Synchrondipity

Some call it serendipity. Or synchronicity. I think it's a combination of the two and I like to believe such occurances are quiet little signs from above, a sort of code to let me know He's got the whole world in His hands. (My older kids will remember singing that song in the big family van ad infinitum.) Lately I've had so many little signs. Here's one I had today. I finished reading The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank with a huge sigh -- such an amazing account of human nature and earth-shattering events -- and absently picked up my ancient, dog-eared copy of Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck which I read as a teen (it still has my book label "From the library of Janice Barrett" glued to the inside cover) from one of my piles of recently part-read volumes. I don't remember why I had taken it on a road trip to Great Basin National Park last September. Maybe it just seemed appropriate for a road trip. I had been reading it aloud to Steve as he drove us down the Lonliest Highway in America. My bookmark stuck out about halfway through the book. I thought I might commit to finish it now and turned to page 136. The author was writing about Fargo, North Dakota. I hadn't even turned one page when I came across a mention of Herodotus, which happens to be a book I just started reading as you can see on the top right of my blog.


Now, what are the chances that I would pick this book back up and come to this particular page, that I would be reading Herodotus of all things at the same time, and that one seemingly unrelated book would refer to the other? Call me crazy but things like this give me a warm, comforting feeling, like a benevolent hand resting on my shoulder from behind encouraging me on.