When I was little, my parents, brother and I made yearly trips to Maine, my mother's home state. Our trip was a long one from North Carolina to this northern destination, but we always looked forward to it.
The year was 1966 and we were on our yearly trek. I was about eight years old. My brother, who is older than me by 17 months, was sitting in the back with me and we were both trying to spot unusual landmarks. We were on the Massachusetts's Turnpike and it was a bright and beautiful sunny day, about 2.00 in the afternoon. My father was driving and mother was talking to him about how excited she was to be going home to Maine.
Out of nowhere a booming voice filled the entire car, "Pull over!" We all looked at each other and then my father looked in his rear view mirror. We couldn't locate the source of the "voice". Again, more emphatically we heard, "Pull Over!” I recall the surprised look on all our faces. Our heads were turning in all directions trying to spot where this "voice" was coming from. Mother and father were saying that maybe it was a state police helicopter with a megaphone. My brother and I were saying, "What was that? What was that?" Because we expected our parent's to know.
Once again the "voice" came, "Pull Over!" So, we did. Father and mother both got out of the car and were anxiously waiting to see if a police car was going to stop behind them. Had we been speeding? Was there something wrong with the car that the authorities may have spotted? I heard the nervousness in my parents’ voices as they questioned each other about what it could be and continued to look all around.
We had pulled over to the emergency lane and there they stood, just outside the car, craning their necks and heads in all directions, behind them, up in the air, looking and searching everywhere for the source of the voice.
Other cars whizzed past. The travelers were going to their destination like there wasn't anything wrong, other than thinking perhaps," Why are those crazy people from North Carolina standing on the side of the road looking around"?
Eventually, my mother and father got back into the car. My brother and I were quiet and waited to see if they were going to be able to explain this to us. My father just started the car and we eased back onto the turnpike.
That was it. Nothing happened. No one showed up with blue flashing lights. It was just a voice coming out of nowhere beseeching us to "pull over.” We continued on our trip to Maine and as always we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves once there.
We have discussed this event many times as a family. We all know we heard the "voice" and we each clearly heard the command three times. We experienced something that none of us, to this day, have ever been able to rationally explain. We believe an accident was avoided and God had his hand directly on us.
Donna Everhardt
North Carolina
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
Friday, May 28, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Give Me a Sign
Week of May 23
“Some of you are feeling pretty low right now but believe me you will feel a lot better in six weeks.”
I heard him loud and clear. I wanted this six-week Divorce Recovery Workshop at my church to be over now so I could feel better. The instructor was right about one thing. I was feeling lower than a reptile slithering in the mud. I hoped he was right about feeling better in six weeks. All I could do now was hold onto that hope.
My marriage of seven years wasn’t officially over yet but it had ended a long time ago. Drugs and alcohol had taken their toll. I had been the one to sober up first but all I got for my effort was more verbal abuse from a husband that blamed everything on me,. He continued to medicate himself while I felt a constant ache of loneliness and the pain from the yelling and nightly name calling. There seemed to be no end. Somebody had to end this madness. I moved out and filed for divorce.
I told all this to my Divorce Recovery small group. Each person in the group got to share their situation. We all listened to each other with compassion. I felt particularly sorry for the gals with young children. At least I didn’t have that problem. A childhood disease had left me barren. I didn’t think I could
ever feel good about that but I was thankful now that I didn’t have to go through this with a child too.
The group and our facilitator became my support base for the next several weeks. We helped each other deal with the grieving over the loss of an intimate relationship and to focus on what we had to do to become a whole person again. That meant we had to let go of the anger and the blame in order to begin the healing process. The group was there for me the night my divorce became official by court order. I was glad to be with them and not alone in my apartment.
The instructor was right. I did feel better on “graduation night” from the workshop and there were plenty of tears and hugs and brownies. Our group exchanged phone numbers before leaving. The high I felt at the end of the workshop came crashing down a week later when I lost my high salaried marketing position. The corporation just eliminated the entire department.
