God Meats Us Where We're At

It’s Thanksgiving! There are those who prefer turkey and those who prefer ham. But something we can all agree on around the dinner table this weekend: politics and religion!

Let’s go back to talking about meat though.

When I was a kid, my parents always told me to look both ways before crossing the street, to never get into a car with strangers, and to never stick my tongue on frozen metal. But they never said anything about eating meat I find in an elevator. So guess what?

Years ago, in my early twenties and living in Canada, I was visiting a friend who lived high up in an apartment building in Toronto. At the end of the weekend, it was time for me to return home. I had a two-hour drive ahead of me, which needed to be capped off by a detour to a supermarket to pick up an entrée for dinner that night. Some pals of mine were preparing one of those murder mystery parties that were all the rage for about five minutes back in the mid-90s.

Here’s how it works: a few days before a murder mystery party all the participants are given a profile of a character they’re each to dress up as and play during the evening. One person portrays a detective, and all the others become suspects in a murder investigation that goes on during the meal. It’s kind of like life-size Clue with really bad acting. Anyway, I was in charge of showing up with the main course.

Getting into the elevator in Toronto, I pressed the “down” button, and then proceeded to test the acoustics by singing Love in an Elevator by Aerosmith. Suddenly I noticed a plastic bag lying forlornly in a corner. I bent over and peered inside. Clearly, someone had not picked up all their grocery bags when they got off on their floor. It was a $30 pot roast. Not cheap.

Well, it was for me.

I actually did try to locate its owner. I knocked on the superintendent’s door and asked him if anyone had reported a missing pot roast. It was like a scene from some bad TV show called CSI: Careless Shopper Investigation. But no one had, and the superintendent refused to be a meat-sitter until someone came looking for it.

So I took the meat home, cooked it, and served it to my friends. Needless to say, it would have been quite ironic if the roast had been poisoned and we were all actually murdered at a murder mystery party. What can I say?--  when I find a slab of beef in an apartment elevator, I’m a trusting fellow. My friends, not so much. I told them in advance about where I got the meat, so they made me take the first bite. Somebody stood next to me with “9-1” already dialed.

Here’s the thing: I needed to buy an entrée that night to feed eight people, and God provided in an unexpected way, maybe because He knew I didn’t have much money at the time. To me, it was a sign of His providence. To you, the reader, it’s a sign that I should never be unsupervised.

Long ago in a Middle Eastern desert, the Lord provided daily sustenance to the Israelites in an unexpected way: bread from the sky. He looked after His loved ones then and still does today. And you’re a loved one.

Open your eyes. At some point today, God has dropped manna from heaven right into your lap. It may not be celestial pitas or an elevator pot roast, but it may be an encouraging word from a friend or co-worker … someone picking up the check at lunch … a hug from your child … a perfect parking spot … a funny joke you’ve never heard… no wait at a popular restaurant … cleaning out a drawer and finding a twenty-dollar bill … cleaning out your belly button and finding a twenty-dollar bill …

God is full of surprise blessings. It’s the little ones that He peppers our day with that we often fail to offer thanks for, or even notice.

 And speaking of pepper, I need to go sprinkle some on the pork chops I’m marinating. Found a package of them yesterday on a park bench. Our God is an awesome God.