December 31
Four grandparents wait for the arrival of a granddaughter. I’m sure this baby, three weeks overdue, will be here by years end for I had prayed for that and heard a clear ‘yes.’
Midnight comes and goes-no baby! The message had been so clear. Did I misunderstand?
At 12:15 the new father sticks his head in the waiting room and reports baby is here. I ask when was she born? “At 11:45,” he says apologetically, “ I’ve been busy cleaning her up.”
“Therefore know that the Lord your God, He is the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments.” (Deuteronomy 7:9)
Incredible true stories that touch the heart and tug at the soul. Are they chance or destiny, coincidence or fate? Do you have your own Go Figure story? Want to share it? E-mail us at gofigureamerica@yahoo.com
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Road Sign
I recently moved to Minnesota from Florida. As I was driving home from a job interview my mind started to wonder. I thought about my future in this new state. Lord am I suppose to take this job or the one I interviewed for yesterday? I was getting tired of waiting for what God has for me next. I could feel myself getting anxious as I was thinking about money. Can I afford to live alone? How much longer can I work just part time without health care benefits? How much time off will I get and what about the holidays,and on and on and on.
At this point I realized the beautiful city backdrop of buildings sparkling in the sunlight was behind me. Seeing the city skyline is one of my favorite views and somehow, as I looked at my new home city rushing past my car window, I had relaxed and been lost in my thoughts. I had missed my exit and was in unfamiliar territory. As I looked to get my bearings I saw a bright yellow sign ahead. I struggled to read it, and as I got closer, I thought I saw the word trust. I laughed out loud for there, in big letters, and I am not kidding were the words-”TRUST ME!” – God.
Even though I was traveling seventy miles an hour, I felt like time had just stopped. With a chuckle I let go of all those anxious thoughts and decided
to do what I was told and leave the details up to God and to TRUST HIM.
I took the next exit and turned my car around to find my way back to a familiar territory. I knew it was no mistake that I had become lost and saw the yellow billboard. Also in that moment of quietness I recalled that in the morning I had asked God to reveal himself to me with this interview and to make it obvious what I was to do. He made it obvious. God continues to amaze and amuse me.
Beth Bishop
Minneapolis, Minnesota
At this point I realized the beautiful city backdrop of buildings sparkling in the sunlight was behind me. Seeing the city skyline is one of my favorite views and somehow, as I looked at my new home city rushing past my car window, I had relaxed and been lost in my thoughts. I had missed my exit and was in unfamiliar territory. As I looked to get my bearings I saw a bright yellow sign ahead. I struggled to read it, and as I got closer, I thought I saw the word trust. I laughed out loud for there, in big letters, and I am not kidding were the words-”TRUST ME!” – God.
Even though I was traveling seventy miles an hour, I felt like time had just stopped. With a chuckle I let go of all those anxious thoughts and decided
to do what I was told and leave the details up to God and to TRUST HIM.
I took the next exit and turned my car around to find my way back to a familiar territory. I knew it was no mistake that I had become lost and saw the yellow billboard. Also in that moment of quietness I recalled that in the morning I had asked God to reveal himself to me with this interview and to make it obvious what I was to do. He made it obvious. God continues to amaze and amuse me.
Beth Bishop
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Christmas Away from Home
December 20-25
It is my first Christmas away from home courtesy of the U.S. Army. I’m stationed in the Panama Canal Zone. My view of Christmas has been the Currier and Ives picture of snow, sleighs and evergreens.
Here there are cardboard snowmen, plastic wreaths and palms. Some soldiers have parked a tank behind eight jeeps connected by ammo belts simulating reigns. A blown up Santa waves from the open tank turret. Bar Humbug.
Twinkling lights from bushes and Christmas carols blaring on every radio station
doesn't help. It is 80 degrees man. It hardly feels like Christmas. I'm lonely.
On Christmas Eve I go to the Chapel in khaki trowers and a short sleeved shirt. It is a candle light service with traditional hymns and the familiar story. I exit the chapel into a balmy evening with a star lit sky. Now it hits me-that first Christmas was in a desert. Probably on a night just like this one. I get the message loud and clear.
“Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the City of David Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
(Luke 2:11)
It is my first Christmas away from home courtesy of the U.S. Army. I’m stationed in the Panama Canal Zone. My view of Christmas has been the Currier and Ives picture of snow, sleighs and evergreens.
Here there are cardboard snowmen, plastic wreaths and palms. Some soldiers have parked a tank behind eight jeeps connected by ammo belts simulating reigns. A blown up Santa waves from the open tank turret. Bar Humbug.
Twinkling lights from bushes and Christmas carols blaring on every radio station
doesn't help. It is 80 degrees man. It hardly feels like Christmas. I'm lonely.
On Christmas Eve I go to the Chapel in khaki trowers and a short sleeved shirt. It is a candle light service with traditional hymns and the familiar story. I exit the chapel into a balmy evening with a star lit sky. Now it hits me-that first Christmas was in a desert. Probably on a night just like this one. I get the message loud and clear.
“Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the City of David Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
(Luke 2:11)
Saturday, December 13, 2008
A Healing in Providence
I was graduated from Holy Cross High School in Waterbury, Connecticut,Class of 1975. One of my best friends, Bobby Blacker heard there was going to be a faith healer appearing at the Providence Civic Center. A small group of us made the trip from Waterbury to Providence, Rhode Island to ask for a miracle of healing for Bobby’s brother who has been severely handicapped, physically and mentally, since birth.
The Providence Civic Center was packed by the time we arrived. I couldn’t make it inside so I hung around one of the corner entrances hoping for a chance to get inside. Nearby a small group gathered in prayer.
I wandered over and listened to the young man who was leading the prayer. I also noticed a young woman standing in the circle who seemed to be pregnant but only on one side of her stomach. After the group prayed for some other people, the young woman spoke up and told the prayer leader that she had been suffering from a disease that had left a very large tumor in her abdomen. She said the doctors could not help her condition and she asked for healing prayers to be lifted up over her. I decided to join in the prayers.
The prayer leader placed his hands on her abdomen and the group prayed out loud and silently for Jesus to heal the woman. To my amazement I watched as the tumor began to shrink and her stomach began to flatten out. It must have been about ten minutes that we prayed for the woman, and by the time it was over, she was weeping and thanking everyone because her tumor had vanished.
I did make it into the Civic Center that day before the rally was over. Bobby’s younger brother was not healed, but I had witnessed a miracle healing that day. Praise the Lord.
Paul Boiano
Vernon, Connecticut
The Providence Civic Center was packed by the time we arrived. I couldn’t make it inside so I hung around one of the corner entrances hoping for a chance to get inside. Nearby a small group gathered in prayer.
I wandered over and listened to the young man who was leading the prayer. I also noticed a young woman standing in the circle who seemed to be pregnant but only on one side of her stomach. After the group prayed for some other people, the young woman spoke up and told the prayer leader that she had been suffering from a disease that had left a very large tumor in her abdomen. She said the doctors could not help her condition and she asked for healing prayers to be lifted up over her. I decided to join in the prayers.
The prayer leader placed his hands on her abdomen and the group prayed out loud and silently for Jesus to heal the woman. To my amazement I watched as the tumor began to shrink and her stomach began to flatten out. It must have been about ten minutes that we prayed for the woman, and by the time it was over, she was weeping and thanking everyone because her tumor had vanished.
I did make it into the Civic Center that day before the rally was over. Bobby’s younger brother was not healed, but I had witnessed a miracle healing that day. Praise the Lord.
Paul Boiano
Vernon, Connecticut
Sunday, December 7, 2008
A Message for the President
Sometimes we deprive ourselves of incredibly extraordinary experiences because we don’t believe they could happen; at least not to us. We underestimate what life has in store for us and what God is capable of accomplishing. It is in this light that I share my family’s experience in Washington, D.C. on June 25, 2006.
I had been invited to a medical meeting in our nation’s capital. My wife Lisa and our two younger children, Sam (11) and Lydia (7) decided to come along to visit the monuments and see the historic sites.
The venue for the meeting was the St. Regis Hotel, two blocks from the White House. I thought, “wouldn’t it be something if somehow we could tour the White House and meet the President.” But I knew that would be impossible.
The President had very much been in our hearts and Lisa and I had been praying for him for sometime. When we left Sarasota for Washington, it was with a sense of gratitude to live in this country with its freedom and its opportunities. We prayed for a particularly memorable experience for the kids, although we would only be in Washington four days.
We arrived late Wednesday afternoon and were pleasantly surprised by the elegant accommodations at the St.Regis. The next day we decided to walk from the hotel to the White House. As we approached Lafayette Square, a block from the hotel and the White House, we were struck by a small but quaint St. John’s church on the corner. The plague at the entrance indicated it was built in 1813 and that every U.S. president since Madison had worshipped there. It has come to be known as “the Presidents’ Church.” I told Lisa I wanted to see the stained glass windows and I was sensing a strange inexplicable compulsion to go inside. Lisa complied by reminded me that we had a lot of places to see.
No one was inside except an “official-looking” lady on a cell phone. After taking some pictures, Sam and I went outside. Lisa and Lydia remained in the church. When they came out sometime later, they were obviously excited about something. The lady had shown them the specially embroiled kneelers with the names of previous presidents. Apparently, in order to have your name embroidered, you had to be out of office. She pointed out where the current president sat when he would occasionally visit. It was where his father sat.
The lady asked Lisa if we would be in town Sunday morning. Lisa said “Yes.”
“Well,” the Lady said, “I just got the call. The President and Mrs. Bush are planning to be here for the 7:45 service and take Communion. The President takes Communion just like everyone else. It you want to come be here at 7:00 to go through security. But don’t tell anyone!”
We were determined to be there Sunday. Sam had never taken Communion despite having accepted Jesus and being baptized several years ago. He was particularly excited at the thought of having his first Communion with the President of the United States. He had only brought jeans and felt they were inappropriate for church and asked that we buy him khakis. We did.
We awoke Sunday to thunderstorms and heavy rain. My first thought was that we were going to get soaked walking to church. I also thought the President might cancel because of the rain, or something important would come up and prevent him from attending. We also could have been given a “bum-steer” from the lady at the church.
As these thoughts entered my mind I read from Sam’s Bible and prayed. I first read Proverbs 21:1, “The king’s heart is in the Lord’s hand and He directs it as a watercourse,” substituting “president” for “king.” As I was thinking about the President with all the challenges he faces, I felt a strong compulsion to read Psalm 21, which I rarely read.
As I read, I experienced an overwhelming feeling I was to give it to President Bush when I saw him. The essence of this Psalm is the king’s (president’s) expression of trust and confidence in God to protect him and to deal with his enemies. He acknowledges God as the One who placed him in his present position of power. I did not share this with Lisa at the time but later, after the events of the day, she indicated she felt that morning I would be speaking to the President.
Before leaving the hotel room, I prayed with my family and prepared them for the eventuality the President may not come. But I assured them that someone more important would definitely be at church, the God of the universe and we were going there to worship Him. With borrowed umbrellas from the hotel, we proceeded to the church in the rain.
The little church was literally “crawling” with secret service agents. We arrived early and had to wait for bomb-sniffing dogs to finish their work before we were allowed to pass through security. Hardly anyone was there. We estimated 30 people; at least half were probably secret service. What was also interesting was that as individuals tried to sit in the pew just behind us and across the aisle, they were informed that this was reserved for the President.
At precisely 7:40, the President and Mrs. Bush came through the front door on the right. Proverbs 21:1 came over me in a surrealistic way. They walked across the front of the church, turned down the aisle on the left next to where we were seated and sat a row behind us across the aisle.
Early into the service, we were asked to stand and greet those around us. Lisa, Sam and I turned to greet the President and Mrs. Bush with handshakes and exchanges of “Peace be with you.” At that moment, I did not think it appropriate to speak to the President.
Intermittently through the service, Sam would turn his head slightly to peek at the President. The President would note this, responding with a wink and a smile each time. The President took his church bulletin, signed it “Best Wishes”, and handed it to Sam. Mrs. Bush handed hers to the President informing him Sam had a sister. The President signed it and handed it to Sam saying, “Give this to your sister.”
We were invited forward to the alter to received Communion. As our family proceeded down the aisle, we passed a lady in a pew on the right who appeared as if she wanted to be let in line. Sam and I backed up to let her in. In so doing, unknowingly President and Mrs. Bush were placed in line behind us. Thus, when it came time to take Communion, we found ourselves kneeling with them to receive the wafer and wine. The order was Sam, I, Lisa, Mrs. Bush and the President.
Upon returning to our pew, I turned to seat myself and found the President right next to me. I said, “Mr. President this morning as I was praying for you, I felt moved to read Psalm 21. I would like to give it to you.”
He responded, “Thank you sir,” and shook my hand.
When the service came to a close, the President and Mrs. Bush were escorted from their seats. He waved to us and said, “See you guys later.”
I said, “God bless you Mr. President.”
He replied, “Thank you sir.”
It all seemed like a dream except we had two signed church bulletins, which told us otherwise. We stepped out of the church into a deluge and arrived at our hotel soaked to the bone. Bur we did not mind. We had just been showered with a special blessing from God.
I may never know if the President read Psalm 21. I do know a short time afterwards; the President came under extreme criticism for his conduct of the war in Iraq. Later his Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld resigned. The President’s popularity hit an all time low in the midst of the changing course of the war. I believe the Psalm would have been a great comfort to him.
Ronald Aung-Din
Sarasota
I had been invited to a medical meeting in our nation’s capital. My wife Lisa and our two younger children, Sam (11) and Lydia (7) decided to come along to visit the monuments and see the historic sites.
The venue for the meeting was the St. Regis Hotel, two blocks from the White House. I thought, “wouldn’t it be something if somehow we could tour the White House and meet the President.” But I knew that would be impossible.
The President had very much been in our hearts and Lisa and I had been praying for him for sometime. When we left Sarasota for Washington, it was with a sense of gratitude to live in this country with its freedom and its opportunities. We prayed for a particularly memorable experience for the kids, although we would only be in Washington four days.
We arrived late Wednesday afternoon and were pleasantly surprised by the elegant accommodations at the St.Regis. The next day we decided to walk from the hotel to the White House. As we approached Lafayette Square, a block from the hotel and the White House, we were struck by a small but quaint St. John’s church on the corner. The plague at the entrance indicated it was built in 1813 and that every U.S. president since Madison had worshipped there. It has come to be known as “the Presidents’ Church.” I told Lisa I wanted to see the stained glass windows and I was sensing a strange inexplicable compulsion to go inside. Lisa complied by reminded me that we had a lot of places to see.
No one was inside except an “official-looking” lady on a cell phone. After taking some pictures, Sam and I went outside. Lisa and Lydia remained in the church. When they came out sometime later, they were obviously excited about something. The lady had shown them the specially embroiled kneelers with the names of previous presidents. Apparently, in order to have your name embroidered, you had to be out of office. She pointed out where the current president sat when he would occasionally visit. It was where his father sat.
The lady asked Lisa if we would be in town Sunday morning. Lisa said “Yes.”
“Well,” the Lady said, “I just got the call. The President and Mrs. Bush are planning to be here for the 7:45 service and take Communion. The President takes Communion just like everyone else. It you want to come be here at 7:00 to go through security. But don’t tell anyone!”
We were determined to be there Sunday. Sam had never taken Communion despite having accepted Jesus and being baptized several years ago. He was particularly excited at the thought of having his first Communion with the President of the United States. He had only brought jeans and felt they were inappropriate for church and asked that we buy him khakis. We did.
We awoke Sunday to thunderstorms and heavy rain. My first thought was that we were going to get soaked walking to church. I also thought the President might cancel because of the rain, or something important would come up and prevent him from attending. We also could have been given a “bum-steer” from the lady at the church.
As these thoughts entered my mind I read from Sam’s Bible and prayed. I first read Proverbs 21:1, “The king’s heart is in the Lord’s hand and He directs it as a watercourse,” substituting “president” for “king.” As I was thinking about the President with all the challenges he faces, I felt a strong compulsion to read Psalm 21, which I rarely read.
As I read, I experienced an overwhelming feeling I was to give it to President Bush when I saw him. The essence of this Psalm is the king’s (president’s) expression of trust and confidence in God to protect him and to deal with his enemies. He acknowledges God as the One who placed him in his present position of power. I did not share this with Lisa at the time but later, after the events of the day, she indicated she felt that morning I would be speaking to the President.
Before leaving the hotel room, I prayed with my family and prepared them for the eventuality the President may not come. But I assured them that someone more important would definitely be at church, the God of the universe and we were going there to worship Him. With borrowed umbrellas from the hotel, we proceeded to the church in the rain.
The little church was literally “crawling” with secret service agents. We arrived early and had to wait for bomb-sniffing dogs to finish their work before we were allowed to pass through security. Hardly anyone was there. We estimated 30 people; at least half were probably secret service. What was also interesting was that as individuals tried to sit in the pew just behind us and across the aisle, they were informed that this was reserved for the President.
At precisely 7:40, the President and Mrs. Bush came through the front door on the right. Proverbs 21:1 came over me in a surrealistic way. They walked across the front of the church, turned down the aisle on the left next to where we were seated and sat a row behind us across the aisle.
Early into the service, we were asked to stand and greet those around us. Lisa, Sam and I turned to greet the President and Mrs. Bush with handshakes and exchanges of “Peace be with you.” At that moment, I did not think it appropriate to speak to the President.
Intermittently through the service, Sam would turn his head slightly to peek at the President. The President would note this, responding with a wink and a smile each time. The President took his church bulletin, signed it “Best Wishes”, and handed it to Sam. Mrs. Bush handed hers to the President informing him Sam had a sister. The President signed it and handed it to Sam saying, “Give this to your sister.”
We were invited forward to the alter to received Communion. As our family proceeded down the aisle, we passed a lady in a pew on the right who appeared as if she wanted to be let in line. Sam and I backed up to let her in. In so doing, unknowingly President and Mrs. Bush were placed in line behind us. Thus, when it came time to take Communion, we found ourselves kneeling with them to receive the wafer and wine. The order was Sam, I, Lisa, Mrs. Bush and the President.
Upon returning to our pew, I turned to seat myself and found the President right next to me. I said, “Mr. President this morning as I was praying for you, I felt moved to read Psalm 21. I would like to give it to you.”
He responded, “Thank you sir,” and shook my hand.
When the service came to a close, the President and Mrs. Bush were escorted from their seats. He waved to us and said, “See you guys later.”
I said, “God bless you Mr. President.”
He replied, “Thank you sir.”
It all seemed like a dream except we had two signed church bulletins, which told us otherwise. We stepped out of the church into a deluge and arrived at our hotel soaked to the bone. Bur we did not mind. We had just been showered with a special blessing from God.
I may never know if the President read Psalm 21. I do know a short time afterwards; the President came under extreme criticism for his conduct of the war in Iraq. Later his Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld resigned. The President’s popularity hit an all time low in the midst of the changing course of the war. I believe the Psalm would have been a great comfort to him.
Ronald Aung-Din
Sarasota
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Collen's Premonition
One morning before leaving for high school, I had the distinct feeling I was going to be in a car accident that day. I told my older sister who urged me not to go to school.
