By the time I left the Obama Presidential Center, I thought the day had already given me everything it had to offer.

The museum had moved me more deeply than I expected. Then, as I rode the elevator down from the Sky Room, the doors opened to reveal an unexpected encounter with President Obama himself. As I made my way out of the Center, I couldn’t imagine that one more meaningful experience was still waiting for me.

Inside the Forum at the Center is a restaurant called Tafari, and by lunchtime a long line had formed. I joined the end of the line, still replaying everything that had happened that morning.

As the line slowly moved forward, I struck up a conversation with the two women standing in front of me. They asked what had brought me to Chicago, and before long I found myself telling them about the museum and the completely unexpected moment when the elevator doors opened and I found myself watching President Obama walk through the hallway. They smiled, shared their own experiences from the day, and by the time we reached the counter, we were no longer strangers simply waiting in line.

The two women ordered first and decided to take their food outside, where it was quieter. After placing my own order, I looked around the crowded restaurant, realized there wasn’t much room inside, and decided to follow them. They invited me to join them at their table without hesitation, and what began as a casual conversation in line turned into lunch together.

As we sat down and introduced ourselves, one of the women asked my name.

“Brandon,” I replied.

She smiled.

“My grandson’s name is Brandon.”

Then she extended her hand.  “I’m Peggy.”

For just a moment, I paused.

Peggy was my mother’s name.

My mom passed away a little more than two years ago, and hearing her name unexpectedly on a day that had already been filled with meaningful moments caught me off guard. It felt like one more gentle reminder that this day still wasn’t finished surprising me.

As lunch continued, our conversation drifted to our lives back home. Eventually, I asked what they did for a living.

Both women worked in adoption.

Of all the people standing in that long lunch line, I had somehow ended up sharing a meal with two women whose careers had been devoted to helping children find families.

I told them about my son, Levi, and me. I shared the story of becoming a father through adoption and how that single decision had transformed my life forever. We talked about the journey we had shared over the past twenty-seven years, about the joys and challenges of raising a son, and about how adoption hadn’t simply given Levi a family. It had given me one too.

They listened with the kind of understanding that only comes from people who have devoted their lives to helping families begin. They understood the emotions without needing many words, and I found myself grateful that, out of everyone standing in that long lunch line, I had somehow ended up at their table.

As our conversation came to an end and we prepared to go our separate ways, I found myself reflecting on the entire day.

I had traveled hundreds of miles to visit a museum. I had unexpectedly crossed paths with President Obama. Then, without planning it, I shared lunch with two women whose life’s work had made stories like mine possible. One of them introduced herself as Peggy, the same name as my mother, whose love helped shape the father I would become.

Looking back, I don’t believe any of those moments happened by accident.

They day felt God-appointed.  What I know is this: when I walked into the Obama Presidential Center that morning, I was hoping to find hope. By the time I walked away from that lunch table, I felt as though God had gently reminded me that hope isn’t found only in inspiring places or remarkable leaders.

Sometimes hope is found in the people He places in our path at exactly the right moment.

Sometimes it begins with a simple conversation in a long lunch line.

Sometimes it grows around a table for three.