A WINK FROM GOD
Have you ever had an experience in which two or more events occurred in a meaningful manner but on the surface seemed unrelated? This phenomenon is commonly called ‘synchronicity.’ In Christian circles, it’s sometimes referred to as a ‘God Wink’—an event or personal experience identified as a coincidence, a coincidence that’s so astonishing and mysterious that it’s seen as a sign of God’s intervention. I experienced one such ‘God Wink’ when I left my family and childhood home for one reason not knowing that God had something entirely different in mind.
I stood at the front door, wrapping my hand around the bronze door knob, memorizing its patina, and twisting it until the weary front door opened. The seasons had taken their toll on it, baking it in summer and freezing it in winter. Now, the door’s once brilliant blue paint was brittle and faded in the sunlight. I closed my eyes, remembering how often I’d passed through this door and entered another chapter of my life. I snapped the door shut behind me, enthusiastic about the next chapter of my life, committed to distancing myself from my family and striking out on my own.
I turned the key in my car’s ignition and backed out of the driveway bound for Indiana and my first post-college job. I cruised down the freeway arriving hours later in Springfield, Missouri—the halfway point of my journey and the city where Granddad lived.
I pulled into his driveway and saw him sitting in his front porch swing. He waved, motioning me to join him. I sat down next to him, my eyes taking in its familiar peeled white coat and rough wooden seat.
“What brings you my way?” Granddad asked.
“I’m going to Muncie, Indiana,” I answered, my breath quickening. “I’ve taken a job at Ball State University!”
“Well now, that’s great news! But,” a slight frown creased his forehead, “why Muncie? Why so far from home?”
“I uh…can’t really explain it to you. For some inexplicable reason I was drawn to Muncie. Besides, the distance lets me put some miles between me and my family and assert my independence.”
“Hmm….If you say so. You had dinner yet?”
“No sir.”
“Well, then. Come inside. We’ll eat. Leftovers okay with you?”
“Sure, Granddad, that’ll be fine.”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?” he asked as we sat down for dinner.
“Tell me what?”
“Before settling in Missouri, my father migrated from Pennsylvania to Muncie where he worked in the gas fields for Ball Brothers Glass Manufacturing. Muncie was my boyhood home,” he exclaimed, his blue eyes twinkling. “So in a way, you’re returning home.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Yes! What an amazing coincidence! My brother still lives in the house where I grew up. You must see it!” He reached for his telephone.
“Granddad, wait! No!” Uneasiness began stirring in my stomach as I realized my plans for breaking from family and asserting my independence were being foiled. But I couldn’t stop him.
“Hello, Claude. Bert here. Oh, me? Fine. You remember my granddaughter? She’s moving to Muncie. What’s that? Yes, I know. Such a wonderful coincidence. And get this. She’ll be working at Ball State. What? Sure. She’d love to meet you and the family. I’ll give her your address.”
Granddad hung up the telephone. “Here.” He handed me a piece of paper with Claude’s address scribbled on it. “Claude’s eager to meet you.”
“But Granddad,” I stared at the piece of paper, “didn’t you hear me? I’m moving to Muncie to distance myself from family, not connect with it!”
“Yes, I heard you,” he asserted. “But your moving to Muncie is such a remarkable coincidence! You must be going there for a reason, but perhaps not for the reason you intended. You’ll soon discover that reason.”
“Well, I know the reason why I’m moving to Muncie, and it’s not to be with family!” I stuffed the piece of paper deep inside my jeans pocket and went to bed, sleeping restlessly.
“Promise me you’ll visit Claude,” Granddad reiterated the next morning.”
“Oh, alright, Granddad. I promise.” The words stuck in my throat.
A few days after arriving in Muncie, I drove to Claude’s house wishing with all my heart that I hadn’t promised Granddad I’d do so. “Welcome!” Claude opened his front door, ushering me inside to an easy chair across from his fireplace. “I’m delighted to finally meet my great niece! I’m not much for words, but I’ve much to tell you about the family. I, uh…don’t know where to begin,” he said, his voice trailing off. He handed me a large, cumbersome volume with the words Stainbrook/Steinbrook Family embossed on the side binding. “This book tells our story from the beginning. I’ll leave you to it,” Claude said, disappearing from the room.
The book was old and heavy, bound in green leather, and was cracked and dry with age. I eased back in the chair and propped my feet on a footstool, soaking in the warmth from his cheery fireplace and carefully fingering the gold lettering before opening the book. Words and images appeared and disappeared as I devoured the pages, immersed in the story of Jacob Steinbruchel, the initial Stainbrook who came to the U.S. from Germany arriving in Philadelphia in 1747. He obtained his citizenship; bought land in Buck County, Pennsylvania; and married. Before Indians killed him in 1757, he bore three children—Maria, George, and Abraham, forever sealing their fate and the fortune of generations of Stainbrooks to follow as American citizens.
I paused and laid down the book, glancing at the richly carved mantel in front of me. It was filled with vintage family photos. I was attracted to a small oval portrait of a young woman. I stood up and stared at her photograph. Her gaze, undimmed by time, met mine, and I immediately felt a deep, enigmatic connection to her. The smile on her face comforted me, and I sensed her love for me—a love as real as if she were in the room with me.
“You have her strong cheek bones,” Claude interjected as he re-entered the room. “The resemblance is uncanny.”
“Who is she?”
“You never knew her; she’s your great-grandmother, Martha Elizabeth Stainbrook. She was your age when this photo was taken.”
But Claude was wrong. I’d known her face forever. I’d seen it long before I knew this photograph existed, for Martha’s features and countenance were the same ones I’d seen on my mother’s face. At that moment, my perspective shifted, for I recognized God had orchestrated my move to Muncie but not, as Granddad suggested, for the reason I intended. Rather than distancing myself from family, I was in Muncie to learn more about my heritage and to bond with family in a much broader sense.
For three years I lived and worked in Muncie, spending a great deal of time with Claude and a host of other Stainbrooks. I’m grateful for my time with them, for my life was richer for it. Granddad was right. Moving to Muncie was a remarkable coincidence, a ‘God Wink,’ if you will. I’ve come to appreciate such coincidences, for they are clues as to how the world all fits together, although at times things may look to be wide apart and unconnected.
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