“You need to redeem your time.”
That was what our study abroad sponsor told us when we collapsed, sweaty and irritable, onto our London hotel beds. We had been up all morning, frantically shoving our slacks and souvenirs into our suitcases, and rushing on foot to the Oxford station to make a forty-five-minute train ride to London.
By the time we reached our London hotel, 1.5 miles on foot from Paddington Station, it was 3 PM. The stuffy, thin-walled rooms housed no AC units—only quilts, a radiator, and a tiny box fan. My three roommates and I fell onto our beds with a knowing groan. The nights would be unbearable.
In Oxford, all five members of our traveling band succumbed to some kind of respiratory travel sickness—sinuses so heavy they felt like they would melt off of our faces, and throats so sore that swallowing was painful. Slowly a cough spread from member to member. None in our company had medication, because the British pharmacies closed at 6 PM. And as students abroad, our free time began at 6 PM.
The five of us had intended to nap during our first afternoon in London. But our sponsor’s admonition stopped that conviction in its tracks.
“Redeem your time.”
He was right. We had four nights in London, one of the largest labyrinths in the world—full of history, culture, and homages to the arts. I peeled myself off of the duvet and dragged myself outside, resolving to tour a museum through dinnertime. My group deliberated, finally deciding to visit the V&A (Victoria & Albert) Museum. Tears swam down the bridge of my nose and fell one-by-one, like drops from a melting icicle. I prayed.
Lord, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.
I told Him about things He already knew—my illness, the cough and sore throat, how touring was difficult and miserable. I begged Him,
I know the pharmacies will be closed. But please, won’t You provide a dinner place that sells soup? I’d really like tomato soup, but any soup will do. A potato soup, a chowder. Something that will soothe my throat and tide me over. Could You do that?
I felt silly asking. Soup was nowhere to be found in the summer. And British restaurants close around 5 PM, which is even earlier than the pharmacies.
But I quickly forgot my anxieties in the grand wealth of the V&A, a gallery full of antiquities and modern masterpieces. For a while, my sickness took a backseat, and driving the bus of my attentions were Dale Chihuly’s glass installation in the lobby; Alfred Stevens’ sculptures of Valour and Cowardice, Truth and Falsehood; the shadowy exhibit of evolving camera models; a winding corridor displaying of the history of women’s fashion to the present.
But as swiftly as I was swept away by the visual beauty, hunger crept into my stomach and left me more miserable than when I’d set out. Our company decided to leave the V&A and search for an open supper place.
I remembered my prayer. “Could we possibly look for soup?” I croaked, the soreness plying at my esophagus.
“Let’s look at the museum café first,” one of my companions suggested, and I groaned. The café sold only sandwiches and salads.
With heavy steps and a heavier disposition, I approached the museum café, eyes grazing over the sandwich display for something with protein. Something caught my eye.
There, on the corner of the counter, was a sign advertising Soup of the Day.
I know I looked ridiculous as the tears spilled over my eyeline and I blubbered to the very confused British barista. “E-excuse me, could you please tell me what the soup of the day is?”
“Tomato,” she replied. “Is that what you’d like?”
Is that what I’d like!
I paid six pounds for a cup of tomato soup and half a baguette—the cheapest meal I bought in Britain, and the most fulfilling.
The V&A is more than a museum; it’s a monument. The site reminds me that God hears and answers even the littlest prayers. He provided not only soup, but the soup I wanted most—at a place my group had randomly selected to tour!
Please understand that I am not exaggerating when I say that I have never tasted a better soup in my life.
The Lord is so kind, even when we do not deserve kindness. And I have never deserved His kindness; He simply delights to provide for His children. So, let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (Heb. 4:16). Dinner at the V&A gave me the blessing of remembering God’s grace and mercy—of making room in my anxious heart for Him. He was good to me, even when I asked in fear; how good He must be to those who ask in faith!
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
—Philippians 4:6