Recently I made an out-of-state visit to a dear friend. At the close of the visit, my friend took my hand and prayed, "Father, protect Laura on her journey home. And, if it would please you, sit someone beside her on the plane that she can share Jesus with."

I barely took notice of this request. Sharing my faith hasn’t been something I’ve done often in the past year of grief since my husband’s passing. In the aftermath of death, living in its shadow, God has "felt" somewhat remote and distant to me, like He had packed up and taken a long journey. I hear this is entirely normal for a grieving person, but painful nonetheless.

So, my friend’s request went over my head, until I sat in a window seat of Delta Flight 5777, and saw the young man in the robes walking toward me. He had a shaved head, and was wearing a long sleeveless ‘dress’, maroon, with a yellow sash. He carried a cloth ‘purse’ of matching material, stuffed full of some sort of religious reading matter. And he sat down….right beside me. Immediately my friend’s prayer of the day before flooded my mind: "If it pleases you, Lord, please sit someone beside Laura whom she can share Jesus with."

I had my assignment. How could I not obey? Gathering my courage I asked, "So ... what do these garments signify?"

"Oh, I’m a Buddhist monk," the 27-year-old replied.

"This should be an interesting three hour flight, " I then responded, "because you are sitting beside a former Baptist pastor’s wife of 27 years. Hmm….the Baptist and the Buddhist."

Knowing this was a divine appointment I dove in. "So, tell me about your spiritual journey. How have you come to Buddhism?"

Wan (not his ‘Christian’ name, but his Buddhist name) told me of his past as an Episcopal, and then a Lutheran, to true enlightenment now as a Buddhist. I asked him about a monk’s life: What do they DO? Where do you LIVE? What do your parents think of this? He assured me that they were supportive, not judgmental, or of the belief that any one path was superior to another.

Gulping, I waded further out. "May I tell you about MY spiritual journey?" I asked him. He nodded with a sweet smile, and I began. I told him of my early involvement in ‘religion’, the dissatisfaction it left in my soul, the wonderful realization that God was a living being who loved me and desired me to know Him, that day of surrender when I put my faith in His Son for forgiveness and restored relationship with Him, His faithfulness to me through 35 years of knowing Him on this planet, my husband’s life and testimony as one in whom Jesus shone so clearly, his decline and death through the ravages of Lou Gehrigs disease, and this personal God’s faithfulness to hold us through it all.

Wan listened with rapt attention. Tears filled his eyes. He excused himself and went to the bathroom. When he returned he said, "You know, our paths are similar. I’ve experienced this same love you talk about. We just have different names for it, that’s all. The name doesn’t really matter."

Gently, not judging, I said, "Oh, Wan, I beg to differ here. IF there is only one true God, IF He is a personal being and not a ‘force’, and IF He has made Himself known to men, then His name is VERY important. The stumbling block of Christianity is summed up in the words of Jesus when He said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. NO MAN comes to the Father BUT BY ME." If this statement is true, then His name is very important. But I can see that you are a seeker. You are seeking Him and seeking Truth. If you will not put preconceived ideas on who this God might be, but seek Him with all your heart, He will reveal Himself to you. He always responds to true seekers. You will find Him."

Wan took no offense. The conversation was sweet. We settled in for the rest of the flight, both opening our books: mine, The Reach of the Heart, his, The Yoga of the Guru. As I leaned back for a nap, he sat forward, stiff as a board, to 'meditate'. Clutching his beads in a special grip, his countenance changed, his breathing changed, as he sought his God. Silently, pretending to sleep, I prayed, too. "FATHER...open this young man's heart to YOU...to the TRUTH."

When we reached our destination, I blessed him in Jesus name. He patted my back with a sweet, son-like gesture and thanked me for our conversation. He made his connection to Lansing. I made mine to Huntsville. He was gone.

Christmas is not the only season to reflect on the wonder of Incarnation. It is a simple yet profound truth that God comes to earth in a human's body, not once, but thousands upon thousands of times, as we, in simple childlike faith, invite Him in to dine with us, to sup with us, to live within us. This is the wonder of TRUE Christianity: God, in flesh, in MY flesh, closer than my skin, living in Me, desiring to reproduce IN THIS JAR OF CLAY, the beautiful image of Jesus. And, in doing so, He draws men, as they see Jesus in us.

I pray that Wan will be drawn to Him by our exchange. I know my friend's prayer was answered. The Father hand-picked a young man, searching for truth, and sat him beside me, not just to bless Wan, but also to bless me. SHARING JESUS after a season of 'winter' in my own life, reminded me in a fresh new way what a TREASURE is locked within me.

Crack this pot, Lord.

Let Jesus shine through the cracks to a dying world.