I told her I had to go today because if I was absent or late one more day I was risking being expelled. Besides I had stayed up late finishing the hair on my Raggedy Ann Doll for my Home Economics class that had to be turned in this morning in order to get credit.
My friend Robin drove up in her Riviera at the usual time. While my sister kept telling me not to temp fate by going to school, I prayed over the car asking God for his protection. When I got into the car with my books and Raggedy Ann doll I noticed a St. Christopher Medal hanging from the rear view mirror. It hadn’t been there before.
“Who gave you the medal Robin, your mother?”
“My grandmother.”
That’s neat I thought, we can use all the protection possible, especially today. Everything went well until we entered the Natchez Highway and Robin speeded up. We hit a patch of black ice and slid off the highway and smashed onto a cement irrigation box that propelled the car backwards. We flipped completely over three times before coming to a stop right side up. I passed out. I came too with Robin yelling my name.
I was crunched up against the mangled door and window that was shattered and bowed from the impact. Wedged between my head and the window was the Raggedy Ann Doll. The hair of the doll was caught at the top of the window and the doll acted as a cushion for me preventing serious injury.
Robin and I crawled out of the car and ran off to the first house we could see to call our parents. When we returned to the car a state trooper was standing by our wreck. He said when he saw the damage and nobody in the car he thought our bodies had already been taken to the morgue. He told us we shouldn’t have left the scene of an accident.
Our parents arrived and later they drove us to school but nobody ever said anything about being late that day.
Colleen Jorgenson
Veradale, Washington
I told her I had to go today because if I was absent or late one more day I was risking being expelled. Besides I had stayed up late finishing the hair on my Raggedy Ann Doll for my Home Economics class that had to be turned in this morning in order to get credit.
My friend Robin drove up in her Riviera at the usual time. While my sister kept telling me not to temp fate by going to school, I prayed over the car asking God for his protection. When I got into the car with my books and Raggedy Ann doll I noticed a St. Christopher Medal hanging from the rear view mirror. It hadn’t been there before.
“Who gave you the medal Robin, your mother?”
“My grandmother.”
That’s neat I thought, we can use all the protection possible, especially today. Everything went well until we entered the Natchez Highway and Robin speeded up. We hit a patch of black ice and slid off the highway and smashed onto a cement irrigation box that propelled the car backwards. We flipped completely over three times before coming to a stop right side up. I passed out. I came too with Robin yelling my name.
I was crunched up against the mangled door and window that was shattered and bowed from the impact. Wedged between my head and the window was the Raggedy Ann Doll. The hair of the doll was caught at the top of the window and the doll acted as a cushion for me preventing serious injury.
Robin and I crawled out of the car and ran off to the first house we could see to call our parents. When we returned to the car a state trooper was standing by our wreck. He said when he saw the damage and nobody in the car he thought our bodies had already been taken to the morgue. He told us we shouldn’t have left the scene of an accident.
Our parents arrived and later they drove us to school but nobody ever said anything about being late that day.
Colleen Jorgenson
Veradale, Washington
Monday, November 17, 2008
It Began with a Shipwreck
“It began when I was shipwrecked off the coast of Africa.” This is how my dad started every bedtime story when my little sister and I were growing up. He always made the stories up according to his mood and while the stories were always different, the beginning was always the same; he was shipwrecked off the coast of Africa. We loved his stories.
He had lived a life full of both hard work and temperance. He was a stonemason, didn't smoke, and he drank only a tiny glass of family home-made wine occasionally. He walked about 5 miles daily to relieve the loneliness and grief after my mom died from cancer. My dad was a spirit filled man who prayed the Rosary daily on his knees.
Dad had been ill for about a year while hospitals misdiagnosed him. Finally we got him to Mass General Hospital where he was diagnosed with stage 4 leukemia. He was bleeding internally and that spiked the stroke that killed him. He was 75 when he passed.
I should tell you that in my family we have MANY instances of contact from "the other side" so we always expect to get word that our loved ones “arrive safely.” So when my dad died my sister and I anticipated hearing from him.
A short while after the funeral my sister and I were driving separate cars in two different states (Connecticut and Massachusetts) and we happened to be listening to the same program on Public Radio. Faith Middleton was interviewing an author and asked him to read a page from his newly published book. His first words were, “It all started when I was shipwrecked off the coast of Africa.”
I called my sister that evening and we both knew that it was a message from our story telling dad.
I’ve had one other contact from my dad. There came a time several months after his death when I was overcome with grief and was weeping for him in my bed, calling him in fact, wanting him to be near. At the time, I was lying on my left side in the bed, my head on the pillow. I suddenly heard him call my name, loudly and directly, into my right ear as though he were standing next to me. After I heard my name, my right ear 'pinged' and a ringing sound began in an odd way. Not my left ear, nor did both ears 'ping' -- only the right one into which his voice came. I knew immediately it was my dad and I was at peace.
I hope that these stories I have shared give others as much comfort as I received experiencing them.
Diane Valentine Reading
Middletown, Connecticut
He had lived a life full of both hard work and temperance. He was a stonemason, didn't smoke, and he drank only a tiny glass of family home-made wine occasionally. He walked about 5 miles daily to relieve the loneliness and grief after my mom died from cancer. My dad was a spirit filled man who prayed the Rosary daily on his knees.
Dad had been ill for about a year while hospitals misdiagnosed him. Finally we got him to Mass General Hospital where he was diagnosed with stage 4 leukemia. He was bleeding internally and that spiked the stroke that killed him. He was 75 when he passed.
I should tell you that in my family we have MANY instances of contact from "the other side" so we always expect to get word that our loved ones “arrive safely.” So when my dad died my sister and I anticipated hearing from him.
A short while after the funeral my sister and I were driving separate cars in two different states (Connecticut and Massachusetts) and we happened to be listening to the same program on Public Radio. Faith Middleton was interviewing an author and asked him to read a page from his newly published book. His first words were, “It all started when I was shipwrecked off the coast of Africa.”
I called my sister that evening and we both knew that it was a message from our story telling dad.
I’ve had one other contact from my dad. There came a time several months after his death when I was overcome with grief and was weeping for him in my bed, calling him in fact, wanting him to be near. At the time, I was lying on my left side in the bed, my head on the pillow. I suddenly heard him call my name, loudly and directly, into my right ear as though he were standing next to me. After I heard my name, my right ear 'pinged' and a ringing sound began in an odd way. Not my left ear, nor did both ears 'ping' -- only the right one into which his voice came. I knew immediately it was my dad and I was at peace.
I hope that these stories I have shared give others as much comfort as I received experiencing them.
Diane Valentine Reading
Middletown, Connecticut
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Dad and Baseball
The Phone rings
" Hello. "
" Hi son."
" Hi dad. "
" How ya doing ?"
" Good dad, How you doing ?"
" Oh Ok, thought I'd call in my lottery numbers."
This is a typical call from dad. He's been calling me his lottery numbers to play twice a week for ten years because they don’t have a lottery in Alabama.
" Got em, I'll get those numbers for ya dad."
" Geeze thanks so much Son, if you ever need anything let me know. I got that new TV you know, I've been watching my favorite baseball team, wow, you should see my TV, when they have the camera behind home plate and the pitcher throws the ball.. I duck.. It looks like he threw it right at me. "
" That’s funny dad "
" Are you still going to those meetings?"
" Oh yeah dad, every day."
" Still every day, how long has it been now?
"Just over ten years dad."
" My, that’s amazing , I'm proud of you. If I can help with anything just let me know, ok?"
" Ok dad."
" Well I got to go now, thanks for getting the lotto numbers,love ya son.."
" Love ya dad "
My story is your average tale of the downward spiral of chemical addiction and alcohol, and the upward climb back towards normalcy. Millions of people share the same story. I started with pot and beer in early adolescence, by late teens it was hard liquor and narcotics, by 22 I was smoking crack cocaine every day and was in total denial of having a problem. I was a mess.
Its hard to briefly describe the damage… physically, psychologically, emotionally, spiritually, socially, economically, a ruined marriage, estranged from my baby son and step daughter, being unemployable.
On 9-10-1993 I surrendered to the AA program and slowly worked my way back. By the grace of God and a Christian sponsor who gently helped me turn back to the Lord, I recovered.
I’ve come to realize that I didn’t get my old life back that I thought I was going to in the beginning of recovery- rather I’ve found working a recovery program has enabled me to start becoming a totally different person- the one God meant me to be.
Obviously, living sober has its benefits; my family relationships have been repaired, I have a good job and I was able to obtain full custody of my son in that first year. What a blessing to see him grow into a wonderful young man free from the social trappings I fell into at his age.
I married a beautiful woman. She's in recovery also. We've built a life together that is more rewarding than I could have dared imagine. We’ve purchased a home, are active members in our church and are still very involved in the recovery community.
We work hard on our relationship. Both being in recovery means we perhaps have additional challenges. What successful marriage doesn't have challenges?
We sought out a Christian marriage counselor. During one of the counseling sessions the three of us were discussing- go figure- recovery and the counselor asked me; “So what in your childhood was so terrible that it made you turn to drugs and alcohol.”
WHAT? That was all I could say. What?
I had a great childhood… couldn’t remember anything that was all that bad. Then it happened. It just popped into my head.
When I was six I wanted to join little league baseball. I brought home the permission slips and brochure from school. I fancied myself becoming a great baseball player someday. My parents bought me a glove, bat, ball, and the uniform with cap and I was assigned to a team.
I especially remember going to that first practice, and how my dad drove me to the ball field…well, actually he only drove me to within seeing distance of the ball field. He pulled the car over to the curb explaining that he was dropping me off here and that I was to run across the block to the ball field and he would be right here to pick me up after the practice. I was confused but this was my turn to play and without any hesitation I was out of that car and running towared the ball field.
I went to a few practice sessions like that, each time my dad dropping me off a block away and being there to pick me up afterwards.
I recall one practice the ball coming my way in right field and not catching it like I was supposed to…scrambling, running to the missed ball while the other kids screamed, “throw the ball,” throwing the ball as hard as I could and seeing it fall to the ground only half way to the nearest teammate and rolling to a stop while the batter was running the basses and everyone was screaming at me.
I remember that first real baseball game getting dropped off a block away just like practice and sitting on the bench until my first chance at bat. I was thinking this is it. I am gonna hit a home run like Babe Ruth. Stepping up to the plate I hear the catcher say; "he's a whiffer, he can’t hit, strike him out" and a lump forming in my throat and tears forming after the first strike and not bothering to look back towards my team for support after the second strike because I knew my dad wasn’t there. When I struck out it seamed the whole world was screaming names at me, even my teammates. I was all by myself. The other kids' dads were there but mine wasn’t. Nobody stood up for me. I remember walking back to the bench with my head down, sitting and staring at the ground.
I made up my mind I was never gonna hear atta-boy from my dad because he wasn’t there, and I was never going to hear if I needed anything he'd be there for me. I made up my mind that I was gonna quit baseball. And that’s what I did.
Dad drove me to the coach’s house and he made me take the uniform up to the door and quit the team while he waited in the car.
I was sitting there in the counsellors office with my wife, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I relived feelings I had buried as a six-year-old. The counselor asked, "So what are you going to do about it now?" We agreed taking time to process was reasonable.
Some days passed. How could I start healing? Dad and mom have been divorced 30 years now. Dad has lived in a mobile home in Alabama for 25 years. He is 77. How could I justify calling dad up and saying; "Guess what I just remembered what you did to me 36 years ago?" What would that accomplish? Would I really feel better bringing it up? Would he remember? Would I be creating more hurt?
Let me say here there is no way I blame my addictions due to this one thing. There are many reasons for my addictions and alcoholism.
I began wondering about all those phone conversations with dad these past ten years. How could my dad, who talks to me all the time about baseball, never misses a game on TV, not participate in baseball with me when I was a kid? It didn’t make sense.
I call my brother in Columbus and ask him.
He replies, “dad never mentions baseball to me, I don’t think he likes sports. "
I call my sister, same response - dad never mentions baseball to her.
So I ask my mom, “why dad didn’t do baseball with me.” She guessed maybe he didn’t want to be involved with the other fathers. She was sure it didn’t have anything to do with me.
So how was I going heal from a 36 year old hurt, as far as I could tell, was due to dad trying to avoid some kind of social interaction with other men
I thought, perhaps it is too late to try to heal by talking with dad but maybe I could help my son, who then was 16 and a sophomore in high school.
I had made many mistakes raising my son especially in his early life as my brain wasn’t all that clear even after I was sober. Maybe I can make sure my son didn’t find himself at 40 years old crying in a counseling session and wondering what his dad had done to him.
So every chance I had I told my son how much I loved him, how proud of him I was and that he could depend on his dad. I began wondering if he was getting it. Was he hearing me?
That’s when it happened. I heard in my mind all those phone conversations between me and my dad and what I heard wasn’t conversations about baseball. What I heard at that moment was the other part where for ten years my dad was saying,"Son I'm so proud of what you’ve been doing with your life… Son, if I can help you with anything just let me know… Son I love you…"
My son wasn't the one not hearing. It was my dad’s son who wasn’t hearing. I was the one with the hardened heart
Thirty six years ago a six-year- old boy made up his mind he was never going to hear his father’s praise, would never be able to depend on his dad and was determined he wasn’t going to feel his dad’s love.
The healing I neeeded wasn’t from what my father did. The healing I needed was from what I did to myself-that little boy-a life time ago… I made a decision back then, and the result was that I stopped hearing. Even cold sober for ten years and in my right mind I was deaf to what my father had been saying.
Finally I heard all those times my father said, "I'm proud of you, I'm there for you , I love you."
I cried for three days.
I was crying with joy because I heard him…and I was crying with some sorrow that I hadn’t heard him for so long… and all these emotions were flooding through me… and I felt elated.
I called my wife to tell her and left her a message and I called my counselor and I think he was crying with me as I explained my revelation.
He asked, "did you call your dad?"
"Oh no…no… I couldn’t possibly call dad"
“You know you have to,” he advised.
It took me three hours to get myself together to make that call to dad. I didn't get into the baseball thing with him. Between sobs I just explained that I now understand and know thathe loves me, he's proud of me and would do anything for me.
After a few days I thought, wow, if I cut off my ability to hear my earthly father like that- how much have I cut off from hearing my heavenly father? How about you, been hearing God lately?
It has been a little over four years now. Dad still calls in his numbers twice a week, I never hear him mention baseball anymore. You know, I'm not really sure if dad even likes baseball
Patrick Smith
Sarasota, Fl.
" Hello. "
" Hi son."
" Hi dad. "
" How ya doing ?"
" Good dad, How you doing ?"
" Oh Ok, thought I'd call in my lottery numbers."
This is a typical call from dad. He's been calling me his lottery numbers to play twice a week for ten years because they don’t have a lottery in Alabama.
" Got em, I'll get those numbers for ya dad."
" Geeze thanks so much Son, if you ever need anything let me know. I got that new TV you know, I've been watching my favorite baseball team, wow, you should see my TV, when they have the camera behind home plate and the pitcher throws the ball.. I duck.. It looks like he threw it right at me. "
" That’s funny dad "
" Are you still going to those meetings?"
" Oh yeah dad, every day."
" Still every day, how long has it been now?
"Just over ten years dad."
" My, that’s amazing , I'm proud of you. If I can help with anything just let me know, ok?"
" Ok dad."
" Well I got to go now, thanks for getting the lotto numbers,love ya son.."
" Love ya dad "
My story is your average tale of the downward spiral of chemical addiction and alcohol, and the upward climb back towards normalcy. Millions of people share the same story. I started with pot and beer in early adolescence, by late teens it was hard liquor and narcotics, by 22 I was smoking crack cocaine every day and was in total denial of having a problem. I was a mess.
Its hard to briefly describe the damage… physically, psychologically, emotionally, spiritually, socially, economically, a ruined marriage, estranged from my baby son and step daughter, being unemployable.
On 9-10-1993 I surrendered to the AA program and slowly worked my way back. By the grace of God and a Christian sponsor who gently helped me turn back to the Lord, I recovered.
I’ve come to realize that I didn’t get my old life back that I thought I was going to in the beginning of recovery- rather I’ve found working a recovery program has enabled me to start becoming a totally different person- the one God meant me to be.
Obviously, living sober has its benefits; my family relationships have been repaired, I have a good job and I was able to obtain full custody of my son in that first year. What a blessing to see him grow into a wonderful young man free from the social trappings I fell into at his age.
I married a beautiful woman. She's in recovery also. We've built a life together that is more rewarding than I could have dared imagine. We’ve purchased a home, are active members in our church and are still very involved in the recovery community.
We work hard on our relationship. Both being in recovery means we perhaps have additional challenges. What successful marriage doesn't have challenges?
We sought out a Christian marriage counselor. During one of the counseling sessions the three of us were discussing- go figure- recovery and the counselor asked me; “So what in your childhood was so terrible that it made you turn to drugs and alcohol.”
WHAT? That was all I could say. What?
I had a great childhood… couldn’t remember anything that was all that bad. Then it happened. It just popped into my head.
When I was six I wanted to join little league baseball. I brought home the permission slips and brochure from school. I fancied myself becoming a great baseball player someday. My parents bought me a glove, bat, ball, and the uniform with cap and I was assigned to a team.
I especially remember going to that first practice, and how my dad drove me to the ball field…well, actually he only drove me to within seeing distance of the ball field. He pulled the car over to the curb explaining that he was dropping me off here and that I was to run across the block to the ball field and he would be right here to pick me up after the practice. I was confused but this was my turn to play and without any hesitation I was out of that car and running towared the ball field.
I went to a few practice sessions like that, each time my dad dropping me off a block away and being there to pick me up afterwards.
I recall one practice the ball coming my way in right field and not catching it like I was supposed to…scrambling, running to the missed ball while the other kids screamed, “throw the ball,” throwing the ball as hard as I could and seeing it fall to the ground only half way to the nearest teammate and rolling to a stop while the batter was running the basses and everyone was screaming at me.
I remember that first real baseball game getting dropped off a block away just like practice and sitting on the bench until my first chance at bat. I was thinking this is it. I am gonna hit a home run like Babe Ruth. Stepping up to the plate I hear the catcher say; "he's a whiffer, he can’t hit, strike him out" and a lump forming in my throat and tears forming after the first strike and not bothering to look back towards my team for support after the second strike because I knew my dad wasn’t there. When I struck out it seamed the whole world was screaming names at me, even my teammates. I was all by myself. The other kids' dads were there but mine wasn’t. Nobody stood up for me. I remember walking back to the bench with my head down, sitting and staring at the ground.
I made up my mind I was never gonna hear atta-boy from my dad because he wasn’t there, and I was never going to hear if I needed anything he'd be there for me. I made up my mind that I was gonna quit baseball. And that’s what I did.
Dad drove me to the coach’s house and he made me take the uniform up to the door and quit the team while he waited in the car.
I was sitting there in the counsellors office with my wife, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I relived feelings I had buried as a six-year-old. The counselor asked, "So what are you going to do about it now?" We agreed taking time to process was reasonable.
Some days passed. How could I start healing? Dad and mom have been divorced 30 years now. Dad has lived in a mobile home in Alabama for 25 years. He is 77. How could I justify calling dad up and saying; "Guess what I just remembered what you did to me 36 years ago?" What would that accomplish? Would I really feel better bringing it up? Would he remember? Would I be creating more hurt?
