My story is not as interesting as Our story

Yesterday, I shared an experience that happened to me while I was running. Here is an abbreviated account of what I wrote:______

This morning, as I'm running along the tracks, a truck passes me and slows down as it does. I was listening to music, but I heard someone yelling out the window as they went by. I turned around and looked and noticed the truck had stopped.

Oh boy, I thought.

The truck started backing up so I started walking toward it. I peered inside the passenger side window, which was down, and saw a young man leaning over looking at me with some excitement."Dude, you are killing it today," he shouted, as he looked at what I guess was a clock on his dashboard. "This is the furthest you've been yet at this time."

Keep it up, he yelled. And then drove off.

I stood there stunned for a minute. Then I ran off.

I ran off with this incredible sense of fire in me. Inspiration maybe? Beauty? The unbridled joy of being noticed?______

That moment changed my day. The shot of adrenaline that man gave me to get through my run became a lasting goodness that helped me get through my day. Additionally, in sharing that story, several folks commented that it was a feel good story they too needed to hear.

The ripple effect of one man taking a moment to stop his truck on the way to work and offer a simple good job changed the world.

The first time I said that to myself, I thought, oh, Keith, that's just the story teller in you looking for some dramatic way to spin a tale out of two guys high-fiving one another in the middle of a quiet street. But then I said, no, in some way - small or big - that moment changed the direction of people's lives.

I always picture God sort of remote controlling us in a big game of bumper cars. He has this endless desire for us to bump into one another, repeatedly, to have my story cross paths with your story. I don't think God sees near the beauty in my story as he does seeing what happens when my story includes your story.

I started wondering yesterday, how many times am I supposed to bump into someone, yet, I refuse to stop the truck. How many times does God drop his remote control, put his hands on his head and shake it in frustration and yell, that was going to be such a great story. It was going to change the world, he cries out.

I started wondering yesterday if the things we don't stop to do change the world as much as the things we choose to do - maybe even more?

How many times do we drive by a chance to change the world?Letters we don't write?Calls we don't make and doors we don't knock on?

How many stories are left unwritten because we don't take the time or call on the courage needed to cross paths with the people in life we're supposed to cross paths with?

I suppose I can be accused of over-thinking a man simply stopping to say you're killing it dude. But if he hadn't stopped, I would have been over-thinking something else. Something probably about just me and just my story.

There's something much more beautiful over-thinking our shared stories. There's something more beautiful picturing God holding that remote control with a big smile on his face.