I heard her before I saw her.

“Mrs. Mandy!!”

My eyes lifted from Sunday morning song sheets to see little blonde ringlets and three year old arms bouncing, held straight out like she was flying. And she was flying. Right for me.

There was surprise in her smile and speed in her step–she’d never been that excited to see me before. And she wasn’t slowing down. Forget that I was behind schedule. Forget that two guest musicians were playing and they were waiting on my lead. It thrilled me to hop down and give her the biggest hug she’d get that morning, as if to say yes to what she was silently telling me: I was her favorite person in the whole world.

Just four days later I sat on my guest room floor with her, doing my best to get The Grinch to play while all the grown-ups in my living room talked about Sundays and logos and buildings and the future. She was quiet. She had my pencil in her hand and my sketchbook in front of her.

Out of all that quiet, she looked up at me and said “Are you Mrs. Mandy?” and I said “Yes ma’am. I am Mrs. Mandy.”

She dropped her eyes back to her paper.

Softly: “You look like Mrs. Mandy.”

I wondered why she knew me so well in that Sanctuary but not sure it was me when she sat in my own home, as she’d done for most Thursdays over the last five months. I was the same Mrs. Mandy she saw at church the Sunday before. I was me. But in a different place. And at a different time.

And in that moment a tiny prayer rose up from way deep down inside me and I hoped with the faith of a child that I would recognize Him the next time I saw Him, wherever He might show up in my life.

Tell me, how do you recognize Him, especially when He’s not where you think He should be?