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I have a story you might not believe this week. It's a little painful to start with, but, it ends well.

I was raised in a picturesque little town called Marianna, Arkansas. It sat about 5 miles from the Mississippi River and was surrounded by cotton and soybean fields. The greater agri-politan area surrounding Marianna had a population of about 6000 people. But the town seemed much smaller, because, unless you've been living under a rock or you're reading this from Moscow, you know that the Southern United States of America have been very racially divided over the years. So, if you lived in the white population, there were only about 2000 people.

I'm a white girl, so I hung out with the white people, and went to the white private school. (I told you this story might be a little agonizing at first.) I knew some black people, and there were a few black people that I dearly loved like Miss Ada. But, I also sat in the white waiting room at the doctor's office. No one I knew was an angry racist (at least they didn't act like it around me), that's just how things were done. But I don't remember much being done to unite the two populations either.

Now, 18 years later, I live in Sacramento, California, the city that Newsweek Magazine has labeled the most diverse city in America. And I would be willing to bet you a grande sugar-free vanilla latte that I live in the most diverse area of the most diverse city in America. A few weeks ago, Scott discovered a new Mediterranean restaurant that he loves. The owner is from Bethlehem, the waitress is from the Ukraine, the cook is from somewhere else that I can't remember. There are children in our elementary school from Laos, Vietnam, Fiji, Russia, China, India, Pakistan, and on and on and on. Everyone is a minority.

And 18 years later, instead of being the cheerleader at a football game, I'm the mom with four boys all decked out in helmets and shoulder pads. And every weeknight for the past month I have sat in my chair beside all the other parents and watched my boys sweat.

During week two, I discovered a fellow Arkansan-- a fellow, black Arkansan. His son had been talking about "daddy playing high school football for the Razorbacks." There are few schools with the Razorback mascot, and the University of Arkansas is one of them. I did a little interview and found out his Dad, Bruce, had played for the Arkansas football team. Both my brothers and sisters-in-law had gone to the University. Wow, what are the odds of that?

By week three of Natomas Inderkum Jr. Tiger football practice, I had also gotten well acquainted with Bruce's wife, Theresa who is also an Arkansas native. We chatted about church, and manners, and how much our boys enjoyed the sanctioned opportunity to hit someone.

"Where are you from in Arkansas?" she asked.

"You've probably never heard of it," I said, "A little town in East Central Arkansas."

Theresa's eyes got big, and I think she mouthed my answer along with me.

"Marianna. I'm from a town called Marianna."

"No Way! I'm from Marianna."

We couldn't be having this conversation. What are the odds that a white girl and a black girl from Marianna, both believers in Christ, would end up some 18 years and 2076.3 miles later watching their boys play football together? Seriously, what are the chances? If it weren't so late, and I weren't an English major, I might be able to figure it out.

As I sit with Theresa and Bruce every night at football and discuss good Southern cooking and the Sonic Drive-In, I continue to be amazed and encouraged that God is doing a work. We are at the right place and in the right time to see God do a work of unity that can only exist at the foot of the cross. We are in Sacramento praying that God will use us to bring his Kingdom to all the nations that live here together, so we can one day witness the same scene as John the Apostle:

"I looked, and behold, a great multitude which no one could count, from every nation and all tribes and peoples and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, and palm branches were in their hands; and they cry out with a loud voice, saying, "Salvation to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb." (Revelation 7:9-10)

And maybe one day Theresa and I will go to Marianna together. It seems Somebody has been doing something to unite those two poplulations after all.

"Refreshment in Refuge" from Gina Burgess

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