Let me say here there is no way I blame my addictions due to this one thing. There are many reasons for my addictions and alcoholism.
I began wondering about all those phone conversations with dad these past ten years. How could my dad, who talks to me all the time about baseball, never misses a game on TV, not participate in baseball with me when I was a kid? It didn’t make sense.
I call my brother in Columbus and ask him.
He replies, “dad never mentions baseball to me, I don’t think he likes sports. "
I call my sister, same response - dad never mentions baseball to her.
So I ask my mom, “why dad didn’t do baseball with me.” She guessed maybe he didn’t want to be involved with the other fathers. She was sure it didn’t have anything to do with me.
So how was I going heal from a 36 year old hurt, as far as I could tell, was due to dad trying to avoid some kind of social interaction with other men
I thought, perhaps it is too late to try to heal by talking with dad but maybe I could help my son, who then was 16 and a sophomore in high school.
I had made many mistakes raising my son especially in his early life as my brain wasn’t all that clear even after I was sober. Maybe I can make sure my son didn’t find himself at 40 years old crying in a counseling session and wondering what his dad had done to him.
So every chance I had I told my son how much I loved him, how proud of him I was and that he could depend on his dad. I began wondering if he was getting it. Was he hearing me?
That’s when it happened. I heard in my mind all those phone conversations between me and my dad and what I heard wasn’t conversations about baseball. What I heard at that moment was the other part where for ten years my dad was saying,"Son I'm so proud of what you’ve been doing with your life… Son, if I can help you with anything just let me know… Son I love you…"
My son wasn't the one not hearing. It was my dad’s son who wasn’t hearing. I was the one with the hardened heart
Thirty six years ago a six-year- old boy made up his mind he was never going to hear his father’s praise, would never be able to depend on his dad and was determined he wasn’t going to feel his dad’s love.
The healing I neeeded wasn’t from what my father did. The healing I needed was from what I did to myself-that little boy-a life time ago… I made a decision back then, and the result was that I stopped hearing. Even cold sober for ten years and in my right mind I was deaf to what my father had been saying.
Finally I heard all those times my father said, "I'm proud of you, I'm there for you , I love you."
I cried for three days.
I was crying with joy because I heard him…and I was crying with some sorrow that I hadn’t heard him for so long… and all these emotions were flooding through me… and I felt elated.
I called my wife to tell her and left her a message and I called my counselor and I think he was crying with me as I explained my revelation.
He asked, "did you call your dad?"
"Oh no…no… I couldn’t possibly call dad"
“You know you have to,” he advised.
It took me three hours to get myself together to make that call to dad. I didn't get into the baseball thing with him. Between sobs I just explained that I now understand and know thathe loves me, he's proud of me and would do anything for me.
After a few days I thought, wow, if I cut off my ability to hear my earthly father like that- how much have I cut off from hearing my heavenly father? How about you, been hearing God lately?
It has been a little over four years now. Dad still calls in his numbers twice a week, I never hear him mention baseball anymore. You know, I'm not really sure if dad even likes baseball
Patrick Smith
Sarasota, Fl.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Jump Start from a Distance
My goal is to get around Washington DC before dark. I am heading south to deliver furniture to the kid in college. I notice the car is running a little hot towing the U Haul so I stop at a rest area in Maryland between Baltimore and DC.
I go to the bathroom, walk around some to stretch my legs and return to the car. I turn the key in the ignition-nothing. Try again. Dead. Now what?
These high tech cars stump me (mine is a ten-year old 1989 Cadillac DeVille). I have no idea what to do next. I call my road service plan and they locate a towing service near the interstate.
“We’ll have to send two trucks,” a voice says, “One for your car and one for the trailer.” Looks like I will be spending the night nearby.
As I return dejectedly to my car. I say Lord I need help here. A voice in my head says try your spare key. I try that key and the car starts right up. I call my road guy, cancel the tow service and head south.
I have no further problems. I should call Click and Clack, those “Car Talk” brothers on PBS about this one.
Walter Holloway
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
I go to the bathroom, walk around some to stretch my legs and return to the car. I turn the key in the ignition-nothing. Try again. Dead. Now what?
These high tech cars stump me (mine is a ten-year old 1989 Cadillac DeVille). I have no idea what to do next. I call my road service plan and they locate a towing service near the interstate.
“We’ll have to send two trucks,” a voice says, “One for your car and one for the trailer.” Looks like I will be spending the night nearby.
As I return dejectedly to my car. I say Lord I need help here. A voice in my head says try your spare key. I try that key and the car starts right up. I call my road guy, cancel the tow service and head south.
I have no further problems. I should call Click and Clack, those “Car Talk” brothers on PBS about this one.
Walter Holloway
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Making Plans, Taking Steps
I began preaching when I was twenty years old in a little church in Neapolis, Ohio. I was married that same year. Marilyn and I thought we would stay in that town all of our lives.
It was our hometown, our children were born there and our parents lived nearby. I said, “ I will never live in the city.” Be careful with the “never’s.”
In 1964 the Elders from North Highlands Church of Christ on Archer Avenue in Fort Wayne were determined that we were to come to this church. We prayed over it and felt God’s call, so we moved to Fort Wayne.
The Church flourished and grew and helped spawned Christ Church in Georgetown. We soon had outgrown our building so we made plans to build a million dollar building in the suburbs of Fort Wayne: North Highlands Community.
We went to a bank that promised financing, we had plans drawn and we held a groundbreaking ceremony with the mayor there. There was even a picture in the newspaper and a contractor on the site. That year, 1973, was a severe downturn of the economy. When we went to the bank to obtain our loan for 800 thousand dollars we were told the money is no longer available. What do you do?
We had made plans and promises. What was God thinking? What did God want us to do?
I said, “We are going to prayer.” I had heard about early morning praying in Korea. I said, “we're going to go to prayer at 5:30 in the morning. and we're going to pray until we get an answer.”
That went on for six weeks. You know how early 5:30 in the morning is when you start praying at that hour for six weeks, seven mornings a week? I'm a morning person but I was never consistently up that many mornings, going to bed later every night.
One morning following prayer, I was with a group of pastors who heard the mayor of our city, Ivan Lebamoff , speak and challenge each of us to look at the downtown area of Fort Wayne, where everyone was leaving at that time in 1973. The mayor urged us to look at the downtown as a place of potential, of opportunity. God laid it on my heart to remember the empty church building at the corner of Broadway and Wayne, which had been the old Wayne Street Methodist Church.
That morning I went to that building, opened the door, went in, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There before me was the floor plan that we were going to build and still intact since 1871. It was constructed of sturdy oak, had stained glass, a pipe organ, a wood floor gymnasium, and a commercial kitchen. Altogether it was 48,00 square feet of usable building. For two hours I walked around in there with unbelief, arguing with God, saying, this can't be, how can we do this? I went home and I couldn't talk. Marilyn thought I had been in an some sort of accident.
That night as Marilyn and I walked I said, “Honey, I've dreamed a dream or seen a vision.”
After I shared with her my amazing discovery she said, “Bob I told you two weeks ago we should buy that building when we went past it.”
I hadn’t heard her but God did and the Broadway Christian Church was born.
About eighty families, approximately 300 people came with us from the suburbs to the city. The people who came interestingly enough were mostly the ones who came to Christ during my nine years at North Highlands. Our first service at Broadway Christian was held on January 6, 1974.
I began preaching on discipleship and what it means to seriously follow Jesus. I preached two and a half years on that theme. I preached for seven consecutive Sundays on repentance. I had never done that before in my life.
On one of those Sunday mornings our Church School superintendent came with his wife at his side weeping and he confessed he was a closet alcoholic. His Sunday School class with an elder leading them surrounded that man and vowed to stay with him until he was sober. That morning was a high water mark spiritually for the people knew then it was a safe place to confess sins.
I am retired from Broadway Christian now but we still live in Fort Wayne most of the year. I look back over 28 years at not only the growth in numbers (2,000 people and five services in two locations) but the organizations and churches that grew out of that one as we tried to be good disciples to our neighborhood and beyond.
It is obvious now what happened back in 1973 when the bank failed to give us a promised loan. God saved us from ourselves.
“A man’s heart devises his way; but the Lord directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
Pastor Bob Yawberg
Fort Wayne, Indiana
It was our hometown, our children were born there and our parents lived nearby. I said, “ I will never live in the city.” Be careful with the “never’s.”
In 1964 the Elders from North Highlands Church of Christ on Archer Avenue in Fort Wayne were determined that we were to come to this church. We prayed over it and felt God’s call, so we moved to Fort Wayne.
The Church flourished and grew and helped spawned Christ Church in Georgetown. We soon had outgrown our building so we made plans to build a million dollar building in the suburbs of Fort Wayne: North Highlands Community.
We went to a bank that promised financing, we had plans drawn and we held a groundbreaking ceremony with the mayor there. There was even a picture in the newspaper and a contractor on the site. That year, 1973, was a severe downturn of the economy. When we went to the bank to obtain our loan for 800 thousand dollars we were told the money is no longer available. What do you do?
We had made plans and promises. What was God thinking? What did God want us to do?
I said, “We are going to prayer.” I had heard about early morning praying in Korea. I said, “we're going to go to prayer at 5:30 in the morning. and we're going to pray until we get an answer.”
That went on for six weeks. You know how early 5:30 in the morning is when you start praying at that hour for six weeks, seven mornings a week? I'm a morning person but I was never consistently up that many mornings, going to bed later every night.
One morning following prayer, I was with a group of pastors who heard the mayor of our city, Ivan Lebamoff , speak and challenge each of us to look at the downtown area of Fort Wayne, where everyone was leaving at that time in 1973. The mayor urged us to look at the downtown as a place of potential, of opportunity. God laid it on my heart to remember the empty church building at the corner of Broadway and Wayne, which had been the old Wayne Street Methodist Church.
That morning I went to that building, opened the door, went in, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There before me was the floor plan that we were going to build and still intact since 1871. It was constructed of sturdy oak, had stained glass, a pipe organ, a wood floor gymnasium, and a commercial kitchen. Altogether it was 48,00 square feet of usable building. For two hours I walked around in there with unbelief, arguing with God, saying, this can't be, how can we do this? I went home and I couldn't talk. Marilyn thought I had been in an some sort of accident.
That night as Marilyn and I walked I said, “Honey, I've dreamed a dream or seen a vision.”
After I shared with her my amazing discovery she said, “Bob I told you two weeks ago we should buy that building when we went past it.”
I hadn’t heard her but God did and the Broadway Christian Church was born.
About eighty families, approximately 300 people came with us from the suburbs to the city. The people who came interestingly enough were mostly the ones who came to Christ during my nine years at North Highlands. Our first service at Broadway Christian was held on January 6, 1974.
I began preaching on discipleship and what it means to seriously follow Jesus. I preached two and a half years on that theme. I preached for seven consecutive Sundays on repentance. I had never done that before in my life.
On one of those Sunday mornings our Church School superintendent came with his wife at his side weeping and he confessed he was a closet alcoholic. His Sunday School class with an elder leading them surrounded that man and vowed to stay with him until he was sober. That morning was a high water mark spiritually for the people knew then it was a safe place to confess sins.
I am retired from Broadway Christian now but we still live in Fort Wayne most of the year. I look back over 28 years at not only the growth in numbers (2,000 people and five services in two locations) but the organizations and churches that grew out of that one as we tried to be good disciples to our neighborhood and beyond.
It is obvious now what happened back in 1973 when the bank failed to give us a promised loan. God saved us from ourselves.
“A man’s heart devises his way; but the Lord directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
Pastor Bob Yawberg
Fort Wayne, Indiana
Saturday, October 11, 2008
A Raging River
It is June and time for our annual family reunion camping along the banks of the Raven Fork River. Only this one will change the course of my life.
On the drive from Florida to Cherokee, North Carolina my wife and I talk about the offer made by the pastor of our community church in Sarasota. He wants me to serve as Interim Children’s Director on a six-month trial basis. I have served the children’s ministry as a volunteer for several years while my paying position is managing a restaurant for a national chain. My heart is with the children but my head and my wife are saying it would be financially irresponsible to take an interim position for six months while a committee searches for a director. Besides, I would have to take a pay cut and with a wife and two children to support that would be financial stupidity.
We arrive at the campsite in a steady drizzle. Most of the families are gathered under a large tent fly. After lunch I decide to go fishing and thinking. The Raven has eight-foot banks opposite the campground and is relatively shallow ranging in dept from calf deep to waist deep. I put on waders and rain gear and proceed into the calm water. Most of the adults
are playing cards under the tent fly while Pete, my brother-in-law, watches me fish from the bank.
I was so engrossed in fishing that I didn’t notice what was happening around me. I should have known if it is raining here it is pouring up river in the mountains. Within minutes the river rises from waist deep to chest deep and the water turns brown. Finally I realize what is happening and I turn toward the near bank. This is a big mistake. The river is deeper on this side and my waders quickly fill with water and drag me under like a sinker. My waders hold me down while the rushing river pushes me downstream. I am struggling to regain my footing and get to the surface. Suddenly I hit a rock with such force that it pops me upright like a bobber. I stand there, breathing heavily and deliberately leaning forward with the water pushing against my chest. I am unable to move. This is serious.
My brother-in-law is frantically yelling for the other men who soon appear on the bank above me. They lower an inflated tube with a rope tied to it but it doesn’t reach. me.
Next they throw the inner tube but it blows past me and is punctured downstream when it hits a sharp rock or pointed stump. Someone finds another piece of rope and ties it to the first rope. The men lower a
now deflated tube tied on the longer rope. After a couple of attempts this one reaches me and I wrap the rope around my hand. When the men pull on the rope I am immediately projected prone in the water and with the river pushing me and with my extra weight my rescuers are nearly pulled in on top of me. It takes all the strength of those ten men and older boys to hold me against the current. Gradually they ease me to the bank, which is terraced with rocks held in place by a wire mesh. I am able to grab a tree growing out of the bank and I hold on while some men crawl gingerly down the bank and help me out of the river.
Later standing on top of the embankment several of us watched logs, branches and other debris being propelled down river by the rushing water. A large log shot right over where I had been standing helpless against the river. That could have been fatal. I learned first hand the power of water and how fast things can change. I see now
how people can be caught in a flash flood.
Pete interrupts my musings.
“Chris you have to see this,” he says holding the rope in his hands, “this is how close we came to losing you.” What had been my lifeline is frayed so badly that the rope in one spot is down to a single strand that my brother-in-law proceeded to snap with his fingers.
On reflection I think God was testing me that afternoon. I could easily have drowned if I hadn’t hit that rock, which stood me up providing time for others to help me in my distress. As I thought about my life ending in that river I asked myself, did I want to be just a restaurant manager or did I want to be a teacher of God’s children? I decided to take the position of Interim Director of Children’s Ministry.
Chris Cahill
Bradenton, Florida.
(He has been Pastor of Children’s Ministry at South Shore Community Church since 2003-Ed)
On the drive from Florida to Cherokee, North Carolina my wife and I talk about the offer made by the pastor of our community church in Sarasota. He wants me to serve as Interim Children’s Director on a six-month trial basis. I have served the children’s ministry as a volunteer for several years while my paying position is managing a restaurant for a national chain. My heart is with the children but my head and my wife are saying it would be financially irresponsible to take an interim position for six months while a committee searches for a director. Besides, I would have to take a pay cut and with a wife and two children to support that would be financial stupidity.
We arrive at the campsite in a steady drizzle. Most of the families are gathered under a large tent fly. After lunch I decide to go fishing and thinking. The Raven has eight-foot banks opposite the campground and is relatively shallow ranging in dept from calf deep to waist deep. I put on waders and rain gear and proceed into the calm water. Most of the adults
are playing cards under the tent fly while Pete, my brother-in-law, watches me fish from the bank.
I was so engrossed in fishing that I didn’t notice what was happening around me. I should have known if it is raining here it is pouring up river in the mountains. Within minutes the river rises from waist deep to chest deep and the water turns brown. Finally I realize what is happening and I turn toward the near bank. This is a big mistake. The river is deeper on this side and my waders quickly fill with water and drag me under like a sinker. My waders hold me down while the rushing river pushes me downstream. I am struggling to regain my footing and get to the surface. Suddenly I hit a rock with such force that it pops me upright like a bobber. I stand there, breathing heavily and deliberately leaning forward with the water pushing against my chest. I am unable to move. This is serious.
My brother-in-law is frantically yelling for the other men who soon appear on the bank above me. They lower an inflated tube with a rope tied to it but it doesn’t reach. me.
Next they throw the inner tube but it blows past me and is punctured downstream when it hits a sharp rock or pointed stump. Someone finds another piece of rope and ties it to the first rope. The men lower a
now deflated tube tied on the longer rope. After a couple of attempts this one reaches me and I wrap the rope around my hand. When the men pull on the rope I am immediately projected prone in the water and with the river pushing me and with my extra weight my rescuers are nearly pulled in on top of me. It takes all the strength of those ten men and older boys to hold me against the current. Gradually they ease me to the bank, which is terraced with rocks held in place by a wire mesh. I am able to grab a tree growing out of the bank and I hold on while some men crawl gingerly down the bank and help me out of the river.
Later standing on top of the embankment several of us watched logs, branches and other debris being propelled down river by the rushing water. A large log shot right over where I had been standing helpless against the river. That could have been fatal. I learned first hand the power of water and how fast things can change. I see now
how people can be caught in a flash flood.
Pete interrupts my musings.
“Chris you have to see this,” he says holding the rope in his hands, “this is how close we came to losing you.” What had been my lifeline is frayed so badly that the rope in one spot is down to a single strand that my brother-in-law proceeded to snap with his fingers.
On reflection I think God was testing me that afternoon. I could easily have drowned if I hadn’t hit that rock, which stood me up providing time for others to help me in my distress. As I thought about my life ending in that river I asked myself, did I want to be just a restaurant manager or did I want to be a teacher of God’s children? I decided to take the position of Interim Director of Children’s Ministry.
Chris Cahill
Bradenton, Florida.
(He has been Pastor of Children’s Ministry at South Shore Community Church since 2003-Ed)
Friday, October 3, 2008
"Bob"
Incredible true stories that touch the heart and tug at the soul. Are they chance or destiny, coincidence or fate? Do you have your own Go Figure story? Want to share it? E-mail us at gofigureamerica@yahoo.com
“Bob”
I was going through a really difficult time. I was recovering from a divorce, my daughter was living away from home at school and the bank I was working for was going under due to big mistakes in real estate lending.
Then the unthinkable happened. My male friend committed suicide. I found his body slumped over in his garage still in his car. He was a colleague at the bank and I cared for him deeply. I never felt more alone.
The following evening a dear friend from the bank, Noreen, came to my apartment with her husband David. They gathered up a few of my things, literally carried me to their car and drove me to their home.
Noreen was also a good friend of the man who had tragically taken his own life. She made a wonderful bed for me out of the couches in her living room, make a fire in the fireplace and instead of bringing me a box of tissues she brought me all her frilly hankies. She also made a pot of my favorite tea.
