During the time that my dad was in hospice in California, I flew back and forth from Bellingham Washington to Oakland California to visit him. In those days there was just one flight a week to and from Bellingham and Oakland, so it would not be too unusual to see someone on the plane that you knew.

When I sat down on the return flight to Bellingham, I started a conversation with the lady sitting next me. I found out her name is Janet. I asked her where she lived.

“On the Loomis Trail Road,” she said.

“Not far from me,” I answered. “I live on the Birch Bay Lynden Road. We have a business there called Grace Harbor Farms.”

She said, “Oh!  I know your place. I took my grandchildren there to visit the goats.”

We both chuckled about that.

Then I asked her what she had been doing in the Bay Area.

“Visiting my mom,” she said. 

“Did you grow up in the Bay Area?” I asked.

“Sure did,” she answered.

“Where did you live?”

“Over the hill from Berkeley.” 

When she said that I sat up straighter, tipped my face toward hers and said, “So what part of Orinda did you live in?”

We laughed. “Over the hill from Berkeley” was the way I had always described where I grew up. Nobody in the greater part of the world knows where Orinda is, but everyone knows where Berkeley is.

She said, “I lived on Saint Stephens Drive.”

I said, “I lived on El Toyonal. Did you go to Miramonte High School?”

“Yes,” she said, “Miramonte class of ’67.”

“I am Miramonte class of 67!” I declared, “Who are you?”

As we exchanged our original names we realized, yes, we did know each other in high school! Then we started to share our stories. They were very similar. We had married right out of high school, during the Vietnam War; we had kids; met the Lord; that did not go well with our husbands; we each went through a painful divorce; and we then lived about four miles from each other a long way from Orinda, California.

Today we live about an hour’s drive from each other; I am in Sequim, she is in Gig Harbor. 

As I said in the title of this story, there are no random coincidences. A coincident is when a couple of things happen simultaneously. God orchestrates them all.

Janet and I became good friends. We discovered that we were both on the path that revealed the Jewish background of our faith. Janet invited me to visit a group she took part in that was led by a lady who had been pastor in Bellingham and was now married to a Jewish man who had met the Messiah. 

The year was 2012. I had just returned from my life changing trip to Israel. I was ready to learn more.

Now, 14 years later Janet and several of her friends from California are all part of the online fellowship I host through First Fruits of Zion, a ministry with a dual mission: to help Jews understand that Yeshua really is the messiah, and teach Christians that Jesus is a Jew, and that changes everything!

We are all amazed that our paths have converged for such a time as this.

These friendships and faith building relationships started with a so called “coincident” of starting a conversation with someone on an airplane.

The bottom line–You never know when a “chance” encounter will change the path of history. Look for opportunities. Spread the good news. Do something good to help change the world.

There are no random co-incidences. 

Visiting the Lavender Fields in Sequim

Left to right: Gloria (one of the added friends from California), me, Janet