My parking space that day was far away from the hospital, and it was cold, even in the hospital’s covered garage. I grumbled under my breath about that crummy parking space as I hurried with my hands shoved into my pockets and my ears turning blue. When I finished my visit, it was a long elevator ride back to the garage and my car. My time in the hospital had been a hard couple of hours. It was another goodbye I wasn’t ready for, so I closed my eyes and leaned my head back to breathe, and quietly exhaled the words “Jesus help”. A woman was the only other person with me in the elevator, and I could hear her gasping, as if she was trying to catch her breath. I opened my eyes, and she lowered her mask to say something, but words didn’t come – only an audible moan as her eyes filled with tears. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I reached out my hand toward her. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and squeezed hard, then I quietly repeated my quiet prayer “Jesus help”, this time in a whisper so she could hear. It was a prayer of sorts, except I didn’t know what to pray for. There was nothing I could say to ease her pain, but I felt God’s powerful presence in that elevator. His arms were wrapped around us both, so I whispered the name of Jesus again. She finally said two words: “He’s gone.”
I don’t know who “he” was, or what the situation had been, but it was clear the loss had shattered her. Leaving her at this moment wasn’t an option, so I walked with the woman until she found her car. Which, as it turned out, happened to be right next to mine. Remember that parking space I was grumbling 
about? I sure remembered, and then reminded myself that nothing is an accident.
about? I sure remembered, and then reminded myself that nothing is an accident.She opened her door and turned to hug me. As she sat down to close the door, she looked at me, pulled down her mask and said, “Thank you.” Her voice was shaky and filled with pain. “You pray, don’t you?” “I sure do,” I replied. “Can you please pray for me and my family?” In that cold parking garage, we prayed together. I didn’t know what she had walked through, but I was certain God was with her, and I told her this as I finished our prayer.
She smiled and in a soft voice replied to me with the words “I asked God where He was in all this pain. And he showed me today in that elevator. Thank you for being here. You don’t know me, but you took the time to help me today.”
Since I was parked beside her, and because I had Resilience Care Boxes in my trunk (again, there are no accidents), I put a box in her car. As she pulled out of the parking spot, she smiled again, tears running down her cheeks. She mouthed the words, “Thank you,” and drove away.
I started my car and sat for a moment, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. Every morning, I pray, “Lord, let nothing in my day be an accident.” And once again, He showed me even the toughest moments and heartbreaking goodbyes can have His handprints all over them. My devotional 
that day was about the desert, and today felt like one of those dry places where everything seems a little desolate. Another loss for both me and my elevator friend had left us parched. And yet, God was there, orchestrating events so she and I could meet in that desert. There is a divine dialogue in these dry places. We don’t need introductions or explanations. Groans and simple prayers can bring hurting souls together for comfort. She needed me, and I needed her.
that day was about the desert, and today felt like one of those dry places where everything seems a little desolate. Another loss for both me and my elevator friend had left us parched. And yet, God was there, orchestrating events so she and I could meet in that desert. There is a divine dialogue in these dry places. We don’t need introductions or explanations. Groans and simple prayers can bring hurting souls together for comfort. She needed me, and I needed her. I may never meet that lady again, but that day in the elevator our pain collided, and it was no accident. God wrapped His arms around us both, and it was a sacred moment of beauty in the desert.