While Noreen and I talked about our deceased friend and some of the times we spent together, her son Paul, who was probably five or six at the time, kept coming in and out of the room. Each trip he brought a handful of toys or stuffed animals, which he lined up next to me on the couch. The more I thanked him the more things he brought me. Eventually the couch was filled up and he began placing the toys on the floor next to me. In his little boy way he was bringing everything he had to comfort his mother’s friend who obviously was crying and sad. Lastly he brought into the room his most precious possession-his baby blanket.
I’m a major baby blanket person. When I was a child I had a crib-sized blanket that was very much a part of my life until I was fourteen. I would hold it to my nose; suck my thumb, especially in turbulent times. That blanket brought me comfort and joy. It had been loved to death and by the time I was 14 it had been reduced to the size of a silver dollar.
I understand all things baby blanket. Those of us who were baby blanket people have a way of finding each other. We have a language that only we understand. So little Paul and I immediately had this bond and he showed me his baby blanket that looked like a large blob of shredded rags tied together in large knots.
He called his baby blanket “Bob.” We agreed that the very worse thing that can happen is when well meaning moms wash our baby blankets.It takes weeks to get them back in shape and to properly smell again.
After a while, Paul and “Bob” went off to bed.
When the house was quiet I began reflecting and I began to cry and even sob. My shaking with grief was interrupted by the sound of shuffling little feet. It was Paul walking towards me carrying “Bob.” Without saying a word, he gently laid “Bob” in my arms, turned and left the room, closing the French doors behind him.
At that moment, I knew that God was using this child to comfort me in my time of pain and sorrow.
To this day, I am blown away by that precious little one obeying the prodding of the Lord and lending me his most cherished possession that evening. God manifested his love that night to me.
Joy Holloway
Granby Ma.
“Bob”
I was going through a really difficult time. I was recovering from a divorce, my daughter was living away from home at school and the bank I was working for was going under due to big mistakes in real estate lending.
Then the unthinkable happened. My male friend committed suicide. I found his body slumped over in his garage still in his car. He was a colleague at the bank and I cared for him deeply. I never felt more alone.
The following evening a dear friend from the bank, Noreen, came to my apartment with her husband David. They gathered up a few of my things, literally carried me to their car and drove me to their home.
Noreen was also a good friend of the man who had tragically taken his own life. She made a wonderful bed for me out of the couches in her living room, make a fire in the fireplace and instead of bringing me a box of tissues she brought me all her frilly hankies. She also made a pot of my favorite tea.
While Noreen and I talked about our deceased friend and some of the times we spent together, her son Paul, who was probably five or six at the time, kept coming in and out of the room. Each trip he brought a handful of toys or stuffed animals, which he lined up next to me on the couch. The more I thanked him the more things he brought me. Eventually the couch was filled up and he began placing the toys on the floor next to me. In his little boy way he was bringing everything he had to comfort his mother’s friend who obviously was crying and sad. Lastly he brought into the room his most precious possession-his baby blanket.
I’m a major baby blanket person. When I was a child I had a crib-sized blanket that was very much a part of my life until I was fourteen. I would hold it to my nose; suck my thumb, especially in turbulent times. That blanket brought me comfort and joy. It had been loved to death and by the time I was 14 it had been reduced to the size of a silver dollar.
I understand all things baby blanket. Those of us who were baby blanket people have a way of finding each other. We have a language that only we understand. So little Paul and I immediately had this bond and he showed me his baby blanket that looked like a large blob of shredded rags tied together in large knots.
He called his baby blanket “Bob.” We agreed that the very worse thing that can happen is when well meaning moms wash our baby blankets.It takes weeks to get them back in shape and to properly smell again.
After a while, Paul and “Bob” went off to bed.
When the house was quiet I began reflecting and I began to cry and even sob. My shaking with grief was interrupted by the sound of shuffling little feet. It was Paul walking towards me carrying “Bob.” Without saying a word, he gently laid “Bob” in my arms, turned and left the room, closing the French doors behind him.
At that moment, I knew that God was using this child to comfort me in my time of pain and sorrow.
To this day, I am blown away by that precious little one obeying the prodding of the Lord and lending me his most cherished possession that evening. God manifested his love that night to me.
Joy Holloway
Granby Ma.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Last Flight Home
There are four of us waiting standby at Chicago's O'Hare airport for the last flight to Bradley Field serving Hartford/ Springfield, Ma. We had all arrived late from the west coast and missed our connections.
The other three men are travelling together and look to be 20 to 30 years my junior.We all surrender our tickets to the agent to see if any seats open up. We are warned that it doesn't look good. Afterall it is a Friday night and people are trying to get somewhere for the weekend. If I can't get on this flight it means spending the night in Chicago.
The waiting room fills up with booked passengers.Where did all these people come from? Couples with little children. Why are they taking such a late flight. Certainly I can't expect to take a seat away from a child. Besides it is past her bedtime. I'm mentally preparing myself for night on the waiting room floor.
The boarding process begins. It seems to take forever. Some more passengers arrive and check in during the boarding. Finally the waiting area is empty except for four
stadbys. The agent sends a colleague down the jetway to see it there are any empty seats. We wait in silence by the ticket counter. I say a silent prayer that we will all get aboard.
The door to the jetway finally opens and the agent announces, "There are three empty seats."
The three men make a bee line for the open door leaving me standing by the counter.
The agent with the tickets turns to me and asks, "What is your name?"
I tell her and she motions for me to follow her. We walk down the jetway to the door of the airplane. She stops and smiles, "You get to sit in first class."
Sam Retlas
West Sprinfield, Ma.
The other three men are travelling together and look to be 20 to 30 years my junior.We all surrender our tickets to the agent to see if any seats open up. We are warned that it doesn't look good. Afterall it is a Friday night and people are trying to get somewhere for the weekend. If I can't get on this flight it means spending the night in Chicago.
The waiting room fills up with booked passengers.Where did all these people come from? Couples with little children. Why are they taking such a late flight. Certainly I can't expect to take a seat away from a child. Besides it is past her bedtime. I'm mentally preparing myself for night on the waiting room floor.
The boarding process begins. It seems to take forever. Some more passengers arrive and check in during the boarding. Finally the waiting area is empty except for four
stadbys. The agent sends a colleague down the jetway to see it there are any empty seats. We wait in silence by the ticket counter. I say a silent prayer that we will all get aboard.
The door to the jetway finally opens and the agent announces, "There are three empty seats."
The three men make a bee line for the open door leaving me standing by the counter.
The agent with the tickets turns to me and asks, "What is your name?"
I tell her and she motions for me to follow her. We walk down the jetway to the door of the airplane. She stops and smiles, "You get to sit in first class."
Sam Retlas
West Sprinfield, Ma.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Grandmother's Advice
My grandmother gave me a Bible when I went off to college. She said, “Read it when you feel down or need a lift.” I thanked her politely, packed it away and frankly went on with my life.
Years later, after a marriage, several children and many job changes, I found myself in a bad place. I was really down, lacking direction in my life and I was bordering on serious depression. I really needed to change.
While rummaging through a closet I moved a towel and there was the Bible my grandmother had given me when I was leaving for school. I felt the hairs standup on the back of my neck. I took the advice of that gentle sweet lady and I began reading the Bible.
A few days later, I was visiting my parents and I told them about finding the Bible and what grandmother had said when she gave it to me.
“What day did this happen,” my mother asked?
When I told her my mother had this knowing smile on her face.
“That is the anniversary of when you grandmother died,” she said.
I can say the advice my grandmother gave me did a lot more than give me a lift, it has changed my life forever.
James Cooper
Dayton, Oh.
Years later, after a marriage, several children and many job changes, I found myself in a bad place. I was really down, lacking direction in my life and I was bordering on serious depression. I really needed to change.
While rummaging through a closet I moved a towel and there was the Bible my grandmother had given me when I was leaving for school. I felt the hairs standup on the back of my neck. I took the advice of that gentle sweet lady and I began reading the Bible.
A few days later, I was visiting my parents and I told them about finding the Bible and what grandmother had said when she gave it to me.
“What day did this happen,” my mother asked?
When I told her my mother had this knowing smile on her face.
“That is the anniversary of when you grandmother died,” she said.
I can say the advice my grandmother gave me did a lot more than give me a lift, it has changed my life forever.
James Cooper
Dayton, Oh.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Two Wheelchair Stories
My flight home has been canceled because of bad weather in the Northeast. I call Joy (my wife) and tell her the bad news.
“Well do God’s work,” she responds, “look around and see who needs help.”
While still holding the telephone I notice a man in a wheelchair staring at his flight ticket. I approach and ask if I can be of help. He nods explaining his flight has been canceled and he needs to be re-booked.
We make our way to the appropriate counter stopping at the end of a long line of disgruntled travelers. The agent at the counter looks up and notices Earl in the wheelchair (yes we are on a first name basis by now.) The agent motions for us to come forward.
The agent takes Earl’s ticket and begins tapping the keys on the computer in front of him. After a few minutes he hands him a boarding pass. “You are on the next flight to Philadelphia with a connection to Dayton. Should be leaving in about forty minutes”
The agent takes my ticket and looks back to his computer. “Can’t get you to Sarasota today,” he says, “but how would Tampa do?”
That will do fine. My wife drives the hour from Sarasota to Tampa and we have dinner together because I did what she suggested and helped someone in need. By serving others we are ourselves served.
I share this true story during a moment of sharing at South Shore Community Church.
After the service a young lady comes up to me and says, “You need to hear my wheelchair story.”
“I’d like to hear it.’
Over a cup of coffee she tells me. “I was new to this area and I had a medical problem. I had no family or friends here so I drove myself to a nearby clinic. After a preliminary check I was told to sit in the waiting room.
“I was scared to death and shaking with fear. I bowed my head and began praying. I heard God say that He is sending me an angel. I look up. Nothing has changed. People are sitting or leaning in chairs in various degrees of discomfort. I notice an older gentleman in a wheelchair. He smiles when our eyes meet and I decide to go over and talk with him.”
“How are we doing do here?” I ask.
“I’m doing fine. With God’s help I’ll be walking again in a few months.”
He is easy to talk with and we are quickly engaged in a friendly conversation. After a while I hear someone call my name. It is time to see the doctor. At that moment I realize that my fear is gone and talking with this man has made me feel better.
“I have been talking with you all this time and I don’t even know your name. My name is Sherry,” I say holding out my hand.
“Oh,” he smiles taking my hand in his, “My name is Angel.”
Robert Salter and Sherry Sargeant
Sarasota County, Fl.
“Well do God’s work,” she responds, “look around and see who needs help.”
While still holding the telephone I notice a man in a wheelchair staring at his flight ticket. I approach and ask if I can be of help. He nods explaining his flight has been canceled and he needs to be re-booked.
We make our way to the appropriate counter stopping at the end of a long line of disgruntled travelers. The agent at the counter looks up and notices Earl in the wheelchair (yes we are on a first name basis by now.) The agent motions for us to come forward.
The agent takes Earl’s ticket and begins tapping the keys on the computer in front of him. After a few minutes he hands him a boarding pass. “You are on the next flight to Philadelphia with a connection to Dayton. Should be leaving in about forty minutes”
The agent takes my ticket and looks back to his computer. “Can’t get you to Sarasota today,” he says, “but how would Tampa do?”
That will do fine. My wife drives the hour from Sarasota to Tampa and we have dinner together because I did what she suggested and helped someone in need. By serving others we are ourselves served.
I share this true story during a moment of sharing at South Shore Community Church.
After the service a young lady comes up to me and says, “You need to hear my wheelchair story.”
“I’d like to hear it.’
Over a cup of coffee she tells me. “I was new to this area and I had a medical problem. I had no family or friends here so I drove myself to a nearby clinic. After a preliminary check I was told to sit in the waiting room.
“I was scared to death and shaking with fear. I bowed my head and began praying. I heard God say that He is sending me an angel. I look up. Nothing has changed. People are sitting or leaning in chairs in various degrees of discomfort. I notice an older gentleman in a wheelchair. He smiles when our eyes meet and I decide to go over and talk with him.”
“How are we doing do here?” I ask.
“I’m doing fine. With God’s help I’ll be walking again in a few months.”
He is easy to talk with and we are quickly engaged in a friendly conversation. After a while I hear someone call my name. It is time to see the doctor. At that moment I realize that my fear is gone and talking with this man has made me feel better.
“I have been talking with you all this time and I don’t even know your name. My name is Sherry,” I say holding out my hand.
“Oh,” he smiles taking my hand in his, “My name is Angel.”
Robert Salter and Sherry Sargeant
Sarasota County, Fl.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
A Glass of Wine
My wife and I are dinning out with her best friend and her atheist husband who is also a cynic. He knows I am a Christian so every chance he gets he needles me about
faith.
The waiter comes to our table and askes for our drink order. Three of us order ice tea and the skeptic orders a class of the house wine. When the waiter leaves the man says mocking me,“too bad Jesus isn’t here, he could turn my cheap glass of wine into the best vino.”
I say to myself, I’m not going there, Lord you handle this. I ignore the comment and the ladies engage in a conversation.
The waiter soon returns with the beverages and says to the cynic, “I’m sorry sir but we are out of our house wine. My manager apologizes and said to give you a glass of our best wine with his compliments.”
“Answer a fool as his folly deserves,that he isn’t wise in his own eyes.”
(Proverbs 26:5)
Robert Morgan
Los Angeles, Ca.
faith.
The waiter comes to our table and askes for our drink order. Three of us order ice tea and the skeptic orders a class of the house wine. When the waiter leaves the man says mocking me,“too bad Jesus isn’t here, he could turn my cheap glass of wine into the best vino.”
I say to myself, I’m not going there, Lord you handle this. I ignore the comment and the ladies engage in a conversation.
The waiter soon returns with the beverages and says to the cynic, “I’m sorry sir but we are out of our house wine. My manager apologizes and said to give you a glass of our best wine with his compliments.”
“Answer a fool as his folly deserves,that he isn’t wise in his own eyes.”
(Proverbs 26:5)
Robert Morgan
Los Angeles, Ca.
Friday, August 29, 2008
"Stop and Ask for Ellen"
I was returning from my college reunion and I was heading south on Interstate 75 when I distinctly heard a voice in my head.
“Stop at the next Cracker Barrel and ask for Ellen.”
“Is that you speaking Lord?”
Again I hear, “Stop at the next Cracker Barrel and ask for Ellen.”
It wasn’t long before I saw a billboard telling me there was a Cracker Barrel at the next exit. I turned off. I asked the hostess if Ellen was on today.
”There is no Ellen working in this restaurant,” the Hostess said.
It was nearing the dinner hour so I decided to stay and eat. When the waitress brought my food I asked her if an Ellen had ever worked at this Cracker Barrel.
“Oh Ellen works in the gift shop,” she said.
I hastily finished my dinner and went directly to the gift shop. There was an older woman standing behind the counter.
“Are you Ellen?”
“No,” the woman said, “ Ellen left a short while ago. She has problems you know.”
The restaurant couldn’t give out an address or telephone for Ellen of course so all I could do was leave her an encouraging note with my E-mail and telephone number.
I never heard from Ellen. I should have gone to the gift shop before I ate my dinner. Somehow I feel I let God down.
Dave Coleman
Beaumont, Texas
“Stop at the next Cracker Barrel and ask for Ellen.”
“Is that you speaking Lord?”
Again I hear, “Stop at the next Cracker Barrel and ask for Ellen.”
It wasn’t long before I saw a billboard telling me there was a Cracker Barrel at the next exit. I turned off. I asked the hostess if Ellen was on today.
”There is no Ellen working in this restaurant,” the Hostess said.
It was nearing the dinner hour so I decided to stay and eat. When the waitress brought my food I asked her if an Ellen had ever worked at this Cracker Barrel.
“Oh Ellen works in the gift shop,” she said.
I hastily finished my dinner and went directly to the gift shop. There was an older woman standing behind the counter.
“Are you Ellen?”
“No,” the woman said, “ Ellen left a short while ago. She has problems you know.”
The restaurant couldn’t give out an address or telephone for Ellen of course so all I could do was leave her an encouraging note with my E-mail and telephone number.
I never heard from Ellen. I should have gone to the gift shop before I ate my dinner. Somehow I feel I let God down.
Dave Coleman
Beaumont, Texas
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Surprise Visitor
The family had gathered for the funeral of my wife, their mother, mother-in law, grandmother or great grandmother as the case might be. Several of us were seated in the family room when the back door leading to the garage swung open.
A large dog, that none of us had seen before, came into the house as if he lived here. He walked through the kitchen, dinning room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. My son-in-law Joe was cautiously followed him not sure what to make of this intruder. He was thin, but not starved, he had a collar but no identification tags and a long nose with graying hair.
At the end of the hall our visitor turned abruptly, walked past Joe and back through the dinning room and kitchen and entered into the family room where he proceeded to lay down between my recliner and the chair where mom usually sat and made himself right at home. Everyone sat in stunned silence staring at him.
I looked down at the dog and ended the silence. “Mom always said, ‘Paul keep the garage door down and the back door locked. Otherwise anything could walk into this house.’ I guess she sent this guy to make her point.”
We were expecting a pastor to arrive at any minute so Joe led the dog outside by his collar. When Joe released him the dog made no attempt to leave. Joe sat on the front step and the dog joined him. They sat there together for some time. A cat ambled up the front walk and stopped when he saw the dog. Neither moved. Then the cat came up the rest of the walk and sat next to the dog. Joe, who lives in the neighborhood, had seen neither animal before. The cat stayed awhile and then walked away. The dog remained with Joe.
That evening Joe took the dog home with him fully intending to try and fine its owner in the morning. He put the dog in the garage for the night with some water.
The next morning he fed the dog and then let him out in the yard with his own smaller dogs. The three seem to get along fine. Then the stranger dog walked to the edge of the property, looked back at Joe as if to say farewell and walked away.
You can read in to this. Go figure.
Paul Tuck
Newfield N.J.
A large dog, that none of us had seen before, came into the house as if he lived here. He walked through the kitchen, dinning room and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. My son-in-law Joe was cautiously followed him not sure what to make of this intruder. He was thin, but not starved, he had a collar but no identification tags and a long nose with graying hair.
At the end of the hall our visitor turned abruptly, walked past Joe and back through the dinning room and kitchen and entered into the family room where he proceeded to lay down between my recliner and the chair where mom usually sat and made himself right at home. Everyone sat in stunned silence staring at him.
I looked down at the dog and ended the silence. “Mom always said, ‘Paul keep the garage door down and the back door locked. Otherwise anything could walk into this house.’ I guess she sent this guy to make her point.”
We were expecting a pastor to arrive at any minute so Joe led the dog outside by his collar. When Joe released him the dog made no attempt to leave. Joe sat on the front step and the dog joined him. They sat there together for some time. A cat ambled up the front walk and stopped when he saw the dog. Neither moved. Then the cat came up the rest of the walk and sat next to the dog. Joe, who lives in the neighborhood, had seen neither animal before. The cat stayed awhile and then walked away. The dog remained with Joe.
That evening Joe took the dog home with him fully intending to try and fine its owner in the morning. He put the dog in the garage for the night with some water.
The next morning he fed the dog and then let him out in the yard with his own smaller dogs. The three seem to get along fine. Then the stranger dog walked to the edge of the property, looked back at Joe as if to say farewell and walked away.
