"Then Jesus said to His disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.'"
—Matthew 16:24

Once back in spring 2003, a few years back while I was a senior in college, I was driving home from Lynchburg which is little over 60 miles from home. My former vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, broke down. Ironically I had opted to drive home around midnight because I prefer not to drive in traffic, which is why I countenanced the notion of driving so late. Anyway, previously in January, I had caught a rut in a snowstorm and slid off the road into the median, and pulled the tire tread off of my Jeep and had to call my dad to pick me up. A few months afterwards, I locked myself out of my vehicle but that was in my parent's hometown. My father in frustration told me not to call him anymore, especially at night—and deal with my problems myself. The irony was I probably had a few friends willing to sacrifice sleep and pick me up late at night, but the problem with my Christian college Liberty was that they are all under curfew. And unless one signs out formally with a good reason to leave and a good place to go prior to midnight, one is basically locked down until 6AM, and faces disciplinary reprimands and fines if they sneak off. So, I didn't feel right calling anyone, or burdening them, because I did not know what exactly they could do anyway, except lose sleep and feel sorry for me. I decided not to act irrational, ill-tempered, or otherwise swear under my breath, no matter how indifferent I was to the hardship and burden of the moment. It wouldn't change the situation by being irrationally frustrated in any case.

So, I just put a white rag in my window, locked it up and got the keys, started walking, jogging in a southward direction along the highway. Not long after I got started I saw a highway sign that said my hometown was 40+ miles away. I prayed some, and I even sung to myself ironically, and tried some marching military cadence. I saw shooting stars, and you would be surprised how many of those there are at night. When dawn came up five-to-six hours later, I had no luck getting a ride because I was 6'0" male, and who the heck wants to pick up some strange 6'0" guy on the side of the road anyway at any time of the day? I sure wouldn't. I couldn't even get a cop to stop, though I could have tried a little more at flagging him. So, I kept jogging and walking. I had went almost 20 miles, and by that time I was tired, long overdue for sleep, my legs were sore, and my calf muscles started to ache. I didn't know how I could go much longer. I didn't want to call my father. I kept going a little further and arrived in Chatham. Then ironically an elderly gentleman pulled alongside me and stopped, rolled down the window and called me, and I eagerly valued the ride. He had a peculiar hat on that said Jesus Christ that was a spoof of a Coca-Cola logo. He started talking about various things like the Gospel. I told him I was a Christian. He told me about a Gospel parable I was familiar with, and the gentleman said that if you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move "mountains." And he told me that God purposed that he picked me up as God purposed that he would be where he was right at that moment. Afterwards, the gentleman drove me the other 20 miles home. The Bible does say that the very hairs on our head our numbered, and God sets our path. As I later figured out, he invested over 40 miles in a roundtrip to help a stranger by going out of the way to bring me "home." Anyway, the gentlemen even extended a welcome to visit his church, and a few weeks later I reciprocated. To me, I drew a little spiritual significance from that trial. When I couldn't carry myself any further: when I was burdened, exhausted, hungry, sore and tired—then my advocate and intercessor, my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ would come and carry me home to THE "Father."

It reminds me of that famous Footprints in the Sand teaching which is extra-biblical but keyed to Biblical themes all the same. It's a monumental reflection on God's sovereignty.

I know we shouldn't get overly superstitious about numbers, and such. In Biblical times, superstitous numerologists would subvert the planning meaning of Scripture and look for hidden meanings. But nonetheless there is significance to certain numbers in the Scripture. I drew out a little spiritual significance out of that long journey as well. The journey was ostensibly 40 miles from beginning to end. The number forty carries a special significance in Scripture. Jesus Christ was in the desert for 40 days and the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years. 40 is the de facto number of probation or trial. The Israelites wandered for over 40 years in the wilderness for example (Deut. 8:2-5). Moses was on the mount for 40 days (Exodus 24:18); 40 days of Jonah and Nineveh (Jonah 3:4). Jesus was tempted for 40 days (Matt. 4:2).

That inconvenience with a car was just the tip of the iceberg. My innumerable trials had just begun. At the time, I applied to law school and got accepted, and I made preparations to attend in the fall. But my 2004 year, it dawned on me that it was nigh on impossible to finance, and I could not stay focused amidst the anxiety. And I realized I went to school with too much debt, and had barely established myself, and I couldn't be dependent on my parents—so I had to drop out with much shame, anxiety and brokenness. And it dawned on me that my cumulative student loans would come crashing down on me like a bag of bricks, and I was in the real world, not the semi-insulated world of academia. Somehow, I mustered up the strength, wherewithal, to write and deliver my first sermon on June 6, 2004.

And why must so many contenious people be brought into my life to frustrate me along the way I think? Throughout, all of my trials, God revealed to me, my pride, my weakness, my folly, my sin, and my innumerable short comings, and He humbled me greatly, and reminded me of my unequivocal dependence upon Him for every earthly blessing, and every kind providence which comes my way. Behind a frowning providence, He hides a smiling face.

How's The World Treating You by James Taylor and Allison Krauss