But something unexpected happened in the middle of all that certainty. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was simply a wrong train. We had reached the station where we were to change lines. We had done this before. Many times. We got off, walked down to the yellow line, boarded the train, and settled in for the ride. Three stations passed. I don’t remember if it was the signs or the quiet whisper in my heart that alerted me. But suddenly, something didn’t feel right. I leaned toward my husband and said, “We’re heading in the wrong direction.”
And just like that, we got off.
There are moments in life when God speaks not through a booming voice or a miraculous sign, but through a train heading the wrong way. We stood on that unfamiliar platform, processing what just happened. Then we traced our steps, turned around, and got on the right train. But in that short moment of directional confusion, something profound was stirred in me. I didn’t miss the train. I didn’t miss the embassy appointment. I didn’t miss America. I simply heard God say, “It’s not time.”
There is a strange comfort in realizing you’re not as in control as you think you are. I had everything planned with the diligence of someone who wants things to go smoothly. And yet, in that space of time—between the wrong station and the right train—I realized something was being communicated to me that had nothing to do with geography and everything to do with timing. I thought of Proverbs 16:9: “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” I had planned the day. But the steps—those subtle, sacred steps—were being ordered by Someone else.
How often do we assume that familiarity equals certainty? That because we’ve done it before, we won’t fail now? That because we’ve prayed, we’ve packed, we’ve purposed, it means the outcome is guaranteed? But life with God isn’t a fixed equation. It’s a journey with a living Guide. Sometimes He confirms our paths with green lights and open doors. Sometimes He confirms His will with closed doors and wrong turns. That morning, He confirmed His timing through a quiet nudge on a yellow train.
As I sat later that day, reflecting, the thought grew stronger: maybe it’s not America that’s the problem. Maybe it’s the time. Maybe it’s the season. Ecclesiastes 3:1 rang true: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” This wasn’t the season. The door hadn’t closed permanently. It had simply paused. I believe God speaks through delays, through misdirections, and yes—even through a train headed the wrong way.
I felt no bitterness, no anger. Just clarity. I don’t believe every missed train is divine revelation. But I believe God uses our everyday missteps to speak deeper truths. And in this instance, my spirit knew. He was saying, “Not now.”
The strange thing is, when I received that inner confirmation, I wasn’t disappointed. I didn’t feel the burden of wasted time. Instead, I felt peace. Real peace. The kind of peace that comes when God reminds you that the delay is not denial—it’s divine alignment. It’s not the end of a dream. It’s the right ordering of it. Sometimes God doesn’t say no. He says wait. He doesn’t shut the door. He simply draws the curtain for a little while.
The wrong direction reminded me that God doesn’t just care about where I’m going; He cares about how I get there. About what I become on the way. About whether I trust Him with detours as much as I do with arrivals. About whether I can say, like David in Psalm 31:15, “My times are in your hands.”
It’s not always easy to let go of plans we have held onto for months. To release dreams that seemed right. To accept a spiritual “pause” when everything around us says, “Go.” But if we’re to walk with God, we must learn to surrender our clocks and calendars to the One who exists beyond time. The One who sees the end from the beginning. The One who says, “I know the plans I have for you…” not you know the plans. His knowing must be enough.
And so, as we turned around and boarded the train going in the right direction, I did not only turn around physically. I turned around spiritually. I shifted from pursuit to patience. From striving to surrender. From asking “why not now?” to trusting “when You say so.” Sometimes all it takes is one mistake on a familiar route to remember that we’re not navigating life on autopilot. We’re not alone. And our Shepherd still leads.
What’s remarkable is that no one else on that train knew we were going the wrong way. No announcement. No flashing lights. Just a gentle realization and a change of course. That’s how God often works—quietly, inwardly, deeply. He doesn’t embarrass us with flashing signs. He doesn’t humiliate us for our errors. He simply calls us gently: “This is not the way. Turn around. Walk with Me.”
Sometimes obedience looks like saying yes to an opportunity. Other times, it looks like stepping off the wrong train. Even when you know the station. Even when you thought you knew the way. That’s humility. That’s discernment. That’s growth.
I don’t know what lies ahead. Whether America will happen later this year, or next, or at all. But I do know this: God is not late. And He’s not careless with His children. If He says wait, it’s because the waiting has purpose. And if He says not now, it’s because now would not be best. His delays are not signs of His absence but of His presence in the deeper layers of our life.
There’s something sacred about wrong turns when you walk with God. They become sermons. They become songs. They become testimonies. Not of how perfectly you planned, but of how graciously He leads. It’s easy to praise Him when things go right. But there’s a deeper worship that rises when things don’t go according to plan—and yet your heart still says, “It is well with my soul.”
That is where I am now. In that space of “not yet” but fully held. The train moment has passed, but the message remains: God’s timing is perfect. Even in a busy station, even in a foreign land, even in a life full of hope and ambition, God sees. He knows. He leads.
And so, I wait. With peace. With hope. With trust. Because if the train was wrong but the message was right, then the journey is still good. The destination is still secure. And the One who began this journey is faithful to complete it—in His time, not mine.
Let the world rush. Let plans change. Let doors open or close. But let my heart remain anchored in the One who never gets lost, never makes a mistake, and always knows the way home.
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)
He will make the path straight—even when it feels like a circle.
Even when we get on the wrong train.
Even when America must wait.
0 comments:
Post a Comment