You can read in to this. Go figure.
Paul Tuck
Newfield N.J.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Yard Sale
It wasn’t your typical yard sale. For me it was a desperation move.
I was down to my last six dollars. I needed gas to get to work, the electric bill was overdue and my water would be shut off if I didn’t pay it by Monday. It would be another week before I received another paycheck and I was already one month behind in my rent as well as my other bills.
My wife and I were separated and I had recently been diagnosed with Hepatitis C. I really was at the end of my rope. I needed this sale to survive one more day.
A friend arrived for moral support and I asked him if he would pray with me. We stood together in my empty living room. He prayed, “Lord bless my friend and help him though this situation. Without you we are nothing but with your blessing we know we can get through anything. You said Lord, ‘Come to me all you who are heavy laden and I will give you rest.’ We are here Lord and we need your help, Amen.”
Everything I owned was out on my lawn except my mattress, clothes and the computer on which I couldn’t mare the payments.
During the first hour I sold $80 worth of furniture including my couch, end table and some lamps.
The flow of potential buyers slowed considerably during the second hour and I took in just $20 more.
During a lull the phone rang and I dashed into the house to answer it.
The lady on the phone said, “You gave me a quote to paint my house several months ago. Does your offer still stand.”
“It sure does.”
“How soon can you start?”
“Lady I’ll be there this afternoon for the one third
down payment so I can buy your paint.”
I rushed outside to retrieve my kitchen table and chairs from the lawn. Then I told my friend.
“I made a bid to paint a lady’s house six months ago and she calls me today of all days. Go figure.”
My friend looked at me with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes and said, “That call was prompted by the Lord.”
Patrick Lavilla
Kuntz Tx
I was down to my last six dollars. I needed gas to get to work, the electric bill was overdue and my water would be shut off if I didn’t pay it by Monday. It would be another week before I received another paycheck and I was already one month behind in my rent as well as my other bills.
My wife and I were separated and I had recently been diagnosed with Hepatitis C. I really was at the end of my rope. I needed this sale to survive one more day.
A friend arrived for moral support and I asked him if he would pray with me. We stood together in my empty living room. He prayed, “Lord bless my friend and help him though this situation. Without you we are nothing but with your blessing we know we can get through anything. You said Lord, ‘Come to me all you who are heavy laden and I will give you rest.’ We are here Lord and we need your help, Amen.”
Everything I owned was out on my lawn except my mattress, clothes and the computer on which I couldn’t mare the payments.
During the first hour I sold $80 worth of furniture including my couch, end table and some lamps.
The flow of potential buyers slowed considerably during the second hour and I took in just $20 more.
During a lull the phone rang and I dashed into the house to answer it.
The lady on the phone said, “You gave me a quote to paint my house several months ago. Does your offer still stand.”
“It sure does.”
“How soon can you start?”
“Lady I’ll be there this afternoon for the one third
down payment so I can buy your paint.”
I rushed outside to retrieve my kitchen table and chairs from the lawn. Then I told my friend.
“I made a bid to paint a lady’s house six months ago and she calls me today of all days. Go figure.”
My friend looked at me with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes and said, “That call was prompted by the Lord.”
Patrick Lavilla
Kuntz Tx
Friday, August 8, 2008
Live by the Water
Moving To Siesta Key
It was clear from the beginning that God’s hand was in our decision to relocate to Florida. The purpose was to take care of our aging parents who had permanently moved to the west coast of the state.
The problems were we had a business and a house to sell and I hated Florida. Furthermore I had a business that I loved in my home, taking care of children, which would have to be closed.
Eighteen years of accumulation of living in one place had to be sold as we were not taking all this to Florida with us. We had to pare down from a 6 bedroom, three story house to a smaller 2 or 3 bedroom bungalow.
God is good. The business sold quickly and several garage sales relieved us of a multitude of our "treasures". Now it was time to sell the house.
I was leaving the house I had dreamed of all my life. I had said, "just bury me in the back yard and I will be happy forever.” Until the day I actually left my friends said, "she will never go through with it," because they knew how much I loved where I lived and the home I lived in.
Why then was God calling me to move on? How could I endure such a transplant from a place I loved with all
my heart to a place I hated? It is called a leap of faith. I bargained with God. I prayed and said "I am honoring our parents as you have instructed in the Bible and you know the place I am leaving, somehow dear God please make it right for me so I can have a proper attitude to do what I have to do in Florida."
One night just before I was falling asleep God spoke to me in unmistakable voice. I shot upright in bed and He said to me "Live by the water and you will be all right.” From that day forward I never faltered for one minute.. We placed our house on the market. It sold within 2 weeks and we were on our way.
Many things have affirmed God’s hand on our lives as a result of our decision to be faithful to God’s call to honor our parents. I have never regretted it for one day and praise God for his mercy and kindness to see us through the tough times we have had. We have been blessed with the most wonderful church to worship and fellowship in.
Having lived by the water for 15 years God was totally right….I was all right.
Susie Tholken
Siesta Key, Florida
It was clear from the beginning that God’s hand was in our decision to relocate to Florida. The purpose was to take care of our aging parents who had permanently moved to the west coast of the state.
The problems were we had a business and a house to sell and I hated Florida. Furthermore I had a business that I loved in my home, taking care of children, which would have to be closed.
Eighteen years of accumulation of living in one place had to be sold as we were not taking all this to Florida with us. We had to pare down from a 6 bedroom, three story house to a smaller 2 or 3 bedroom bungalow.
God is good. The business sold quickly and several garage sales relieved us of a multitude of our "treasures". Now it was time to sell the house.
I was leaving the house I had dreamed of all my life. I had said, "just bury me in the back yard and I will be happy forever.” Until the day I actually left my friends said, "she will never go through with it," because they knew how much I loved where I lived and the home I lived in.
Why then was God calling me to move on? How could I endure such a transplant from a place I loved with all
my heart to a place I hated? It is called a leap of faith. I bargained with God. I prayed and said "I am honoring our parents as you have instructed in the Bible and you know the place I am leaving, somehow dear God please make it right for me so I can have a proper attitude to do what I have to do in Florida."
One night just before I was falling asleep God spoke to me in unmistakable voice. I shot upright in bed and He said to me "Live by the water and you will be all right.” From that day forward I never faltered for one minute.. We placed our house on the market. It sold within 2 weeks and we were on our way.
Many things have affirmed God’s hand on our lives as a result of our decision to be faithful to God’s call to honor our parents. I have never regretted it for one day and praise God for his mercy and kindness to see us through the tough times we have had. We have been blessed with the most wonderful church to worship and fellowship in.
Having lived by the water for 15 years God was totally right….I was all right.
Susie Tholken
Siesta Key, Florida
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Cranston
It is a peaceful summer day at the lake and I am cherishing the stillness sitting on our deck when loud and clear in my head I hear the word, Cranston.
Why Cranston? There is a city adjacent to Providence, RI named Cranston but I haven’t been there in years. I know some people who came from Cranston and my sister once lived there when her children were small. The hero of an old radio program called “The Shadow” was named Lamont Cranston. These are my only Cranston connections. I have no idea why the word Cranston came to mind so clearly. I busy myself with other thoughts.
Later that day I am reading when I clearly hear again, Cranston! Now this is weird. What does this mean? I share what is happening with my wife Joy.
She is genuinely compassionate to my confused state but of course can offer no satisfactory explanation.
The next morning I am looking for the paperback dictionary. I remembered seeing one somewhere. I ask Joy and she says it is behind the hard covered books on the shelf in the breakfast nook. I reach over those books and pickup the first paperback I feel. It is not the dictionary. I stare in disbelief.
I’m holding in my hand a worn paperback entitled, The Miracle of Lourdes by Ruth Cranston.
I can feel the shivers going down my spine. “Hon. How did this book get here?”
She looks at me with amazement “I don’t know. I remember you bought a stack of books at the church fair one year or maybe someone else left it here.” I vaguely remember buying some books at the church fair but I know I need to read this book now.
Ruth Cranston wrote the book in 1955 “in anticipation of the 100th anniversary of when the Blessed Mother of God appeared to the daughter of a French Miller.”
Ruth Cranston’s book goes beyond documenting many of the miracles at the healing pool at Lourdes, France. The author recounts how many well people annually make the pilgrimage to Lourdes just to serve others who are there waiting and praying for miracle cures.
“The greatest thing at Lourdes is putting God into actual everyday living,” she writes. “It’s a life based on love instead of power-a life of helping one another, serving the weak, sharing strengths. It is another example that the path to happiness is to give not grab.”
Wow, good advice for a man seeking but struggling to include God in his daily life.
I also resonate with these words. “The one way to peace and bliss, every great prophet has told us, is to give yourself away.”
Give myself away-I needed to read that Ms Cranston.
“If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. (Matthew 16:25)
R. Malcolm Salter at Cedar Lake,
Sturbridge, Massachusetts
Why Cranston? There is a city adjacent to Providence, RI named Cranston but I haven’t been there in years. I know some people who came from Cranston and my sister once lived there when her children were small. The hero of an old radio program called “The Shadow” was named Lamont Cranston. These are my only Cranston connections. I have no idea why the word Cranston came to mind so clearly. I busy myself with other thoughts.
Later that day I am reading when I clearly hear again, Cranston! Now this is weird. What does this mean? I share what is happening with my wife Joy.
She is genuinely compassionate to my confused state but of course can offer no satisfactory explanation.
The next morning I am looking for the paperback dictionary. I remembered seeing one somewhere. I ask Joy and she says it is behind the hard covered books on the shelf in the breakfast nook. I reach over those books and pickup the first paperback I feel. It is not the dictionary. I stare in disbelief.
I’m holding in my hand a worn paperback entitled, The Miracle of Lourdes by Ruth Cranston.
I can feel the shivers going down my spine. “Hon. How did this book get here?”
She looks at me with amazement “I don’t know. I remember you bought a stack of books at the church fair one year or maybe someone else left it here.” I vaguely remember buying some books at the church fair but I know I need to read this book now.
Ruth Cranston wrote the book in 1955 “in anticipation of the 100th anniversary of when the Blessed Mother of God appeared to the daughter of a French Miller.”
Ruth Cranston’s book goes beyond documenting many of the miracles at the healing pool at Lourdes, France. The author recounts how many well people annually make the pilgrimage to Lourdes just to serve others who are there waiting and praying for miracle cures.
“The greatest thing at Lourdes is putting God into actual everyday living,” she writes. “It’s a life based on love instead of power-a life of helping one another, serving the weak, sharing strengths. It is another example that the path to happiness is to give not grab.”
Wow, good advice for a man seeking but struggling to include God in his daily life.
I also resonate with these words. “The one way to peace and bliss, every great prophet has told us, is to give yourself away.”
Give myself away-I needed to read that Ms Cranston.
“If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. (Matthew 16:25)
R. Malcolm Salter at Cedar Lake,
Sturbridge, Massachusetts
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Brad's Story
Brad’s celebrity status is that he was the first golfer to lose a national title to Tiger Woods.
The year was 1991 and Brad Zwetschke was ranked number two behind Tiger in the U.S. Junior Amateur golf. In the championship match Brad was three up after five holes, and two up at the turn at Bay Hill in Orlando. It would be the first of many well publicized comebacks for Tiger who tied the match and defeated Brad on the first playoff hole.
Brad says,“Coming out of school all I wanted to do was play golf and party. I lived the wild life.” Along the way he met Christina Mauldin, a preacher’s daughter from the South side of Chicago. Brad is also from Chicago. Within a year and a half they were married. “She thought she was marrying a golf professional and I thought I was marrying an entertainer from Black Television.” (Christina had done a stint on the program “Heart & Soul.)
“My wife is a strong Christian and my loyal supporter. She accompanied me on tour, which was arduous, lots of travel and expensive. Sometimes we slept in our van because we couldn’t afford the hotel prices.
"In November 2001 we were touring in Australia and we went into a little church in Brisbane. The preacher’s message was based on John 21. The message spoke to me especially when Jesus asks Peter, ‘Do you love me as much as these’ (referring to the fish Peter and he friends had just caught). I identified with Peter who was being asked to give up fishing. I felt I was being asked to put down my clubs.”
"Three months later I was driving to the Canadian Tour Qualifying Tournament when I heard a message on the radio quoting John 21. Again I felt the message speaking to me. I played in the tournament but I did not qualify. My heart wasn’t in the game anymore. I quit golf.
“With the encouragement of my father-in law I enrolled in New Orleans Theological Seminary. He too had been called to the ministry by John 21.”
In August 2005, four months before Brad was to graduate, Katrina devastated New Orleans. With two children and Christina eight months pregnant, Brad borrowed a neighbor’s van and fled to Beatrice Alabama where they knew a pastor.He took them in.
“We lost everything as our apartment was completely flooded. But God had spared our family.” Then another kind of flood hit. “I could not stop the flow of gifts of clothing, food and furniture that poured in on us. It still hasn’t stopped.
“When it was time for Christina to have our fourth child we moved to Bradenton , Florida to be close to the doctor who had delivered are other children. I took a job as student intern in evangelism and finished my final semester at the seminary on line. In December 2006 my classmates and I received our degrees. Later I became the voluntary chaplain to the Cincinnati Reds farm team then in Sarasota.
“God has used everything in my life for His purposes. Golf had been my idol…now I’m pictured in golf magazines holding a Bible. It took a while for me to accept God’s forgiveness and to accept his grace. That has been huge for me.
"Tiger has become the king of golf. My notoriety as being the first to lose a national title to Tiger still brings invitations to speak at golf dinners and men’s retreats where I get to tell people about the King of Kings.”
Brad Zwetschke
Chaplain
Ft.Jackson, South Carolina
“Simon do you love Me more the these?”
“Yes Lord, You know that I love You.”
“Then feed My lambs.” John21:l5
The year was 1991 and Brad Zwetschke was ranked number two behind Tiger in the U.S. Junior Amateur golf. In the championship match Brad was three up after five holes, and two up at the turn at Bay Hill in Orlando. It would be the first of many well publicized comebacks for Tiger who tied the match and defeated Brad on the first playoff hole.
Brad says,“Coming out of school all I wanted to do was play golf and party. I lived the wild life.” Along the way he met Christina Mauldin, a preacher’s daughter from the South side of Chicago. Brad is also from Chicago. Within a year and a half they were married. “She thought she was marrying a golf professional and I thought I was marrying an entertainer from Black Television.” (Christina had done a stint on the program “Heart & Soul.)
“My wife is a strong Christian and my loyal supporter. She accompanied me on tour, which was arduous, lots of travel and expensive. Sometimes we slept in our van because we couldn’t afford the hotel prices.
"In November 2001 we were touring in Australia and we went into a little church in Brisbane. The preacher’s message was based on John 21. The message spoke to me especially when Jesus asks Peter, ‘Do you love me as much as these’ (referring to the fish Peter and he friends had just caught). I identified with Peter who was being asked to give up fishing. I felt I was being asked to put down my clubs.”
"Three months later I was driving to the Canadian Tour Qualifying Tournament when I heard a message on the radio quoting John 21. Again I felt the message speaking to me. I played in the tournament but I did not qualify. My heart wasn’t in the game anymore. I quit golf.
“With the encouragement of my father-in law I enrolled in New Orleans Theological Seminary. He too had been called to the ministry by John 21.”
In August 2005, four months before Brad was to graduate, Katrina devastated New Orleans. With two children and Christina eight months pregnant, Brad borrowed a neighbor’s van and fled to Beatrice Alabama where they knew a pastor.He took them in.
“We lost everything as our apartment was completely flooded. But God had spared our family.” Then another kind of flood hit. “I could not stop the flow of gifts of clothing, food and furniture that poured in on us. It still hasn’t stopped.
“When it was time for Christina to have our fourth child we moved to Bradenton , Florida to be close to the doctor who had delivered are other children. I took a job as student intern in evangelism and finished my final semester at the seminary on line. In December 2006 my classmates and I received our degrees. Later I became the voluntary chaplain to the Cincinnati Reds farm team then in Sarasota.
“God has used everything in my life for His purposes. Golf had been my idol…now I’m pictured in golf magazines holding a Bible. It took a while for me to accept God’s forgiveness and to accept his grace. That has been huge for me.
"Tiger has become the king of golf. My notoriety as being the first to lose a national title to Tiger still brings invitations to speak at golf dinners and men’s retreats where I get to tell people about the King of Kings.”
Brad Zwetschke
Chaplain
Ft.Jackson, South Carolina
“Simon do you love Me more the these?”
“Yes Lord, You know that I love You.”
“Then feed My lambs.” John21:l5
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Mr. Clarke
Mr. Clarke
There are some things that just defy logical explanations. This is one of those things for me. I was a mother with a small boy at home. About once a month a Mr. Clarke would stop by, usually late morning, with a suitcase full of small household items for sale. Mr. Clarke, I never knew his first name, always addressed me as Mrs.Marr. He was an older gentleman, retired, who was trying to augment his income by going door-to-door selling whatever he could. I felt sorry for him and would always buy something, even if only a pair of shoe strings, so he wouldn’t leave without having sold something.
Mainly we would just chat about the weather or something in the news that week while my little boy played with blocks or some other toy on the living room floor. After several minutes of friendly conversation he would open his suitcase and point out some new item. I would listen to whatever he was promoting and politely say I didn’t think I needed that right now but what we really needed was a box of bandages. I would purchase the item and he was always most gracious as he packed his wares and left.
This went on for about a year and then one month passed and he hadn’t stopped by. Several months passed and no Mr. Clarke. There was a knock at the door one morning and I opened it to find a thin pleasant looking woman.
“Are you Mrs. Marr,” she asked? I nodded.
“I’m Mrs. Clarke, You were a customer of my husband. He passed on you know.”
“I’m sorry, I wondered what happened to him.”
“I’ve been talking with him and last night he gave me a message for you,” she said.
She must have read the expression of bewilderment and shock on my face for she continued talking.
“Oh yes. I talk with him frequently and last night he was very clear that I bring a message to you. He said, ‘tell Mrs. Marr there is going to be an explosion.’ That’s it, that’s all he said. I can’t tell you what it means, just what he said.”
She wouldn’t come in, apologized for upsetting me in any way and thanked me for being kind to her husband and she walked away. I was dumbfounded.
I thought of a hundred questions I wanted to ask her but she had gone. I didn’t know how to get in touch with her, or where she lived and I still didn’t know Mr. Clarke’s first name.
An explosion! What to do? My husband worked at an oil refinery and I impulsively called his office. As the call was going through I thought what on earth will I say to him. Hi dear, a woman I’ve never met before told me her dead husband gave her a message last night to warn me that there was going to be an explosion…
“Hello.”
“Hi Dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, what’s up?”
I couldn’t tell him at least not now over the phone while he was at work. I would tell him when he got home tonight, besides he would be asking me a ton of questions to which I had no answers. The rest of our conversation was strained and awkward especially on my end. I tried to determine what the rest of his day was like without tipping my hand. I was trying to ascertain that he was going to be right at his desk and not out by the fuel storage tanks or down on the docks where the tankers unloaded. I sensed he was getting curious about my new-found interest in his day. Then he asked the question I was dreading.
“ Tell me is there something on your mind that prompted this call?”
