The Search

The heat of another African morning engulfed me. As I prayed, the following picture formed inside my head:

In my mind’s eye, I saw the image of a young woman lying on her left side. The relaxed position of her body indicated sleep rather than an accidental fall. I zoomed-in to increase clarity.

She’d dressed in a white tee shirt and blue-jeans; worn hikers’ boots rested atop one another, as did her muscular legs. In sleep she’d flexed her knees, aligning the heels of her feet with her spine.

The woman’s right arm could be seen only from the shoulder to her lower forearm, because her hand disappeared behind the rugged daypack she’d pulled close to her. I assumed she had gripped the back straps to keep it from disappearing while she slept.

With the left elbow bent, most of her left arm served as her pillow. The lower-half of her arm protruded from beneath her bandana-clad locks. The fingers of the left hand wrapped around a long, wooden walking stick, which angled back to nearly touch the front of the daypack.

“Okay, I said, “So, our hiker is probably near a mountain path somewhere.” I couldn’t help noticing the peaceful countenance on her face, framed by the edge of the blue bandana with a few brown curls peeking out.

As I viewed her repose, I noticed something on her tee shirt. Though it bore no colorful designs, there seemed to be words written on it. The folds covered up parts of the characters. Instantly, my curiosity jumped into overdrive. I just had to know what had been written on her shirt.

Concentrating on just that one spot, I struggled to make out the exact sentence displayed. Squinting, I tipped my head first to the left, then to the right. By imagining various possible hidden parts of a few characters, I recognized a couple of words.

Then, two things happened simultaneously. Just as the final piece clicked into place, revealing the entire sentence, the lens retracted. The image receded, now farther away than the initial scene moments earlier. The figure of the young hiker appeared quite small.

I’d expected to see the mountain with the paths she’d been trekking; but instead of the gorgeous backdrop, I saw the inside of two gigantic hands, palms open, placed side-by-side. Both the bottom edge of the hand and the top half of the long fingers extended past the view on my mental screen.

Resting in the cupped palms of the muscular hands lay the young hiker. Tears streamed down my face as I spoke aloud the one sentence on her tee shirt, “Where are you, God?”

What hope and comfort this experience brought to my life that morning a few years ago. May you be encouraged by it today.