the shadows. The car slammed on it’s brakes, shifted into drive and sped off.

It all happened so fast, it barely had time to register. I slowly realized how close I’d come to being run down.

I went back inside the church, my heart still pounding. No one inside witnessed my ordeal. It was a shock to them all when they heard my harrowing story.

After the adrenaline rush wore off, my thoughts began to form. I realized that in the few seconds of danger, I was alone. Despite the fact that my church family were so close, they were still far away.

I also realized that I wasn’t completely alone.

For the first time, I began to understand Christ’s promise to never leave nor forsake us. I wasn’t truly alone. Christ was present with me in the crisis. Did he send that truck into the alley at that precise moment to protect me from harm? Possibly. Regardless of how it could’ve turned out, I knew I wouldn’t have to face the trial on my own. I thanked God for the reality of His presence.

That’s genuine fellowship in the Undiscovered Country.


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