“Oh,” I laughed nervously, “ Could you pick up a dozen eggs on your way home?”
When he came home with the eggs I came clean. I was relieved that he was home and we both had a laugh over our cat and mouse phone conversation. He didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Clarke’s message anymore than I did. So we returned to our routine and switched on the evening news.
The lead story was “A Northwest Airliner Exploded Over Lake Michigan Today Killing All On Board.”
I nearlt fainted. Our daughter was a flight attendant for Northwest. Bob, after assisting me, called the airline. They wouldn’t give out any information at this time. His next call was to the Providence Journal. After talking to a few people an editor said he would make inquiries. He did and called us back with the information that our daughter was not on that flight.
We found out later that she was scheduled for that flight but took sick and her roommate had taken her place. It was a sad day for our family and many others.
What about Mrs. Clarke’s message and its source? Was it just coincidence? I wonder? As I said, I have no logical explanation for this.
Caroline Marr
East Providence, Rhode Island
There are some things that just defy logical explanations. This is one of those things for me. I was a mother with a small boy at home. About once a month a Mr. Clarke would stop by, usually late morning, with a suitcase full of small household items for sale. Mr. Clarke, I never knew his first name, always addressed me as Mrs.Marr. He was an older gentleman, retired, who was trying to augment his income by going door-to-door selling whatever he could. I felt sorry for him and would always buy something, even if only a pair of shoe strings, so he wouldn’t leave without having sold something.
Mainly we would just chat about the weather or something in the news that week while my little boy played with blocks or some other toy on the living room floor. After several minutes of friendly conversation he would open his suitcase and point out some new item. I would listen to whatever he was promoting and politely say I didn’t think I needed that right now but what we really needed was a box of bandages. I would purchase the item and he was always most gracious as he packed his wares and left.
This went on for about a year and then one month passed and he hadn’t stopped by. Several months passed and no Mr. Clarke. There was a knock at the door one morning and I opened it to find a thin pleasant looking woman.
“Are you Mrs. Marr,” she asked? I nodded.
“I’m Mrs. Clarke, You were a customer of my husband. He passed on you know.”
“I’m sorry, I wondered what happened to him.”
“I’ve been talking with him and last night he gave me a message for you,” she said.
She must have read the expression of bewilderment and shock on my face for she continued talking.
“Oh yes. I talk with him frequently and last night he was very clear that I bring a message to you. He said, ‘tell Mrs. Marr there is going to be an explosion.’ That’s it, that’s all he said. I can’t tell you what it means, just what he said.”
She wouldn’t come in, apologized for upsetting me in any way and thanked me for being kind to her husband and she walked away. I was dumbfounded.
I thought of a hundred questions I wanted to ask her but she had gone. I didn’t know how to get in touch with her, or where she lived and I still didn’t know Mr. Clarke’s first name.
An explosion! What to do? My husband worked at an oil refinery and I impulsively called his office. As the call was going through I thought what on earth will I say to him. Hi dear, a woman I’ve never met before told me her dead husband gave her a message last night to warn me that there was going to be an explosion…
“Hello.”
“Hi Dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, what’s up?”
I couldn’t tell him at least not now over the phone while he was at work. I would tell him when he got home tonight, besides he would be asking me a ton of questions to which I had no answers. The rest of our conversation was strained and awkward especially on my end. I tried to determine what the rest of his day was like without tipping my hand. I was trying to ascertain that he was going to be right at his desk and not out by the fuel storage tanks or down on the docks where the tankers unloaded. I sensed he was getting curious about my new-found interest in his day. Then he asked the question I was dreading.
“ Tell me is there something on your mind that prompted this call?”
“Oh,” I laughed nervously, “ Could you pick up a dozen eggs on your way home?”
When he came home with the eggs I came clean. I was relieved that he was home and we both had a laugh over our cat and mouse phone conversation. He didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Clarke’s message anymore than I did. So we returned to our routine and switched on the evening news.
The lead story was “A Northwest Airliner Exploded Over Lake Michigan Today Killing All On Board.”
I nearlt fainted. Our daughter was a flight attendant for Northwest. Bob, after assisting me, called the airline. They wouldn’t give out any information at this time. His next call was to the Providence Journal. After talking to a few people an editor said he would make inquiries. He did and called us back with the information that our daughter was not on that flight.
We found out later that she was scheduled for that flight but took sick and her roommate had taken her place. It was a sad day for our family and many others.
What about Mrs. Clarke’s message and its source? Was it just coincidence? I wonder? As I said, I have no logical explanation for this.
Caroline Marr
East Providence, Rhode Island
Friday, July 11, 2008
Reflections of Grace
One Woman’s Journey From Complacency to Conviction
“Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
I have been a believer in Jesus since I was a little child. Now, as a maturing Christian, I have chosen to be in living relationship with Him. I have found there is a big difference between the two.
I would like to testify to a short but very intense awakening. These events and the reactions they aroused in me are real. They brought me to my knees in tears of repentance. My soul fought battles between submission to the Light and my own dark desire to be the director of my life. Through it all I have learned a little more about God’s love for His wayward children.
Let me begin...
In late April, 1999, I took a one-week business trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was attending a company-sponsored technical fair in which I would demonstrate our team’s newest Internet initiative. The fair was a huge success. We generated a lot of interest and our product was favorably received. After the fair, the vice president on our team offered to take us all out for a dinner.
The weather that evening was perfect. The sun had set about an hour earlier, This is the picture I would like you to see through my words. Envision a group of white, upper-middle-class men and women standing on a Minneapolis sidewalk laughing and talking. Suddenly a stranger walks into their midst. He is a poor, disabled black man—and he is drunk. Not mean or sloppily drunk, but happily so.
Immediately the mood of our group changes, but the man does not seem to notice. He comments on the beauty of the night and begins a plea for money
to take his children to a movie. Someone in the group rejected his request while the rest of us shifted uneasily. Throughout this I was feeling very uncomfortable because I knew I should have been standing separate from my peers by respecting this person’s humanity. I knew what I should be doing, but I didn’t do it because I was afraid that my “friends” would reject me, too—that they would think me odd.
The man accepted the rebuff with good grace, and then he did something extraordinary. He asked if he could pray for us. Someone in the group said
they did not want a prayer, but he stood in our circle, bowed his head and prayed anyway. He asked God to watch over us and our families. He called us beautiful, although I felt anything but beautiful by then. He closed his prayer with a joyful amen, which I echoed quietly and then our eyes caught and held for just a moment before he turned and made his way up the hill along the well-lit path. As for me and my group, we turned off the path onto a darkened side street, making our way to the restaurant for a well-earned dinner.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometime during the night, I had been convicted of my own careless disregard for one of God’s beloved children. I spent that morning alone in my room, on my knees before God in tears of repentance. I remember feeling completely alone, so far away from the people who knew me and loved me.
As I sobbed in my misery, I “heard” the gentle voice of the Shepherd. “I am here.” Peace flooded through me, and the sobs became gentle, cleansing tears as I knelt by the bed and allowed myself to finally understand God’s grace.
I had sinned. I am the person who meets God unable to say that I had fed Him when He was hungry and clothed Him when He was naked. Despite this I am loved, forgiven and still oh-so-valuable to the Creator. This is grace.
Two weeks later my husband and I traveled to London for our delayed (by 16 years) honeymoon. Sometime toward the middle of the week, I had an incredible urge for spaghetti and sauce. Finding southern Italian cooking in London is a bit of a challenge, but I had my mind set, so my husband and I began searching for my definition of an Italian restaurant.
We had been searching for over an hour, and it was after eight in the evening as we entered the Underground to catch a train. I was tired, hungry, frustrated and feeling very sorry for myself when I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks. Directly across from me a homeless young man was settling in for the night. He was dirty, skinny and sick. He slid his back down against the wall of the station and pulled a filthy, tattered blanket up to his chin. He had a dog, as dirty and underfed as he was, that gently climbed into his lap for the night.
I stood there in silence with the people of London rushing all around me. It seemed I could see Jesus with His arms outstretched in the shadows behind the pair. The story of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) came to my mind. I am the rich man. I have never known a moment of real need or total abandonment in my life, I have always been loved, yet I was upset because I couldn’t find a restaurant that served red tomato sauce. Tears came into my eyes and my heart was humbled once again. Grace.
Back in Connecticut three weeks later, I decided to incorporate a walk to the train station into my lunch hour. It was my habit to pray daily at the Church of St. Patrick/ St. Anthony, so I decided to do that at noon, also. As I stepped out of the train station, I could see that there was a poor woman begging on the corner and that I would have to walk past her. I was immediately enveloped in a terrible and stubborn frame of mind and I decided before I even stepped off the train station steps that I was not going to help her. I put my head down and watched my own feet, determined not to see her. She saw me, though, and I heard her call after me, “Please, Miss.” Five times she called and with each cry for help I became more determined not to hear her.
Halfway up the street I stopped. There was a war between good and evil going on inside me. “Go back,” whispered Love. “No!” shouted fear. I started walking again.
Three quarters of the way and I stopped again. “You know you need to go back and help her.” Love’s voice was soft but impossible to ignore.
I turned and started back toward the woman. “Stop!” shouted fear stridently, “You don’t need to do this. She’ll want something from you. Who knows where it will lead!” Fear gripped me and I turned away once more.
I made my way to the corner and stopped to hear Love’s last plea. “Melina, you know you need to go back. You cannot ignore this. You chose to listen to
fear in Minnesota and it made you sick. Will you choose fear over Love again?”
I knew what I had to do—I had known it all along. My fear was really my ego, which never wants to submit to God and His will for me. I turned and walked back down the street. She was still on the corner, but her back was to me and I could have left
unnoticed. Instead I asked, “What is it?”
She turned with a questioning look on her face, “What?” she asked.
“What is it?” I repeated. “You called me and I ignored you, but I came back.
“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I have no money. Could you give me some money for lunch?” I looked at her closely. She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and her face was scarred by what looked like a knife wound.
I handed her a five-dollar bill as I said, “God bless you.” At those words she looked up at me for the first time. “Will you pray for me?” she asked.
“Yes, I am going to the church to pray now. What’s your name?”
“Denise. My name is Denise. Thank you,” she replied, and we parted ways.
I walked to the church with a million questions running through my head and tears running down my face. I walked into the hushed body of the church and knelt in a pew. I prayed for Denise and then I directed my questions to God, “What is it? What do you want of me?” No answer, just the muted sounds of the street. I knelt in silence for some time and left with no answers, but my heart was quiet.
I did go and get lunch and as I was returning to the Gold Building I was holding a conversation with God in my head.
“Lord, I need a mentor, someone who can tell me what I should do.”
The quiet voice of the Shepherd answered me: “I’ll be your Teacher.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I want someone I can look at and touch.”
“Your heart knows Me and I touch you there,” came the gentle response.
“Yes, I know, thank You.” I smiled as I walked, knowing that I had heard the Truth.
Suddenly a young woman holding a child by the hand approached me. She stopped right in front of me, said “God bless you and your family,” handed me a slip of paper and walked away. I looked down at the paper—it was a religious tract. At the top in large bold letters it read, “Jesus loves you!” Grace.
Melina Rudman
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.
“Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
I have been a believer in Jesus since I was a little child. Now, as a maturing Christian, I have chosen to be in living relationship with Him. I have found there is a big difference between the two.
I would like to testify to a short but very intense awakening. These events and the reactions they aroused in me are real. They brought me to my knees in tears of repentance. My soul fought battles between submission to the Light and my own dark desire to be the director of my life. Through it all I have learned a little more about God’s love for His wayward children.
Let me begin...
In late April, 1999, I took a one-week business trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was attending a company-sponsored technical fair in which I would demonstrate our team’s newest Internet initiative. The fair was a huge success. We generated a lot of interest and our product was favorably received. After the fair, the vice president on our team offered to take us all out for a dinner.
The weather that evening was perfect. The sun had set about an hour earlier, This is the picture I would like you to see through my words. Envision a group of white, upper-middle-class men and women standing on a Minneapolis sidewalk laughing and talking. Suddenly a stranger walks into their midst. He is a poor, disabled black man—and he is drunk. Not mean or sloppily drunk, but happily so.
Immediately the mood of our group changes, but the man does not seem to notice. He comments on the beauty of the night and begins a plea for money
to take his children to a movie. Someone in the group rejected his request while the rest of us shifted uneasily. Throughout this I was feeling very uncomfortable because I knew I should have been standing separate from my peers by respecting this person’s humanity. I knew what I should be doing, but I didn’t do it because I was afraid that my “friends” would reject me, too—that they would think me odd.
The man accepted the rebuff with good grace, and then he did something extraordinary. He asked if he could pray for us. Someone in the group said
they did not want a prayer, but he stood in our circle, bowed his head and prayed anyway. He asked God to watch over us and our families. He called us beautiful, although I felt anything but beautiful by then. He closed his prayer with a joyful amen, which I echoed quietly and then our eyes caught and held for just a moment before he turned and made his way up the hill along the well-lit path. As for me and my group, we turned off the path onto a darkened side street, making our way to the restaurant for a well-earned dinner.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometime during the night, I had been convicted of my own careless disregard for one of God’s beloved children. I spent that morning alone in my room, on my knees before God in tears of repentance. I remember feeling completely alone, so far away from the people who knew me and loved me.
As I sobbed in my misery, I “heard” the gentle voice of the Shepherd. “I am here.” Peace flooded through me, and the sobs became gentle, cleansing tears as I knelt by the bed and allowed myself to finally understand God’s grace.
I had sinned. I am the person who meets God unable to say that I had fed Him when He was hungry and clothed Him when He was naked. Despite this I am loved, forgiven and still oh-so-valuable to the Creator. This is grace.
Two weeks later my husband and I traveled to London for our delayed (by 16 years) honeymoon. Sometime toward the middle of the week, I had an incredible urge for spaghetti and sauce. Finding southern Italian cooking in London is a bit of a challenge, but I had my mind set, so my husband and I began searching for my definition of an Italian restaurant.
We had been searching for over an hour, and it was after eight in the evening as we entered the Underground to catch a train. I was tired, hungry, frustrated and feeling very sorry for myself when I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks. Directly across from me a homeless young man was settling in for the night. He was dirty, skinny and sick. He slid his back down against the wall of the station and pulled a filthy, tattered blanket up to his chin. He had a dog, as dirty and underfed as he was, that gently climbed into his lap for the night.
I stood there in silence with the people of London rushing all around me. It seemed I could see Jesus with His arms outstretched in the shadows behind the pair. The story of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) came to my mind. I am the rich man. I have never known a moment of real need or total abandonment in my life, I have always been loved, yet I was upset because I couldn’t find a restaurant that served red tomato sauce. Tears came into my eyes and my heart was humbled once again. Grace.
Back in Connecticut three weeks later, I decided to incorporate a walk to the train station into my lunch hour. It was my habit to pray daily at the Church of St. Patrick/ St. Anthony, so I decided to do that at noon, also. As I stepped out of the train station, I could see that there was a poor woman begging on the corner and that I would have to walk past her. I was immediately enveloped in a terrible and stubborn frame of mind and I decided before I even stepped off the train station steps that I was not going to help her. I put my head down and watched my own feet, determined not to see her. She saw me, though, and I heard her call after me, “Please, Miss.” Five times she called and with each cry for help I became more determined not to hear her.
Halfway up the street I stopped. There was a war between good and evil going on inside me. “Go back,” whispered Love. “No!” shouted fear. I started walking again.
Three quarters of the way and I stopped again. “You know you need to go back and help her.” Love’s voice was soft but impossible to ignore.
I turned and started back toward the woman. “Stop!” shouted fear stridently, “You don’t need to do this. She’ll want something from you. Who knows where it will lead!” Fear gripped me and I turned away once more.
I made my way to the corner and stopped to hear Love’s last plea. “Melina, you know you need to go back. You cannot ignore this. You chose to listen to
fear in Minnesota and it made you sick. Will you choose fear over Love again?”
I knew what I had to do—I had known it all along. My fear was really my ego, which never wants to submit to God and His will for me. I turned and walked back down the street. She was still on the corner, but her back was to me and I could have left
unnoticed. Instead I asked, “What is it?”
She turned with a questioning look on her face, “What?” she asked.
“What is it?” I repeated. “You called me and I ignored you, but I came back.
“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I have no money. Could you give me some money for lunch?” I looked at her closely. She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and her face was scarred by what looked like a knife wound.
I handed her a five-dollar bill as I said, “God bless you.” At those words she looked up at me for the first time. “Will you pray for me?” she asked.
“Yes, I am going to the church to pray now. What’s your name?”
“Denise. My name is Denise. Thank you,” she replied, and we parted ways.
I walked to the church with a million questions running through my head and tears running down my face. I walked into the hushed body of the church and knelt in a pew. I prayed for Denise and then I directed my questions to God, “What is it? What do you want of me?” No answer, just the muted sounds of the street. I knelt in silence for some time and left with no answers, but my heart was quiet.
I did go and get lunch and as I was returning to the Gold Building I was holding a conversation with God in my head.
“Lord, I need a mentor, someone who can tell me what I should do.”
The quiet voice of the Shepherd answered me: “I’ll be your Teacher.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I want someone I can look at and touch.”
“Your heart knows Me and I touch you there,” came the gentle response.
“Yes, I know, thank You.” I smiled as I walked, knowing that I had heard the Truth.
Suddenly a young woman holding a child by the hand approached me. She stopped right in front of me, said “God bless you and your family,” handed me a slip of paper and walked away. I looked down at the paper—it was a religious tract. At the top in large bold letters it read, “Jesus loves you!” Grace.
Melina Rudman
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Wherever You Are, God is!
“Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, and serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.” Romans 12:11-12
Often I felt troubled by what was going on with my life, my husband’s situation, our daughter’s uncertainty and our parents’ care needs. I wondered what it was all about and whether I would ever have any calm or control in my life. It seemed that as soon as one situation got better another obligation became more onerous.
Four years ago, I began to pray that God would show us what to do and make our way clear. Often, late at night, I affirmed: God is my help in every need.God does my every hunger feed.
I reminded myself what the Prophet wrote.
“For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11).
Then suddenly, in one day, the way became crystal clear in a matter of hours. At 11:00 a.m., Gary called with the wonderful news that he had been offered a job he had applied for many months before in Florida!
As I was wondering how and when to tell my employer and friends the news, I was called to an unscheduled meeting and was promptly laid off, but with severance pay. My head still spinning, I called my daughter, in her senior year in college, to tell her the news. She had informed us several months earlier that she would not be looking for a job near us after graduation. When I told her the news she said, “I am coming with you!”
Within the next few weeks the following occurred:
•I was able to rent an apartment that allowed dogs, was convenient, and had major appliances—from the first phone number picked from the newspaper.
•Our house sold in a matter of weeks.
•We found a new house in Florida in the first week.
While there are still more changes to come, we don’t doubt that all things work together for good,in God’s time,and often situations that to normal human understanding are negative clear the way for good. Because of how these events unfolded, we feel confident that we are where we are supposed to be, and that none of these things came about, “by coincidence.” The presence of God watches over us wherever we are, and His timing is awesome.
