Why the Queue I Almost Didn’t Do Was the Best Line in London

I believe God orchestrates the events of our lives–both small and big. I believe that God is involved in every single detail. The day dear baby is born and the day a precious baby dies, down to the man you met in the parking lot and boy who got sick at the pool. 

In other words, I trust the providence of God. No purpose of his can be thwarted. Jesus said that the hairs on our head are numbered (Luke 12:7). And Isaiah said God places the stars and calls them all by name (Isaiah 40:26). I believe God governs all things.

My time and Hyde Park proved it.

I just got back from a glorious week in England. I’m still processing with Weetabix. After six days in London, I barely scratched the surface. I prioritized and planned each day’s outings beforehand. 

But First, Providence at Hyde Park

With the exception of that Sunday afternoon.

Sunday morning was planned. It was a delightful worship service at Christ Church, Wandsworth with my friends Doug and Rachel. After a stellar sermon on Romans 16 and this song I’d like to import, we gathered around a cuppa–tea more prominent than coffee, and some biscuits.

I had a delightful conversation with a Scotch Englishman artist named Ali who was charming and gave me another take on the death of Vincent van Gogh.

But it was after this photo was taken that I parted paths with Doug and Rachel. And set out on an adventure I had not fully planned. 

None of these things were tap priority. They were not high on my list as were the Kilns, C.S. Lewis’s Headington home, or Westminster Abbey, or the Tower of London or John Newton’s church. 

At the back of my mind I had it to go to Harrods’ only because of Mr. Bean‘s antics and to enjoy a stroll through one of London’s Royal Parks, Hyde Park with its huge Serpentine lake. I had thought I might make my way to Speakers’ Corner, an iconic spot where “radicals and revolutionaries from Karl Marx to George Orwell have come to have their say.”

They were second tier, not high priority. If time allowed.

God Allowed

Harrods was posh and luxurious and overwhelming. Even the basement books and stationery were too much.

So with my backpack and map, and almonds and  battery pack, I set out. 

My handy-dandy Citymapper app said Hyde Park was close. I walked along the Serpentine lake, and admired the picnickers. Londoners know how to picnic. 

Once I made it through the picnickers, I paused.

I paused to orient on a lovely bridge where a cellist played a haunting tune.

In a few minutes, I found myself and my path bordered by a makeshift metal wall with BST signs at intervals along the way. BST is British Summer Time—a concert series. in Hyde Park That’s when I heard the music. 

I don’t know much about K-Pop, Korean pop music, except that it’s smooth and my son loves it. 

It was at this point when I actually got off the path to turn back. Because walking beside tall metal wall, listening to K-Pop, wasn’t why I came to London.

Or Was It? 

I glanced at my map. Speakers’ Corner was just ahead. I kept on.

Three or four minutes later, the wall reached a corner, and I saw a new lawn spotted with dark-shirted fans. And lines. Lines that led to a merch tent.

I’m like you. I don’t enjoy waiting in line. I especially don’t like waiting in line for something I’m not sure I want. I didn’t know if my son liked Stray Kids. 

That’s when I did an uncharacteristic thing. I drastically deviated from my plan. 

I surprised myself.

I stepped into the queue with a bunch of adorned Stray Kids fans. 

Why? 

I have a son who really likes K-Pop. And I love that son, even when we don’t see eye to eye and the relationship strains. 

I stood in line because the love of Christ controlled me,  

I wasn’t even sure if my son knew or liked the group, but I waited in the mid-afternoon,  mid-July heat until I bought a large black Stray Kids shirt. I rolled it up and placed  it in my backpack with a prayer, then headed to Speakers’ Corner.

The Corner deserves its own post, but since I don’t know if I’ll get to it. I’ll just show you a few photos. I commend the Brits for keeping this safe place for free speech. 

I’ll spare the drama about my dwindling phone battery and my adventure in the London Underground on a carriage alone with a sinisterly smiling man. So you know, the Tube is not quided by Midwestern friendly. Smiling at strangers is simply not done.

Suffice to say, I breathed a huge sigh of relief (and did not look up or smile) when the smiling man got off two stops before mine, at Tooting Bec (yes). 

The Best Line in London

Three days later, at home in Wisconsin, I presented my 19 year-old with the Stray Kids shirt. I hope I never forget his face. There was wonder and, if I’m not mistaken, a teeny bit of felt-love mist in his eyes.

That was the best line in London. It was better than the security line for the British Museum (ask me about my confiscated tennis ball sometime), the queue over the moat for the Tower of London. and for holy communion at Westminster Abbey.

Why was the merch tent line better? Why was it the best?

Because God‘s invisible hand guided me there. Providence led me. I almost went home after church. I almost declined my Sunday afternoon adventure. Harrods and Hyde Park were not high on my list. 

I know God led an ambivalent me to Hyde Park, and beside a metal wall to Speakers’ Corner. Because that was the way to the Stray Kids merch. That was the path to love.

And that line was the best line in London because it was God’s queue.

God, who so loved, gave me a glimpse of his kind, overruling hand.