Friday, February 15, 2013

Random Unconnected Details

It's supposed to hit 80 degrees today, but earlier this week San Diego experienced some extremely cold temperatures.  Duane had to scrape off a thick layer of ice from the windshield.  We started our days below 30 degrees, and the highs approached 60 degrees.

Okay.  That's not really cold for most of the country, and I know I sound like I'm whining, but these are cold temps for San Diego.  Remember, most of the year we wear flip flops.

The thermostat said the house was 70 degrees when I got home from work on Monday evening, but my fingers were numb, and so I turned up the heater to 72.  My fingers thawed out, and I turned off the heater.  On Tuesday morning, I didn't have to leave the house until noon; the thermostat said 62 degrees, and so I turned on the heater again.  This time my fingers never thawed, and after an hour or so, I realized that the heater never came on.

I wrapped up in a blanket and created lesson plans.
I knew Duane wouldn't be home until about 9:00 on Tuesday evening, and so I made dinner plans that involved the oven.  At least we would have a little bit of heat in the house.

Duane played around with the heater after he got home.  It wouldn't fire up at all.  He called a friend of ours who fixes heaters. Did we need a new one altogether?  Maybe.

He ate.  We watched TV.  We went upstairs to bed.

"By the way," I mentioned before climbing under the covers, "something else is broken too.  The outlet by the bathroom sink doesn't work.  I was blow drying my hair on Monday when it just stopped.  I thought I broke the dryer, but then I flat ironed my hair today, and it didn't work either.  I figured out it was the outlet."

"Why didn't you mention that before?" he asked.

He climbed out of bed and threw on a robe.  I was confused.

"That's probably what's wrong with the heater.  You blew a fuse or something."

"That doesn't make any sense at all," I said.  And it didn't.  The heater is in the garage. The outlet is in our upstairs bathroom.  Not only are they far apart, but all the other outlets in our bathroom and room worked just fine.

Nevertheless, Duane went downstairs.  I heard the heater come on full force.  He came back a few minutes later and plugged the hairdryer into the questionable outlet.  It worked just fine.

I don't understand electricity.  I don't understand wiring.  Although I know there's a completely rational explanation for this apparent miracle, I still don't understand it.

As I drifted off to sleep, I pondered how two seemingly unconnected things can be inexplicably connected, how one thing influences another even if it doesn't make obvious sense.

Sometimes we don't have to understand.  Sometimes apparently unrelated details have connections we are completely unaware of.  Sometimes we have to trust people who understand more than we do.

Sometimes we have to trust God, whose thoughts are beyond our thoughts, whose ways are beyond our ways--who sees the connections we cannot possibly understand.

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