Divine Opposition: Two Paths, One Intervention

The Vegas sun beat down, even at 7 AM, baking the asphalt on Torrey Pines into a shimmering mirage. My combat boots trudged along the cracked sidewalk, each step a heavy thud against the soundtrack of my despair. Kicked out, broke, and utterly alone. My white shirt clung to my too-thin frame, the plaid skirt a pathetic attempt at normalcy – as if anything about me screamed 'normal.'

From the couple ripping me off, to the church folk with their thinly veiled judgment, it all felt like a cruel joke. God’s joke, apparently. My prayers had devolved into angry rants, and now, just hollow silence. Today was the day I stopped talking. Decided to stop existing.

The desert stretched before me, a beige canvas mirroring the emptiness inside. Sahara Avenue felt like my own personal road to hell. Each step crunched on the gravel, a morbid countdown to the morning rush hour. God and I were having a heated debate. He insisted I didn't want this. "Oh, I do," I spat back, "and you can't stop me." He, of course, being God, said, “I will!” And with a dark chuckle, I looked around at the desolate landscape and said, "Yeah, right. All I have to do is make it to the road."

Normally, the rumble of an engine sent me diving for cover, a reflex honed from too many unwanted advances. But not today.

The rumble vibrated through the soles of my Doc Martens. Usually, it was some creeper in a beat-up truck, offering a "ride" that came with a side of fear. I braced myself, muttering to God, "Fine, I’ll get in the truck. Death by creep will do just fine." But the truck, a sky-blue Chevy from the '80s, pulled up, and there he was.

The Boy.

Mr. Blue Eyes, Mr. All-American, Mr. Untouchable. The boy. The one I'd secretly, hopelessly loved since the seventh grade.

He leaned across the cab. "Hey," he said, that voice like warm honey. "Need a ride?"

The irony slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave. God was laughing. Doubling over. "You're funny, God," I whispered, staring up at the sky.

A million thoughts raced through my head. Should I say no? Disappear back into the darkness and follow my plan? But what about him? What if he was haunted by being the last person to see me alive? The thought of tainting his bright spirit with my darkness stopped me cold.

He didn't know I was a walking train wreck headed for a head-on collision.

"Sure," I croaked, climbing into the truck. The silence in the cab was deafening, thick with unspoken words and the chasm between our worlds. I stared straight ahead, the scent of his cologne a painful reminder of everything I wasn't.

When we got to school, I mumbled a "Thanks," after I got out of the truck. "Thanks" was the only word I ever uttered to him in all those years. He probably didn't even remember the ride. But I never forgot it.

Years have passed, filled with their own brand of joy and sorrow. I've learned that God's plans rarely make sense in the moment, but they always serve a purpose. He often uses the ordinary, the unexpected, the absolutely ironic, to nudge us back onto His path. God may just use a stranger, and a person you feel is unobtainable, to affect your life for the better.

Did he save me? I don't know. But he gave me a choice, a reason to pause. It was the smallest intervention, the most unlikely messenger, but it was enough. God, in his infinite, baffling wisdom, had used the boy, the object of my most secret, teenage desires, to throw me a lifeline.

That day, I learned that even in the darkest of valleys, God has a plan. It’s a plan that’s bigger than our circumstances, bigger than our fears, and often delivered in the most unexpected ways.

And how very ironic it sometimes is.

As the Bible says in 1 Corinthians 1:27: "But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong."

God doesn't always work in grand, sweeping gestures. Sometimes, He whispers in the rumble of an old truck, smiles through the eyes of a boy who doesn't even know your name, and uses the very things you think are your weaknesses to reveal his strength. He loves to work in irony and will usually do what you least expect. So listen to your gut and trust that if He has a plan for you, He'll make the smallest intervention in the most ironic way possible.

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AUTHOR: God's Biscuits Owner

LOCATION: United States