I was devastated. During all the trials of the divorce I had poured myself into the job and had relied on the steady income to keep me independent. Now what would I do? How would I keep the apartment once the severance pay ran out? I went into depression. It got worse as the weeks went by and I
couldn’t find another position within the corporation or a like paying job in the city.
I was at or nearing the bottom of my depression pit when a friend from the divorce group called. She asked me how I was doing and I told her. She invited me to he son’s sixth birthday party that afternoon and I at first declined. But she insisted and I thought maybe it would cheer me up.
The party was outside in the yard. It was a mistake to be there. The children playing and the mother’s talking about kids and families depressed me more. When they were occupied with a pin the tail on the donkey game I slipped into the house. I wandered into the living room and all of a sudden the tears gushed out and I was shaking uncontrollably. I cried out to the Lord. With my head bowed and my hand gripping the fireplace mantle I said, “Lord are you there? Let me know. Give me a sign or something that I can know you can hear me… that I matter.”
The tears subsided and the shakes stopped. I lifted my head slowly and there in front of me above the mantle I saw through moist eyes a framed copy of “Footprints.”
“Footprints”
One night a man had a dream and in his dream he reviewed the footsteps he had taken in his life. He looked and noticed that all over the mountains and difficult places he had traveled there was one set of footprints but over the plains and down the hills, there were two sets of footprints, as if someone had walked by his side.
He turned to Christ and said, “There is something I don’t understand. Why is it that down the hills and over the smooth and easy places you walked by my side; but here over the tough and difficult places I walked alone, for I see in those places there is just one set of footprints.”
Christ said to the man, “It is that while your life was easy that I walked along your side;
But here, where the walking was hard and paths difficult, was the time you needed me most and that is when I carried you.”
“Call on Me in your day of trouble and I will deliver you and you will give me the glory.”(Psalm 50:15)
Mary Beth Darling
San Francisco, California
“Some of you are feeling pretty low right now but believe me you will feel a lot better in six weeks.”
I heard him loud and clear. I wanted this six-week Divorce Recovery Workshop at my church to be over now so I could feel better. The instructor was right about one thing. I was feeling lower than a reptile slithering in the mud. I hoped he was right about feeling better in six weeks. All I could do now was hold onto that hope.
My marriage of seven years wasn’t officially over yet but it had ended a long time ago. Drugs and alcohol had taken their toll. I had been the one to sober up first but all I got for my effort was more verbal abuse from a husband that blamed everything on me,. He continued to medicate himself while I felt a constant ache of loneliness and the pain from the yelling and nightly name calling. There seemed to be no end. Somebody had to end this madness. I moved out and filed for divorce.
I told all this to my Divorce Recovery small group. Each person in the group got to share their situation. We all listened to each other with compassion. I felt particularly sorry for the gals with young children. At least I didn’t have that problem. A childhood disease had left me barren. I didn’t think I could
ever feel good about that but I was thankful now that I didn’t have to go through this with a child too.
The group and our facilitator became my support base for the next several weeks. We helped each other deal with the grieving over the loss of an intimate relationship and to focus on what we had to do to become a whole person again. That meant we had to let go of the anger and the blame in order to begin the healing process. The group was there for me the night my divorce became official by court order. I was glad to be with them and not alone in my apartment.
The instructor was right. I did feel better on “graduation night” from the workshop and there were plenty of tears and hugs and brownies. Our group exchanged phone numbers before leaving. The high I felt at the end of the workshop came crashing down a week later when I lost my high salaried marketing position. The corporation just eliminated the entire department.
I was devastated. During all the trials of the divorce I had poured myself into the job and had relied on the steady income to keep me independent. Now what would I do? How would I keep the apartment once the severance pay ran out? I went into depression. It got worse as the weeks went by and I
couldn’t find another position within the corporation or a like paying job in the city.
I was at or nearing the bottom of my depression pit when a friend from the divorce group called. She asked me how I was doing and I told her. She invited me to he son’s sixth birthday party that afternoon and I at first declined. But she insisted and I thought maybe it would cheer me up.