Janet Clinton Miami, Florida
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Often I felt troubled by what was going on with my life, my husband’s situation, our daughter’s uncertainty and our parents’ care needs. I wondered what it was all about and whether I would ever have any calm or control in my life. It seemed that as soon as one situation got better another obligation became more onerous.
Four years ago, I began to pray that God would show us what to do and make our way clear. Often, late at night, I affirmed: God is my help in every need.God does my every hunger feed.
I reminded myself what the Prophet wrote.
“For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11).
Then suddenly, in one day, the way became crystal clear in a matter of hours. At 11:00 a.m., Gary called with the wonderful news that he had been offered a job he had applied for many months before in Florida!
As I was wondering how and when to tell my employer and friends the news, I was called to an unscheduled meeting and was promptly laid off, but with severance pay. My head still spinning, I called my daughter, in her senior year in college, to tell her the news. She had informed us several months earlier that she would not be looking for a job near us after graduation. When I told her the news she said, “I am coming with you!”
Within the next few weeks the following occurred:
•I was able to rent an apartment that allowed dogs, was convenient, and had major appliances—from the first phone number picked from the newspaper.
•Our house sold in a matter of weeks.
•We found a new house in Florida in the first week.
While there are still more changes to come, we don’t doubt that all things work together for good,in God’s time,and often situations that to normal human understanding are negative clear the way for good. Because of how these events unfolded, we feel confident that we are where we are supposed to be, and that none of these things came about, “by coincidence.” The presence of God watches over us wherever we are, and His timing is awesome.
Janet Clinton Miami, Florida
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Those Idiot Red Sox
The players on the 2004 Red Sox team called themselves “The Idiots,” a satirical comment on their formal schooling (only two had gone beyond high school). What “The Idiots” did is a go figure story, ask any Yankee fan.
I grew up in New England so I was born into Red Sox nation long before that name became a successful marketing strategy. Every spring was filled with excitement that this would be the year.
The Bosox would contend for awhile, sometimes quite a while but in the end it would be the "Red Flops" and the big let down. Oh sure they made it into some World Series but they managed to lose them all. The most egregious flop being against
to the Mets when the Sox came within one strike of winning it all before losing again.
I knew all about “The Curse of the Bambino” referring to the Sox sale of a guy named Babe Ruth to the Yankees in 1918, the last year Boston won a World Series.
The 2004 “ Idiots” had their ups and downs but they made the playoffs. A sign in the locker room read 11 more wins. A few eyebrows lifted when the Sox swept the A’s in three. But now it was those dreaded Yankees for the American League title.
The Yankees won the first three games-a kiss of death. No major league team has ever come back to win a seven game series after losing the first three. In game four the Yankees were leading when the best closer in baseball, Mario Rivera came on to finish it off. A bloop single, a pinch runner and a solid hit and the game was tied. The Idiots would not lose again-taking an unprecedented four straight
from the Yankees
to get into the World Series and then tokk four straight from the St. Louis Cardinals which that year had the best record in the majors.
Why 2004? Why “The Idiots?”
Did God finally have mercy on the long suffering Sox fans? Was it the new owners and manager who categorically dismissed the Curse but quickly labeled the Yankees “The Evil Empire?”
Maybe it was David Ortiz who always pointed skyward with both arms as he crossed home plate after each homerun. Or was it pitcher Curt Schilling’s cross on a chain, which he kissed and tucked under his shirt each time he started a game.
Perhaps it was the faithful holding signs and chanting in the stands, ”We Believe, We Believe.”
Whatever. If we don’t believe we are the idiots.
John Obrien
Portland, Maine
I grew up in New England so I was born into Red Sox nation long before that name became a successful marketing strategy. Every spring was filled with excitement that this would be the year.
The Bosox would contend for awhile, sometimes quite a while but in the end it would be the "Red Flops" and the big let down. Oh sure they made it into some World Series but they managed to lose them all. The most egregious flop being against
to the Mets when the Sox came within one strike of winning it all before losing again.
I knew all about “The Curse of the Bambino” referring to the Sox sale of a guy named Babe Ruth to the Yankees in 1918, the last year Boston won a World Series.
The 2004 “ Idiots” had their ups and downs but they made the playoffs. A sign in the locker room read 11 more wins. A few eyebrows lifted when the Sox swept the A’s in three. But now it was those dreaded Yankees for the American League title.
The Yankees won the first three games-a kiss of death. No major league team has ever come back to win a seven game series after losing the first three. In game four the Yankees were leading when the best closer in baseball, Mario Rivera came on to finish it off. A bloop single, a pinch runner and a solid hit and the game was tied. The Idiots would not lose again-taking an unprecedented four straight
from the Yankees
to get into the World Series and then tokk four straight from the St. Louis Cardinals which that year had the best record in the majors.
Why 2004? Why “The Idiots?”
Did God finally have mercy on the long suffering Sox fans? Was it the new owners and manager who categorically dismissed the Curse but quickly labeled the Yankees “The Evil Empire?”
Maybe it was David Ortiz who always pointed skyward with both arms as he crossed home plate after each homerun. Or was it pitcher Curt Schilling’s cross on a chain, which he kissed and tucked under his shirt each time he started a game.
Perhaps it was the faithful holding signs and chanting in the stands, ”We Believe, We Believe.”
Whatever. If we don’t believe we are the idiots.
John Obrien
Portland, Maine
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Reflections of Grace
June 8,2008
One Woman’s Journey From Complacency to Conviction
“Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
I have been a believer in Jesus since I was a little child. Now, as a maturing Christian, I have chosen to be in living relationship with Him. I have found there is a big difference between the two.
I would like to testify to a short but very intense awakening. These events and the reactions they aroused in me are real. They brought me to my knees in tears of repentance. My soul fought battles between submission to the Light and my own dark desire to be the director of my life. Through it all I have learned a little more about God’s love for His wayward children.
Let me begin...
In late April, 1999, I took a one-week business trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was attending a company-sponsored technical fair in which I would demonstrate our team’s newest Internet initiative. The fair was a huge success. We generated a lot of interest and our product was favorably received. After the fair, the vice president on our team offered to take us all out for a dinner. While some of the folks left to drop their PCs in their rooms the rest of us waited outside.
The weather that evening was perfect. The sun had set about an hour earlier, This is the picture I would like you to see through my words. Envision a group of white, upper-middle-class men and women standing on a Minneapolis sidewalk laughing and talking. Suddenly a stranger walks into their midst. He is a poor man—a poor, disabled black man—and he is drunk. Not mean or sloppily drunk, but happily so.
Immediately the mood of our group changes, but the man does not seem to notice. He comments on the beauty of the night and begins a plea for money to take his children to a movie. Someone in the group rejected his request while the rest of us shifted uneasily. Throughout this I was feeling very uncomfortable because I knew I should have been standing separate from my peers by respecting this person’s humanity. I knew what I should be doing, but I didn’t do it because I was afraid that my “friends” would reject me too—that they would think me odd.
The man accepted the rebuff with good grace, and then he did something extraordinary. He asked if he could pray for us. Someone in the group said
they did not want a prayer, but he stood in our circle, bowed his head and prayed anyway. He asked God to watch over us and our families. He called us beautiful, although I felt anything but beautiful by then. He closed his prayer with a joyful amen, which I echoed quietly and then our eyes caught and held for just a moment before he turned and made his way up the hill along the well-lit path. As for me and my group, we turned off the path onto a darkened side street, making our way to the restaurant for a well-earned dinner.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometime during the night, I had been convicted of my own careless disregard for one of God’s beloved children. I spent that morning alone in my room, on my knees before God in tears of repentance. I remember feeling completely alone, so far away from the people who knew me and loved me.
As I sobbed in my misery, I “heard” the gentle voice of the Shepherd. “I am here.” Peace flooded through me, and the sobs became gentle, cleansing tears as I knelt by the bed and allowed myself to finally understand God’s grace.
I had sinned. I am the person who meets God unable to say that I had fed Him when He was hungry and clothed Him when He was naked. Despite this I am loved, forgiven and still oh-so-valuable to the Creator. This is grace.
Two weeks later my husband and I traveled to London for our delayed (by 16 years) honeymoon. Sometime toward the middle of the week, I had an incredible urge for spaghetti and sauce. Finding southern Italian cooking in London is a bit of a challenge, but I had my mind set, so my husband and I began searching for my definition of an Italian restaurant.
We had been searching for over an hour, and it was after eight in the evening as we entered the Underground to catch a train. I was tired, hungry, frustrated and feeling very sorry for myself when I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks. Directly across from me a homeless young man was settling in for the night. He was dirty, skinny and sick. He slid his back down against the wall of the station and pulled a filthy, tattered blanket up to his chin. He had a dog, as dirty and underfed as he was, that gently climbed into his lap for the night.
I stood there in silence with the people of London rushing all around me. It seemed I could see Jesus with His arms outstretched in the shadows behind the pair. The story of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) came to my mind. I am the rich man. I have never known a moment of real need or total abandonment in my life, I have always been loved, yet I was upset because I couldn’t find a restaurant that served red tomato sauce. Tears came into my eyes and my heart was humbled once again. Grace.
Back in Connecticut three weeks later, I was asked to travel to New York City to do a presentation. I decided to incorporate a walk to the train station into my lunch hour. It was my habit to pray daily at the Church of St. Patrick/ St. Anthony, so I decided to do that at noon, also. As I stepped out of the train station, I could see that there was a poor woman begging on the corner and that I would have to walk past her. I was immediately enveloped in a terrible and stubborn frame of mind and I decided before I even stepped off the train station steps that I was not going to help her. I put my head down and watched my own feet, determined not to see her. She saw me, though, and I heard her call after me, “Please, Miss.” Five times she called and with each cry for help I became more determined not to hear her.
Halfway up the street I stopped. There was a war going on inside my head. “Go back,” whispered Love. “No!” shouted fear. I started walking again. Three quarters of the way and I stopped again. “You know you need to go back and help her.” Love’s voice was soft but impossible to ignore.
I turned and started back toward the woman. “Stop!” shouted fear stridently, “You don’t need to do this. She’ll want something from you. Who knows where it will lead!” Fear gripped me and I turned away once more.
I made my way to the corner and stopped to hear Love’s last plea. “Melina, you know you need to go back. You cannot ignore this. You chose to listen to fear in Minnesota and it made you sick. Will you choose fear over Love again?”
I knew what I had to do—I had known it all along. My fear was really my ego, which never wants to submit to God and His will for me. I turned and walked back down the street. She was still on the corner, but her back was to me and I could have left
unnoticed. Instead I asked, “What is it?”
She turned with a questioning look on her face, “What?” she asked.
“What is it?” I repeated. “You called me and I ignored you, but I came back.
“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I have no money. Could you give me some money for lunch?” I looked at her closely. She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and her face was scarred by what looked like a knife wound.
I handed her a five-dollar bill as I said, “God bless you.” At those words she looked up at me for the first time. “Will you pray for me?” she asked.
“Yes, I am going to the church to pray now. What’s your name?”
“Denise. My name is Denise. Thank you,” she replied, and we parted ways.
I walked to the church with a million questions running through my head and tears running down my face. I walked into the hushed body of the church and knelt in a pew. I prayed for Denise and then I directed my questions to God, “What is it? What do you want of me?” No answer, just the muted sounds of the street. I knelt in silence for some time and left with no answers, but my heart was quiet.
I did go and get lunch and as I was returning to the Gold Building I was holding a conversation with God in my head.
“Lord, I need a mentor, someone who can tell me what I should do.”
The quiet voice of the Shepherd answered me: “I’ll be your Teacher.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I want someone I can look at and touch.”
“Your heart knows Me and I touch you there,” came the gentle response.
“Yes, I know, thank You.” I smiled as I walked, knowing that I had heard the Truth.
Suddenly a young woman holding a child by the hand approached me. She stopped right in front of me, said “God bless you and your family,” handed me a slip of paper and walked away. I looked down at the paper—it was a religious tract. At the top in large bold letters it read, “Jesus loves you!” Grace.
Melina Rudman
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.Reprinted with permission.
One Woman’s Journey From Complacency to Conviction
“Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all.” Proverbs 22:2
I have been a believer in Jesus since I was a little child. Now, as a maturing Christian, I have chosen to be in living relationship with Him. I have found there is a big difference between the two.
I would like to testify to a short but very intense awakening. These events and the reactions they aroused in me are real. They brought me to my knees in tears of repentance. My soul fought battles between submission to the Light and my own dark desire to be the director of my life. Through it all I have learned a little more about God’s love for His wayward children.
Let me begin...
In late April, 1999, I took a one-week business trip to Minneapolis, Minnesota. I was attending a company-sponsored technical fair in which I would demonstrate our team’s newest Internet initiative. The fair was a huge success. We generated a lot of interest and our product was favorably received. After the fair, the vice president on our team offered to take us all out for a dinner. While some of the folks left to drop their PCs in their rooms the rest of us waited outside.
The weather that evening was perfect. The sun had set about an hour earlier, This is the picture I would like you to see through my words. Envision a group of white, upper-middle-class men and women standing on a Minneapolis sidewalk laughing and talking. Suddenly a stranger walks into their midst. He is a poor man—a poor, disabled black man—and he is drunk. Not mean or sloppily drunk, but happily so.
Immediately the mood of our group changes, but the man does not seem to notice. He comments on the beauty of the night and begins a plea for money to take his children to a movie. Someone in the group rejected his request while the rest of us shifted uneasily. Throughout this I was feeling very uncomfortable because I knew I should have been standing separate from my peers by respecting this person’s humanity. I knew what I should be doing, but I didn’t do it because I was afraid that my “friends” would reject me too—that they would think me odd.
The man accepted the rebuff with good grace, and then he did something extraordinary. He asked if he could pray for us. Someone in the group said
they did not want a prayer, but he stood in our circle, bowed his head and prayed anyway. He asked God to watch over us and our families. He called us beautiful, although I felt anything but beautiful by then. He closed his prayer with a joyful amen, which I echoed quietly and then our eyes caught and held for just a moment before he turned and made his way up the hill along the well-lit path. As for me and my group, we turned off the path onto a darkened side street, making our way to the restaurant for a well-earned dinner.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill physically, emotionally and spiritually. Sometime during the night, I had been convicted of my own careless disregard for one of God’s beloved children. I spent that morning alone in my room, on my knees before God in tears of repentance. I remember feeling completely alone, so far away from the people who knew me and loved me.
As I sobbed in my misery, I “heard” the gentle voice of the Shepherd. “I am here.” Peace flooded through me, and the sobs became gentle, cleansing tears as I knelt by the bed and allowed myself to finally understand God’s grace.
I had sinned. I am the person who meets God unable to say that I had fed Him when He was hungry and clothed Him when He was naked. Despite this I am loved, forgiven and still oh-so-valuable to the Creator. This is grace.
Two weeks later my husband and I traveled to London for our delayed (by 16 years) honeymoon. Sometime toward the middle of the week, I had an incredible urge for spaghetti and sauce. Finding southern Italian cooking in London is a bit of a challenge, but I had my mind set, so my husband and I began searching for my definition of an Italian restaurant.
We had been searching for over an hour, and it was after eight in the evening as we entered the Underground to catch a train. I was tired, hungry, frustrated and feeling very sorry for myself when I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks. Directly across from me a homeless young man was settling in for the night. He was dirty, skinny and sick. He slid his back down against the wall of the station and pulled a filthy, tattered blanket up to his chin. He had a dog, as dirty and underfed as he was, that gently climbed into his lap for the night.
I stood there in silence with the people of London rushing all around me. It seemed I could see Jesus with His arms outstretched in the shadows behind the pair. The story of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) came to my mind. I am the rich man. I have never known a moment of real need or total abandonment in my life, I have always been loved, yet I was upset because I couldn’t find a restaurant that served red tomato sauce. Tears came into my eyes and my heart was humbled once again. Grace.
Back in Connecticut three weeks later, I was asked to travel to New York City to do a presentation. I decided to incorporate a walk to the train station into my lunch hour. It was my habit to pray daily at the Church of St. Patrick/ St. Anthony, so I decided to do that at noon, also. As I stepped out of the train station, I could see that there was a poor woman begging on the corner and that I would have to walk past her. I was immediately enveloped in a terrible and stubborn frame of mind and I decided before I even stepped off the train station steps that I was not going to help her. I put my head down and watched my own feet, determined not to see her. She saw me, though, and I heard her call after me, “Please, Miss.” Five times she called and with each cry for help I became more determined not to hear her.
Halfway up the street I stopped. There was a war going on inside my head. “Go back,” whispered Love. “No!” shouted fear. I started walking again. Three quarters of the way and I stopped again. “You know you need to go back and help her.” Love’s voice was soft but impossible to ignore.
I turned and started back toward the woman. “Stop!” shouted fear stridently, “You don’t need to do this. She’ll want something from you. Who knows where it will lead!” Fear gripped me and I turned away once more.
I made my way to the corner and stopped to hear Love’s last plea. “Melina, you know you need to go back. You cannot ignore this. You chose to listen to fear in Minnesota and it made you sick. Will you choose fear over Love again?”
I knew what I had to do—I had known it all along. My fear was really my ego, which never wants to submit to God and His will for me. I turned and walked back down the street. She was still on the corner, but her back was to me and I could have left
unnoticed. Instead I asked, “What is it?”
She turned with a questioning look on her face, “What?” she asked.
“What is it?” I repeated. “You called me and I ignored you, but I came back.
“I’m hungry,” she answered, “and I have no money. Could you give me some money for lunch?” I looked at her closely. She was young, maybe 21 or 22 and her face was scarred by what looked like a knife wound.
I handed her a five-dollar bill as I said, “God bless you.” At those words she looked up at me for the first time. “Will you pray for me?” she asked.
“Yes, I am going to the church to pray now. What’s your name?”
“Denise. My name is Denise. Thank you,” she replied, and we parted ways.
I walked to the church with a million questions running through my head and tears running down my face. I walked into the hushed body of the church and knelt in a pew. I prayed for Denise and then I directed my questions to God, “What is it? What do you want of me?” No answer, just the muted sounds of the street. I knelt in silence for some time and left with no answers, but my heart was quiet.
I did go and get lunch and as I was returning to the Gold Building I was holding a conversation with God in my head.
“Lord, I need a mentor, someone who can tell me what I should do.”
The quiet voice of the Shepherd answered me: “I’ll be your Teacher.”
“I know,” I replied. “But I want someone I can look at and touch.”
“Your heart knows Me and I touch you there,” came the gentle response.
“Yes, I know, thank You.” I smiled as I walked, knowing that I had heard the Truth.
Suddenly a young woman holding a child by the hand approached me. She stopped right in front of me, said “God bless you and your family,” handed me a slip of paper and walked away. I looked down at the paper—it was a religious tract. At the top in large bold letters it read, “Jesus loves you!” Grace.
Melina Rudman
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.Reprinted with permission.
Friday, May 30, 2008
God Calls Debbie
I love my God. So when people would share how God clearly spoke to them and they were going to do something out of clearly hearing God’s word, I would become puzzled and often wonder, “Why isn’t God talking to me?”
Well, in the fall of 2005 a thought came to mind. It was that I should maybe consider moving back to St. Louis (I had been in Florida for 5 years.) When I left St. Louis I had experienced a very painful divorce and a lot of heartache so I never felt it was a place I would return to live. This idea continued to come up in my quiet time and I did not understand.
