Friday, September 2, 2011

Japanese Cherry Blossom, and being found.

The Job?

Not mine.

The feeling?

I don’t know, you name it - Hurt, Rejection, Hopelessness.

But God reminds me that His presence is with me.

Sometimes in ways so subtle... or, not so subtle.

I reached up and into Elizabeth’s closet, hoping to find the warm and comforting smell of Japanese Cherry Blossom awaiting me. Anything to comfort my now sorrowful heart. It isn’t there - in it’s normal spot, just to the right of the green bin that she keeps all of her girly smells.

“Maybe she put it in the bin this time ..” my heart hoped.

So I stretched further, bringing the little colorful bin close to my body, and I dig through. No! I thought to myself.

My dear roommate had just left to catch her flight out to California, and she must’ve brought it with her; and frankly, Warm Vanilla Sugar just wouldn’t do the trick. The shower after work washed away the few sprays that I was able to borrow in the morning before heading out for my day - oh well. “This fits the tone of today,” I thought.

I reach back up and put the bin back in its rightful place, and ...

BOOM! down comes tumbling Elizabeth’s foot stone. For the 3rd time today.

I lifted my eyes to avoid the falling of tears - the frustration of being frustrated - and then dropping something. I looked up, sighed deep, and slowly made my way into the closet to pick up the wandering foot stone. I reached out to grab it, wondering how it could have fallen so deep in her closet from a short distance drop. I closed my eyes and felt around.

Why is it often easier to close our eyes to see?

And yet, there it was - the little white foot stone. I grabbed onto it, and began to pick it up, but as I opened my eyes I was attracted to a little maroon bottle with the slightest faint delicate handwriting.

Ugh, I thought. I REALLY need to keep up with these new contacts.

I got a little closer ...

“Japanese Cherry Blossom.”

My heart softened, and I sat comforted.

"Thank you, little runaway," I said to the footstone.

(Yes, I talked to the inanimate lifeless piece of stone)

.. but only to be reminded of the one little sheep that the shepherd left the 99 for, or the woman who tore about her house for that one little coin.

I recollected the Lord's tender words to a short little man, so undeserving :

“I came to seek and save the lost.”

Ok God. I hear you.

"Thank you, Jesus."

I whispered, as a tear streamed down my face.

And how could I not be reminded of what happened just 1 day earlier...

My phone lit up as a late night text came buzzing through.

My brother. It was always nice to hear from him.

“I don’t know if you know her, but Brit Nicole and her band sang at our game yesterday.”

“Oh yea! For sure. She has some great tunes.” I replied.

He went on to tell me that she sounded good live, and I pondered the beauty of some of her songs. That night I listened to a couple of them, hearing the truth behind Hanging On, and my favorite- “Lost get Found.

The next day came, and I spent most of my time working in the back, dealing less with guests, and more with the set up and break down of our breakfast and conference lunches. However, there was one guest that I helped that day.. and his name was Benjamin. Benjamin looked oddly familiar to me, so when Terry called me up to the gallery stand to assist her with Benjamin’s reservation, I was assured he had been with us before. As I greeted him, there was an awesome humbleness in his presence, and I was thankful it was this guest I would be working with. I began to work out the kinks of his reservation, making small talk as I typed and searched as to why his company hadn’t sent his credit card authorization through to us. Luckily, I was able to get in touch with a woman in charge of all travelers reservations, and she informed me she would fax an authorization over immediately. As we waited for the fax, Benjamin expressed how odd it was that this often happened during his travels; however, he certainly carried a “no worries” kind of attitude. I noticed on the gallery stand his phone that lit up with pictures similar to the site I peruse often - Yes, the infamous “Rabbit Room.” I told Mr. Glover I would be back in a moment, as I waited to see if his fax had come through.

It had.

As I picked up the little white sheet of paper I noticed the company name -

“EMI” - A Christian recording label.


I know he said he’s never been with us, but maybe I HAD seen him before.

I walked back out to the gallery and proceeded to fix the needed changes to his reservation. As I did this, I was compelled to ask.

“I noticed your company..” I began.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what the Rabbit Room is, would you?

“The Rabbit Room..” He continued in a familiar and yet curious tone. “That sounds so familiar.”

“Well, it’s a site devoted to the place that C.S Lewis and J.R.R Tolkien would sit in London, and pour over the use of words, the existence of man, the hereafter - you know , just what they do. It is a place where mostly underground Christian musicians, poets, writers, and artists post their thoughts and work. I must say - it’s pretty sweet. A guy named Andrew Peterson founded the site, I said, one of my favorite musicians and writers.

“Andrew.” He said most factually. “I know Andrew.”

“Oh, personally?” I asked.

“Yes, I’ve spent some time with Andrew.” He answered. “I’m actually here to help write a few songs for a new artist in the area; but I will definitely be checking out the Rabbit Room. I better get to it..”

With that he was off to his room, and I was back to work.

The next morning I stood with Shelly in the back, fixing the needed items for our guests once again.

I saw someone walking towards me - and at this point my contacts hadn’t made their snug little way into my eyes yet this morning, but I noticed the figure as Mr. Glover. He walked right up and said; “I just really wanted to ask you what kind of music you listen to exactly?
Who do you like?”

“Well, I love some pretty modern Christian stuff like MercyMe, Third Day, Hillsong - but I enjoy mostly the underground songs and artists that seem to find their way to me - instead of the other way around.”

“Great.” He said. “How about a girl named Brit Nicole? Do you know any of her music?”


How oddly familiar.

“Why, yes.” I said. “My brother asked me that question just last night - and it caused me to turn some of her tunes on, and sing along.”

He smiled.

"My wife is her assistant."

“Do you happen to know the song, Lost Get Found?”

I smiled again and said,

“Yes, what a great song.”

“Cool,” he said.

“I wrote it.”

God is with us. He comes through perfume bottle moments, or song writers; but giving the same message of truth:

“I seek and save that which was lost...

and be sure of this;

I am with you, always,

until the very end of the age." -luke19.10,matthew28.20

I plan to take him at his word.

(And needless to say, I walked away-

and smiled.)