Authentic Faith

Psalm 23:5  ..My cup overflows with blessings.  Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life.

 ~For a lady who is leaving a legacy, but just doesn’t know it yet

For my mother’s fiftieth birthday, we flew to Europe for a coach tour.  Eight days, eight countries.  Eighty weary travelers.  One contented mom.  I cannot recall which leg of the journey happened upon Venice, but it was somewhere in the middle between Brussels and Austria and lied smack dab on September the 4^th.  The anniversary of my mother’s birth.  And none of this, my friends, was planned.

The thing that I can tell you about that magical day is our hearts were moved in an intimate way as if the fingers and hands of God gently puppeteered a serendipitous tale of what would unfold before us.

I can tell you that with footsteps off the ferry minutes upon arriving to the city, the clouds parted from rain drops to sunshine as friendly pigeons and seagulls waved hello and greeted us at the dock.  We put our umbrellas away.  We passed through leather markets, and street buskers, as we found our bearings on the city that floats.  The afternoon was magical in a way that the memory was imprinted on our very souls.

A gondola steered by two Italians greeted us somewhere on the journey between café americanos and margharita pizzas.  What are typically over-packed boats filled with tourists, found my mother and I alone that day to enjoy space, breath, and moments to revel in the wonder that is Italy.  Glancing up at the red and pink stone buildings, fresh laundry flapped a “hello” in the breeze.  As we were guided by paddle along the green waters, the Italian alto and tenor serenaded the birthday girl with music that moved her deep in her soul.  And, nothing can change my mind that day from knowing that God was speaking to our very hearts through the foreign love song.  We listened, she beamed, and tears strewn down her face. Happy Birthday Louise, I love you.  I have always loved you.  I celebrate you today.  My daughter; my child.

The rest of the afternoon passed the time like a lazy summer day.   We were afforded the luxury of taking in the wonder of Italian fashion, and local boutiques.  Caressing venetian glass treasures, and peeking behind handcrafted masks. Absorbing the culture.  Getting lost in the day’s fairy tale.

And, I can’t explain what happened next, other than to tell you that sometimes coincidences extend far beyond what the mind can fathom.  Something immediately moves from the head to the heart and like a long lost lover, it’s impossible to hold up walls and deny your desire.  A simple cake.  A birthday cake.  A Venetian birthday cake.  Baked that morning in a local bakery just around the corner from that dock we first landed on.  Made, by hand, especially for my mom, on her fiftieth birthday, on the day that we happened to be in Italy.   Hand-delivered, by the tour guide that started us on our eight day journey from England, who happened to be Italian, and happened to have a father in Venice, who happened to be a baker, who happened to own a bakery, who happened to have the time and the heart to bake one for my mom that day.  And a group of eighty travellers who bellowed a happy birthday tune. 

And none of this was planned that day in Italy. 

For my mom. 

On her birthday. 

And that is why I can’t help but surrender to a very personal and intimate, loving God.  Who delivers on what he say he will and is more real to me than a close friend.  Who tears down my walls despite my efforts to keep them built.  Unending love.  Amazing grace.