Pastor Brian’s sermons were jumping out at me. He talked about quiet time, taking time to really spend with God in prayer and adoration. Let me tell you, it is awesome what we can hear from our Lord when we are quiet and consistently seek his word and desire for us.
Two months into this, I was going back home to St. Louis for Christmas. I was clearly hearing from God that He wanted me to return permanently, but I had never experienced this before, so I was wanting to make sure I was getting it right.
I have a dear friend,Mary, a woman who truly walks and talks with our God. What Faith she has. She sent me to Florida with much love and blessings and over the past five years never once asked, “When are you coming home?” So I prayed to God to please somehow reveal to me through Mary that this is what He wanted me to do.
Six of us ladies, friends for almost 30 years, meet for lunch while I am in St. Louis. As we are leaving, my friend Mary pulls me aside and says, “Debbie, God has really put you on my heart for the past several months. I think it is time you came home.” (I began to tremble inside because I knew God was letting me know His desire for me.)
I jokingly said to her, “One problem, I need a job”. Then she proceeded to tell me another “God Thing”. Two days earlier a friend of hers, whom she had not talked to in months, just showed up at her door. Mary claims this Nurse Recruiter friend has never done such a thing before. She would normally call and ask to come by and visit. She told Mary she did not know why God led her to the house that morning, but just felt a strong need to visit her friend. During the conversation, she told Mary she was in need of a Nurse Case Manager and did she know of anyone. Oddly enough, Mary tells her that we are having lunch in two days and she would discuss it with me. Mary then tells me to fax my resume to Karen and let God do the rest.
I shared with her what I had been praying for and how she revealed to me this is what God desires for me and I want and must be obedient. We both began to cry and thank God for his goodness.
I returned to Florida, put my condo up for sale and had a telephone interview for the Nurse Case Manager position the very next week. I have clearly heard God’s word to me and as frightening as a move, new job, etc. seems, I am excited and must be obedient. I don’t know what God has in store for me in St. Louis, but what ever it is, I will be able to get through it because I love my Lord and He is always with me. He is my Rock and my strength and is ever present.
I encourage you to spend quiet time with the Lord. Pray, read scripture and then, most importantly, be still, “listen, and know that I am God.” We MUST listen to God and be obedient to his will in our life.
Debbie Houston
St. Louis, Missouri
Well, in the fall of 2005 a thought came to mind. It was that I should maybe consider moving back to St. Louis (I had been in Florida for 5 years.) When I left St. Louis I had experienced a very painful divorce and a lot of heartache so I never felt it was a place I would return to live. This idea continued to come up in my quiet time and I did not understand.
Pastor Brian’s sermons were jumping out at me. He talked about quiet time, taking time to really spend with God in prayer and adoration. Let me tell you, it is awesome what we can hear from our Lord when we are quiet and consistently seek his word and desire for us.
Two months into this, I was going back home to St. Louis for Christmas. I was clearly hearing from God that He wanted me to return permanently, but I had never experienced this before, so I was wanting to make sure I was getting it right.
I have a dear friend,Mary, a woman who truly walks and talks with our God. What Faith she has. She sent me to Florida with much love and blessings and over the past five years never once asked, “When are you coming home?” So I prayed to God to please somehow reveal to me through Mary that this is what He wanted me to do.
Six of us ladies, friends for almost 30 years, meet for lunch while I am in St. Louis. As we are leaving, my friend Mary pulls me aside and says, “Debbie, God has really put you on my heart for the past several months. I think it is time you came home.” (I began to tremble inside because I knew God was letting me know His desire for me.)
I jokingly said to her, “One problem, I need a job”. Then she proceeded to tell me another “God Thing”. Two days earlier a friend of hers, whom she had not talked to in months, just showed up at her door. Mary claims this Nurse Recruiter friend has never done such a thing before. She would normally call and ask to come by and visit. She told Mary she did not know why God led her to the house that morning, but just felt a strong need to visit her friend. During the conversation, she told Mary she was in need of a Nurse Case Manager and did she know of anyone. Oddly enough, Mary tells her that we are having lunch in two days and she would discuss it with me. Mary then tells me to fax my resume to Karen and let God do the rest.
I shared with her what I had been praying for and how she revealed to me this is what God desires for me and I want and must be obedient. We both began to cry and thank God for his goodness.
I returned to Florida, put my condo up for sale and had a telephone interview for the Nurse Case Manager position the very next week. I have clearly heard God’s word to me and as frightening as a move, new job, etc. seems, I am excited and must be obedient. I don’t know what God has in store for me in St. Louis, but what ever it is, I will be able to get through it because I love my Lord and He is always with me. He is my Rock and my strength and is ever present.
I encourage you to spend quiet time with the Lord. Pray, read scripture and then, most importantly, be still, “listen, and know that I am God.” We MUST listen to God and be obedient to his will in our life.
Debbie Houston
St. Louis, Missouri
Friday, May 23, 2008
The Lost Book
My friend Janae is seeing her daughter off to school when she does a foolish thing. She places a small book on the bumper of her Suv while she helps her daughter Sidney into a friend’s vehicle who is the designated driver for the car pool this day. Janae tells herself she will remember to retrieve the book before driving off. Of course she forgets.
It isn’t until Janae returns home that she remembers the little book. Naturally it is no longer on the bumper. This book had been her companion since she received it as a gift a week earlier. She drives back over the route she had traveled that morning but there is no evidence of the little book.
At noon I am at my hairdresser’s. While Lisa is doing my hair she tells me that her husband Joe came by her shop earlier and dropped off a book he had found in the middle of Bahia Vista Road. When he saw this book in the middle of the road he just pulled over. Before he could get to it, two cars ran over it.”
The battered book is a copy of Joyce Meyers, The Secret Power of Speaking God’s Word.
“Joe really got into the book,” Lisa said, “particularly the chapter on anger. He has been angry with God all these years since the accident so it was good for him to read about that. Then he noticed the handwriting inside the front cover, ‘To Janae from Wendy,’ and brought the book here.
You are a Christian woman Deb do you know a woman named Janae?”
“I know a Wendy and a Janae. They both go to my church.”
I called Wendy on her cell phone and yes she had given a copy of the book to Janae. Wendy called Janae who then called us at the shop to confirm that she had lost the book while driving that morning.
Lisa gave me the book to return to Janae. On my way I stopped by The Living Word book store and purchased a new copy of Meyer’s book.
Janae inscribed the new copy, thanking Joe for finding and returning hers. I added, “Joe: I know God wanted you to have this book.”
Deborah Smith
Sarasota, Florida.
It isn’t until Janae returns home that she remembers the little book. Naturally it is no longer on the bumper. This book had been her companion since she received it as a gift a week earlier. She drives back over the route she had traveled that morning but there is no evidence of the little book.
At noon I am at my hairdresser’s. While Lisa is doing my hair she tells me that her husband Joe came by her shop earlier and dropped off a book he had found in the middle of Bahia Vista Road. When he saw this book in the middle of the road he just pulled over. Before he could get to it, two cars ran over it.”
The battered book is a copy of Joyce Meyers, The Secret Power of Speaking God’s Word.
“Joe really got into the book,” Lisa said, “particularly the chapter on anger. He has been angry with God all these years since the accident so it was good for him to read about that. Then he noticed the handwriting inside the front cover, ‘To Janae from Wendy,’ and brought the book here.
You are a Christian woman Deb do you know a woman named Janae?”
“I know a Wendy and a Janae. They both go to my church.”
I called Wendy on her cell phone and yes she had given a copy of the book to Janae. Wendy called Janae who then called us at the shop to confirm that she had lost the book while driving that morning.
Lisa gave me the book to return to Janae. On my way I stopped by The Living Word book store and purchased a new copy of Meyer’s book.
Janae inscribed the new copy, thanking Joe for finding and returning hers. I added, “Joe: I know God wanted you to have this book.”
Deborah Smith
Sarasota, Florida.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
God's Healing Touch
Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6.
Saturday, September 2nd, was a gorgeous, end-of-summer day. Marla and the four boys spent the day at Uncle Rich’s house in Monson, Massachusetts, as Chip flew back from an out-of-state conference.
Jared, age 31/2, was walking along the lawn at the top of a six-foot retaining wall next to the driveway when he slipped in some sand and fell to the pavement below, landing on his forehead. Uncle Rich heard the impact as Jared hit the driveway and ran over as Jared stood up bawling and clutching a big scrape on his forehead.
Rich brought Jared inside to Marla and laid him on the couch. She said, “Jared, open your eyes.” He did—and one eye looked at her, while the other was angled strangely away toward the ground. Fearing a serious head injury, 9-1-1 was called.
Jared continued to cry, and Marla, Rich and the boys gathered around him and began to pray. Marla laid her hand on Jared’s head as she prayed specifically for healing.
Ben and Brian did their best to help by announcing each emergency vehicle as it arrived. Chris was very upset and crying, first staying near Jared, then hiding in the house as rescuers arrived. Police officers arrived, then Monson Fire Department EMTs came on the scene and quickly immobilized him on a backboard. As they were strapping him in, Jared suddenly cried out “Ow, it’s burning!” and grabbed at his forehead. After this he was more calm and subdued.
Marla rode with him in the ambulance on the 25-minute trip to Bay State Medical Center in Springfield, while Rich followed with the boys in the van. On the way, Jared became less and less responsive and then fell asleep. Was he exhausted from crying and missing his nap? Or was this a sign of brain swelling? Concerned about this change, the EMTs tried to keep Jared awake and called for a paramedic unit to meet them on the way to the hospital.
Jared’s left eye was now totally swollen shut, bulging from the bleeding behind the eyelid, and scowling a dark, angry purple.
A paramedic unit from Ludlow Fire Department met up with the ambulance, and the medic started an IV, hooked up a heart monitor, and gave other advanced life-support care. Knowing that everything was being done that could be done, Marla was able to let her tears flow. As a pediatric nurse, she had cared for many children with head trauma and was well aware of the potential for a devastating outcome.
At the ER Jared was scanned, X-rayed, poked and prodded. His brothers got to see Jared, and had their many questions answered by the excellent Child Life staff person. Chris was afraid Jared would be operated on and was very relieved to find no surgery was needed. Jared was diagnosed with a non-displaced skull fracture over the left eye, extending into the eye socket.
Thankfully the doctors could detect no bleeding in the brain. He was admitted for observation and, after finding a bed on the pediatric unit, he quickly fell into an exhausted sleep. Uncle Rich took the other three boys to his house overnight and left a message on Chip’s cell phone with details of the accident.
Chip landed at the airport at 10:30 p.m. and got the message off his cell phone. It was a quick trip up I-91 to Bay State, all the while making phone calls to
mobilize prayer support. Chip walked onto the pediatric floor to find Jared asleep, being cuddled by Marla. His left eye was bulging, black and blue, so swollen the lashes were out of sight. He had a three-inch circular abrasion on his forehead, scrapes on his face and left ear, and an IV slowly dripping into his arm. Marla slept in the bed with him, and he was being awakened hourly to check responsiveness. Interestingly, Jared never complained of pain.
We prayed over him. He awakened around 1:00 a.m. and spoke clearly with Marla about the entire incident. Marla felt her worries melting away, replaced with a peace and assurance that Jared would be okay.
By the next afternoon his spirits had improved. He got to play with toys and ride a tricycle around the pediatric unit. Uncle Rich brought the three other boys to visit, and Grandma and Grandpa drove up to see him. By late Sunday afternoon the pediophthalmologist pronounced him fit for discharge, and he was home for dinner.
The swelling should have taken about a week to disappear, but it was nearly gone in three days. His bruising could have taken two to three weeks to fully disappear, but it was gone in one week. We were amazed at his quick recovery.
We know that with God involved we should not have been surprised, but it was rather incredible to see the healing!
As a family, we all read “Curious George Goes to the Hospital” and Jared recognized many things from his experience—nurses, name bracelets, X-ray machines, the tricycles, and the IV. It was a good way for him to talk about his experience and compare what happened to him with what “George” went through. It was also good for the brothers to see what happened to George and learn that the same things had happened to Jared, lessoning the mystery of “behind closed doors.”
In follow-up exams, Jared was found to have no lasting injury of any kind. We thank God for many things! The fall could easily have injured Jared much more severely, but it didn’t. We had quick responses from competent professional caregivers up and down the chain. Modern medicine was able to quickly dispel fears about the severity of the head injury. Our family was supportive and involved throughout. Rich (who is a single guy) cared for Jared’s three brothers by himself for an extra day and made the key phone calls to Chip and family. We had prayer chains working overtime across the country. Pastor Jey and Joan Deifell personally checked on Jared’s progress about every four hours. God’s spirit worked mightily through the body.
In hindsight, we believe God healed Jared before he was put in the ambulance. Remember Jared saying “Ow, it’s burning?” There are many reports of spiritual healing associated with heat or a burning sensation. At the time, Jared’s cries seemed to be indicating further injury—but we believe God was healing Jared and then allowed him to fall into a restful sleep in the ambulance.
When we got to the hospital, his left eye was swollen shut, but when the doctor pried the lids apart to check it, both eyes were, miraculously, in perfect alignment. The doctor was baffled by this change from what Marla and the EMTs reported.
Despite his confirmed skull fracture, Jared didn’t complain of pain—but it all makes sense: God was there in power. We believe the relatively minor extent of Jared’s injuries and his fast and full recovery are due to guardian angels, God’s intervention, and answers to prayer. He is able! He hears and responds! He cares for us! Thank You, Jesus.
Chip and Marla Darius
Cromwell, Connecticut.
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.
Saturday, September 2nd, was a gorgeous, end-of-summer day. Marla and the four boys spent the day at Uncle Rich’s house in Monson, Massachusetts, as Chip flew back from an out-of-state conference.
Jared, age 31/2, was walking along the lawn at the top of a six-foot retaining wall next to the driveway when he slipped in some sand and fell to the pavement below, landing on his forehead. Uncle Rich heard the impact as Jared hit the driveway and ran over as Jared stood up bawling and clutching a big scrape on his forehead.
Rich brought Jared inside to Marla and laid him on the couch. She said, “Jared, open your eyes.” He did—and one eye looked at her, while the other was angled strangely away toward the ground. Fearing a serious head injury, 9-1-1 was called.
Jared continued to cry, and Marla, Rich and the boys gathered around him and began to pray. Marla laid her hand on Jared’s head as she prayed specifically for healing.
Ben and Brian did their best to help by announcing each emergency vehicle as it arrived. Chris was very upset and crying, first staying near Jared, then hiding in the house as rescuers arrived. Police officers arrived, then Monson Fire Department EMTs came on the scene and quickly immobilized him on a backboard. As they were strapping him in, Jared suddenly cried out “Ow, it’s burning!” and grabbed at his forehead. After this he was more calm and subdued.
Marla rode with him in the ambulance on the 25-minute trip to Bay State Medical Center in Springfield, while Rich followed with the boys in the van. On the way, Jared became less and less responsive and then fell asleep. Was he exhausted from crying and missing his nap? Or was this a sign of brain swelling? Concerned about this change, the EMTs tried to keep Jared awake and called for a paramedic unit to meet them on the way to the hospital.
Jared’s left eye was now totally swollen shut, bulging from the bleeding behind the eyelid, and scowling a dark, angry purple.
A paramedic unit from Ludlow Fire Department met up with the ambulance, and the medic started an IV, hooked up a heart monitor, and gave other advanced life-support care. Knowing that everything was being done that could be done, Marla was able to let her tears flow. As a pediatric nurse, she had cared for many children with head trauma and was well aware of the potential for a devastating outcome.
At the ER Jared was scanned, X-rayed, poked and prodded. His brothers got to see Jared, and had their many questions answered by the excellent Child Life staff person. Chris was afraid Jared would be operated on and was very relieved to find no surgery was needed. Jared was diagnosed with a non-displaced skull fracture over the left eye, extending into the eye socket.
Thankfully the doctors could detect no bleeding in the brain. He was admitted for observation and, after finding a bed on the pediatric unit, he quickly fell into an exhausted sleep. Uncle Rich took the other three boys to his house overnight and left a message on Chip’s cell phone with details of the accident.
Chip landed at the airport at 10:30 p.m. and got the message off his cell phone. It was a quick trip up I-91 to Bay State, all the while making phone calls to
mobilize prayer support. Chip walked onto the pediatric floor to find Jared asleep, being cuddled by Marla. His left eye was bulging, black and blue, so swollen the lashes were out of sight. He had a three-inch circular abrasion on his forehead, scrapes on his face and left ear, and an IV slowly dripping into his arm. Marla slept in the bed with him, and he was being awakened hourly to check responsiveness. Interestingly, Jared never complained of pain.
We prayed over him. He awakened around 1:00 a.m. and spoke clearly with Marla about the entire incident. Marla felt her worries melting away, replaced with a peace and assurance that Jared would be okay.
By the next afternoon his spirits had improved. He got to play with toys and ride a tricycle around the pediatric unit. Uncle Rich brought the three other boys to visit, and Grandma and Grandpa drove up to see him. By late Sunday afternoon the pediophthalmologist pronounced him fit for discharge, and he was home for dinner.
The swelling should have taken about a week to disappear, but it was nearly gone in three days. His bruising could have taken two to three weeks to fully disappear, but it was gone in one week. We were amazed at his quick recovery.
We know that with God involved we should not have been surprised, but it was rather incredible to see the healing!
As a family, we all read “Curious George Goes to the Hospital” and Jared recognized many things from his experience—nurses, name bracelets, X-ray machines, the tricycles, and the IV. It was a good way for him to talk about his experience and compare what happened to him with what “George” went through. It was also good for the brothers to see what happened to George and learn that the same things had happened to Jared, lessoning the mystery of “behind closed doors.”
In follow-up exams, Jared was found to have no lasting injury of any kind. We thank God for many things! The fall could easily have injured Jared much more severely, but it didn’t. We had quick responses from competent professional caregivers up and down the chain. Modern medicine was able to quickly dispel fears about the severity of the head injury. Our family was supportive and involved throughout. Rich (who is a single guy) cared for Jared’s three brothers by himself for an extra day and made the key phone calls to Chip and family. We had prayer chains working overtime across the country. Pastor Jey and Joan Deifell personally checked on Jared’s progress about every four hours. God’s spirit worked mightily through the body.
In hindsight, we believe God healed Jared before he was put in the ambulance. Remember Jared saying “Ow, it’s burning?” There are many reports of spiritual healing associated with heat or a burning sensation. At the time, Jared’s cries seemed to be indicating further injury—but we believe God was healing Jared and then allowed him to fall into a restful sleep in the ambulance.
When we got to the hospital, his left eye was swollen shut, but when the doctor pried the lids apart to check it, both eyes were, miraculously, in perfect alignment. The doctor was baffled by this change from what Marla and the EMTs reported.
Despite his confirmed skull fracture, Jared didn’t complain of pain—but it all makes sense: God was there in power. We believe the relatively minor extent of Jared’s injuries and his fast and full recovery are due to guardian angels, God’s intervention, and answers to prayer. He is able! He hears and responds! He cares for us! Thank You, Jesus.
Chip and Marla Darius
Cromwell, Connecticut.
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Ct.