The party was outside in the yard. It was a mistake to be there. The children playing and the mother’s talking about kids and families depressed me more. When they were occupied with a pin the tail on the donkey game I slipped into the house. I wandered into the living room and all of a sudden the tears gushed out and I was shaking uncontrollably. I cried out to the Lord. With my head bowed and my hand gripping the fireplace mantle I said, “Lord are you there? Let me know. Give me a sign or something that I can know you can hear me… that I matter.”
The tears subsided and the shakes stopped. I lifted my head slowly and there in front of me above the mantle I saw through moist eyes a framed copy of “Footprints.”
“Footprints”
One night a man had a dream and in his dream he reviewed the footsteps he had taken in his life. He looked and noticed that all over the mountains and difficult places he had traveled there was one set of footprints but over the plains and down the hills, there were two sets of footprints, as if someone had walked by his side.
He turned to Christ and said, “There is something I don’t understand. Why is it that down the hills and over the smooth and easy places you walked by my side; but here over the tough and difficult places I walked alone, for I see in those places there is just one set of footprints.”
Christ said to the man, “It is that while your life was easy that I walked along your side;
But here, where the walking was hard and paths difficult, was the time you needed me most and that is when I carried you.”
“Call on Me in your day of trouble and I will deliver you and you will give me the glory.”(Psalm 50:15)
Mary Beth Darling
San Francisco, California
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Do Not Be Afraid
Week of May 16
Several years ago I was going through a tough time and feeling a great deal of anxiety. Something happened that has been a source of comfort and courage ever since.
I need to say, right up front, that I have never practiced, nor do I agree with, what has sometimes been called “Bible roulette.” This is the technique
of seeking guidance from God by letting the Bible fall open at random, putting your finger on the page, and trying to interpret as a directive from
God the verse thus identified. On the other hand, in my personal devotions I will often select a passage to read as I feel led, or because I feel a need.
I must also say that the Bible I usually use for my devotional reading was, at the time I am referring to, still fairly new. It was not dog-eared from
use, nor did it naturally fall open to any particular passages.
The event is recorded in my journal. But it need not be, for it stands out in my mind with crystal clarity.
I was alone and feeling agitated. There seemed no end to my anxiety. I cried out, “O God, I am so tired
of being afraid!” It wasn’t a formal prayer. It was a cry from the heart.
At that moment I felt an urge, an invitation, a desire to turn to Scripture. As I reached for my Bible, I felt a definite inclination to turn to the Old Testament. But nothing more specific had yet come to mind. I opened the Bible somewhere around the middle. The very first words my eyes fell upon were these: “...do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God...”
I was awestruck. I tried to reproduce the event, but it was soon obvious that my Bible was not automatically opening to Isaiah 41:10.
The skeptic may call it coincidence. But I am convinced that God was in that event, speaking precisely to my anguish through those words of Scripture. Thanks be to God.
Persh Parker
Billings M0
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Several years ago I was going through a tough time and feeling a great deal of anxiety. Something happened that has been a source of comfort and courage ever since.
I need to say, right up front, that I have never practiced, nor do I agree with, what has sometimes been called “Bible roulette.” This is the technique
of seeking guidance from God by letting the Bible fall open at random, putting your finger on the page, and trying to interpret as a directive from
God the verse thus identified. On the other hand, in my personal devotions I will often select a passage to read as I feel led, or because I feel a need.
I must also say that the Bible I usually use for my devotional reading was, at the time I am referring to, still fairly new. It was not dog-eared from
use, nor did it naturally fall open to any particular passages.
The event is recorded in my journal. But it need not be, for it stands out in my mind with crystal clarity.
I was alone and feeling agitated. There seemed no end to my anxiety. I cried out, “O God, I am so tired
of being afraid!” It wasn’t a formal prayer. It was a cry from the heart.
At that moment I felt an urge, an invitation, a desire to turn to Scripture. As I reached for my Bible, I felt a definite inclination to turn to the Old Testament. But nothing more specific had yet come to mind. I opened the Bible somewhere around the middle. The very first words my eyes fell upon were these: “...do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God...”
