Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday 27 April 2026 at 13:22
Answered in Passing
It was last Friday evening when some friends invited us to a barbecue on the beach. I have always loved that kind of spontaneity. There was something quietly joyful about it. Our group was a patchwork of nations, a gathering that seemed unlikely and yet entirely natural once it happened.
As the sun dipped behind the western edge of the Isle of Arran, the air cooled and the evening began to fold in on itself. We were nearing that gentle moment when people start thinking about home. Then, almost as if placed there for a reason, an Irish woman passed by and paused with a simple, delighted “Wow” at the sight of us.
We greeted her, drew her into our circle for a few minutes, and shared a little of who we were and how we had come together. Inevitably, I found myself speaking about Irish literature. Some habits do not leave us easily.
In the rhythm of ordinary life, it might have been nothing more than a brief exchange, the kind that slips quietly into memory and fades. Yet before she left, she said something that did not fade at all. She told us, “I prayed that I might meet some nice people, and tonight my prayer was answered.”
Those words lingered.
I know that prayer. I have prayed it myself, more than once, and I have seen it answered. When I mentioned this to friends on Sunday, I found that many of them had done the same. That was not the surprising part. What struck me was something deeper.
We all seem to carry this quiet longing for connection. Not just any connection, but the right kind. Something genuine. Something kind. And perhaps because we cannot create it on our own or guarantee it, we place it, almost instinctively, before God.
“This is the confidence we have in approaching God:
that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.”
Answered in Passing
Answered in Passing
It was last Friday evening when some friends invited us to a barbecue on the beach. I have always loved that kind of spontaneity. There was something quietly joyful about it. Our group was a patchwork of nations, a gathering that seemed unlikely and yet entirely natural once it happened.
As the sun dipped behind the western edge of the Isle of Arran, the air cooled and the evening began to fold in on itself. We were nearing that gentle moment when people start thinking about home. Then, almost as if placed there for a reason, an Irish woman passed by and paused with a simple, delighted “Wow” at the sight of us.
We greeted her, drew her into our circle for a few minutes, and shared a little of who we were and how we had come together. Inevitably, I found myself speaking about Irish literature. Some habits do not leave us easily.
In the rhythm of ordinary life, it might have been nothing more than a brief exchange, the kind that slips quietly into memory and fades. Yet before she left, she said something that did not fade at all. She told us, “I prayed that I might meet some nice people, and tonight my prayer was answered.”
Those words lingered.
I know that prayer. I have prayed it myself, more than once, and I have seen it answered. When I mentioned this to friends on Sunday, I found that many of them had done the same. That was not the surprising part. What struck me was something deeper.
We all seem to carry this quiet longing for connection. Not just any connection, but the right kind. Something genuine. Something kind. And perhaps because we cannot create it on our own or guarantee it, we place it, almost instinctively, before God.
“This is the confidence we have in approaching God:
that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.”
1 John 5:14-15.