The Ordinary Epiphany

Could an epiphany come in the form of a pair of size 10 ice skates marked at $4.88 lying on a rack in a thrift store?

It was for me.

Epiphany means manifestation or revelation.  We use the term relatively freely these days, but not perhaps as freely as we might.

Let me illustrate with a simple story: on the traditional date of the celebration of the Epiphany, January 6th, I happened to have a few minutes to run down to the thrift store to look for skates while my family ran an errand.  We had already discovered that some seasonal ponds in the nearby park were frozen solid and would hold our weight—an unusual event in the Northwest—so ice skating was the obvious next step, save one problem: we had no ice skates.

As I approached the thrift store, I asked my Lord to provide skates, telling Him that I knew He could provide if He wished us to go ice skating.  I walked up and down the aisle of sports equipment, searching for skates that might have escaped my attention but saw nothing.  Just as I was resigning myself to the fact that it was clearly not God's will, I saw on the other side of the rack a pair of skates at least three sizes too big.  They seemed, however, to be the narrowest size 10 skates ever made.  In short, they fit.  (Also, I had plenty of room to wiggle my toes—just like my childhood heroine Pippi Longstocking.)

That moment of discovery—and also the experience of gliding across the frozen ponds while my siblings had fun sliding about on the ice—was an epiphany for me.  It was one more epiphany in a long chain of endless epiphanies revealing God's love.

As fallen creatures, we find ourselves happy mostly when we get precisely what we want.  Even little children, with all their innocence and joyful discovery of life, throw fits when they do not get what they want and are given what is good for them instead.  We are no different.  We beg God to do our will while mouthing dutifully the words, "Thy will be done."  We might go so far as to say, "Jesus, I trust in Thee," but really we more often mean that we are putting our trust in Him to do what we ask of Him.

Our Lord really does wish to give us all that we ask of Him, but He must give us what is good for us.  Sometimes He says yes and gives us the ice skates we desire.  Sometimes He gives us migraines or autoimmune disorders.

What is our response?  We thank Him for what we asked for and the other things we perceive as good and we shake our fist at the heavens and feel as if He has abandoned us when the bad things come.  We want pleasure and comfort, not challenge and growth.  We want our will, not His.  We want to be god unto ourselves.

Yet what if we were to thank Him for the bad things too?  What if we accepted them as gifts?

This approach is one facet of what De Caussade, the author of Abandonment to Divine Providence, calls the "philosopher's stone."

Historically, the philosopher's stone was sought for turning everything into gold, and even for extending life.  So when De Caussade refers to abandonment to Divine Providence by this title, he means that here is the secret key to turning everything into a source of joy and transforming our ordinary lives into labyrinths of miracles, giving us life more abundantly. (See John 10:10.)

His assertion is true because it opens us to receiving the revelation of God's love.  For the

nature of God is love, which is self-giving, and because He is perfect that means He is constantly giving Himself, endlessly manifesting Himself through even the most ordinary situations.  We cannot receive that love if we stamp our feet and fold our arms and insist upon receiving the thing we want like a spoiled toddler.

It is amazing to me how my Lord provides for me in the smallest ways when I place my trust in Him (the skates are merely the proverbial tip of the iceberg; I have countless more stories I could share).  Now that does not mean He gives me everything I want.  What it does mean is this: when I put Him first and commit myself to a daily relationship because of who He is and not what He gives me, continually (in the sporadic fashion of a human creature) abandoning myself to Him, I am awed at how frequently He provides what I need and even that for which I have not dared to ask but my heart desires.

Then when He gives me what I do not want, I can thank Him because I believe deeply in His love for me, although my mind and body may cry out to the contrary in the face of suffering.  For I know that I can trust His words:

Ask, and it shall be given you:
seek, and you shall find:
knock, and it shall be opened to you.

Matthew 7:7

I know that He will answer according to His love for me, which is greater than the love I bear myself.