If you haven't noticed god lately, notice him

​Some of the final words in our message at church Sunday were in a question. The question: are your meaningful observations and experiences with God from years ago or moments ago?

The question was a challenge to take stock of the last time we truly noticed God in our lives - and to take ownership of the truth that we have some responsibility in that noticing.

For me, noticing God isn't always about noticing WHAT God is doing, but many times it's the TIMING with which he does it. Many things God does can be written off as coincidence or accident or just simply not-God I suppose. It's much harder for me personally, though, to write off miraculous timing.

I had one of those experiences yesterday.

I had just returned from dropping the boys off at their house. I was sitting alone in my apartment, and for the first time in ten days neither of the boys was sitting there with me. I was in a space of transitioning back into that reality - the reality of their absence - half grateful for the extended time I'd just had with them, half sad that time was over.

My phone dinged. It was a message from Ian. He'd sent me a picture of the scrambled eggs he'd just made along with a message that said: "I think mine are better."

While the boys were with me, we ate a lot of eggs. They both like them and they are easy to fix. While eating them, Ian would taunt me and say the eggs he makes at home are better. The picture he sent was his way of continuing the taunt.

You need to know, Ian almost never messages me unless he needs something. And I'm not sure he's ever sent a picture of something he's done or created. So when that picture came through with perfect timing, my first thought wasn't Ian, it was God.

Ian and I continued to banter a bit about eggs. Then the conversation was done. Until a few seconds later when the phone dinged again. I picked it up - it was Ian - and his message this time: Love you.

This time my first thought WAS Ian. How much that boy has grown up over the last couple of years. How much I love the person he's becoming. He's his very own person. One who - at least in his mind - can create a mean dish of scrambled eggs.

In that moment, my heart was full. Full of gratitude for the chance to be a dad. And full of gratitude that it had been moments, not years, since the last time I'd had a meaningful experience with God.

I think maybe that's why God uses perfect timing every once in awhile. To remind us that he's sitting in his heavenly apartment making scrambled eggs and that he'd sure like to be eating them with us. If only we'd stop by.

Because the period of time between our experiences with God isn't defined by God's absence, it's defined by ours.

Maybe you'll have some scrambled eggs this morning. Even if they aren't nearly as good as Ian's, be reminded - that even in scrambled eggs - God is there.