This is a true story of my lost backpack and God’s divine planning. Rest eludes me when the soft glow and steady vibration of my phone fills the room. I look at my screen but don’t recognize the number. Again I try to find sleep. When morning comes I read the text, “Found your backpack in a parking lot. Let me know who I can give it to so you get it back”. Puzzling; I’m certain I brought my backpack home with me. How did this person get my number? It’s probably a freak coincidence that they’re looking for a student. Just in case, I’m doing a walk around the house. I can’t find it. I check the car. It’s not there, anywhere.
I’m getting this sinking feeling as I realize the situation: someone is in possession of my backpack including my wallet, all my I.D., my laptop, and I have class in a few hours. And how did this stranger find my number?
So I call back but no answer. I recognize the name on the answering machine as someone from school. I begin texting this person back and forth, and let them know where they can drop off my backpack.
I get to school, enter the arranged building, and there I see my backpack on a chair. I walk closer and notice my TWU agenda lying open on the table with only my name and number filled in the front of the book.
This story seems to speak volumes about the strength of my backpack-rescuer’s character and God’s planning. I mean, who finds a backpack in a parking lot and goes to such lengths to return it, intact and so readily?
It’s as though this whole incident was a cosmic set-up; a scene or a trap, if you will. Like God created a golden opportunity: for one to trust and another to do the right thing. He had me, the worrier, and all he needed was someone to step into the scene, an actor. All it needed was someone to take the bait and get it all rolling. My backpack rescuer did that. His name is Brandon, and Brandon took the Bate.