I was awestruck. I tried to reproduce the event, but it was soon obvious that my Bible was not automatically opening to Isaiah 41:10.
The skeptic may call it coincidence. But I am convinced that God was in that event, speaking precisely to my anguish through those words of Scripture. Thanks be to God.
Persh Parker
Billings M0
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Several years ago I was going through a tough time and feeling a great deal of anxiety. Something happened that has been a source of comfort and courage ever since.
I need to say, right up front, that I have never practiced, nor do I agree with, what has sometimes been called “Bible roulette.” This is the technique
of seeking guidance from God by letting the Bible fall open at random, putting your finger on the page, and trying to interpret as a directive from
God the verse thus identified. On the other hand, in my personal devotions I will often select a passage to read as I feel led, or because I feel a need.
I must also say that the Bible I usually use for my devotional reading was, at the time I am referring to, still fairly new. It was not dog-eared from
use, nor did it naturally fall open to any particular passages.
The event is recorded in my journal. But it need not be, for it stands out in my mind with crystal clarity.
I was alone and feeling agitated. There seemed no end to my anxiety. I cried out, “O God, I am so tired
of being afraid!” It wasn’t a formal prayer. It was a cry from the heart.
At that moment I felt an urge, an invitation, a desire to turn to Scripture. As I reached for my Bible, I felt a definite inclination to turn to the Old Testament. But nothing more specific had yet come to mind. I opened the Bible somewhere around the middle. The very first words my eyes fell upon were these: “...do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God...”
I was awestruck. I tried to reproduce the event, but it was soon obvious that my Bible was not automatically opening to Isaiah 41:10.
The skeptic may call it coincidence. But I am convinced that God was in that event, speaking precisely to my anguish through those words of Scripture. Thanks be to God.
Persh Parker
Billings M0
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Several years ago I was going through a tough time and feeling a great deal of anxiety. Something happened that has been a source of comfort and courage ever since.
I need to say, right up front, that I have never practiced, nor do I agree with, what has sometimes been called “Bible roulette.” This is the technique
of seeking guidance from God by letting the Bible fall open at random, putting your finger on the page, and trying to interpret as a directive from
God the verse thus identified. On the other hand, in my personal devotions I will often select a passage to read as I feel led, or because I feel a need.
I must also say that the Bible I usually use for my devotional reading was, at the time I am referring to, still fairly new. It was not dog-eared from
use, nor did it naturally fall open to any particular passages.
The event is recorded in my journal. But it need not be, for it stands out in my mind with crystal clarity.
I was alone and feeling agitated. There seemed no end to my anxiety. I cried out, “O God, I am so tired
of being afraid!” It wasn’t a formal prayer. It was a cry from the heart.
At that moment I felt an urge, an invitation, a desire to turn to Scripture. As I reached for my Bible, I felt a definite inclination to turn to the Old Testament. But nothing more specific had yet come to mind. I opened the Bible somewhere around the middle. The very first words my eyes fell upon were these: “...do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God...”
I was awestruck. I tried to reproduce the event, but it was soon obvious that my Bible was not automatically opening to Isaiah 41:10.
The skeptic may call it coincidence. But I am convinced that God was in that event, speaking precisely to my anguish through those words of Scripture. Thanks be to God.
Persh Parker
Billings M0
Copyright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Grandmother's Advice
Grandmother’s Advice
Week of May 9
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 and frankly went on with my life.
Many 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 bordering on serious depression.
While rummaging in a closet I moved a towel and there was the Bible my grandmother had given me. I felt the hairs standup on the back of my neck.
I took the advice of that gentle lady and I began reading the Bible. A few days later I told my parents about finding the Bible and what grandmother had said when she gave it to me.
“What day did this happen?” my mother asked. After I told her my mother had this curious smile on her face. “That is the anniversary of when your grandmother died.”
I can say the advice my grandmother gave me did a lot more than give me a lift; it has changed my life.
Jim Cooper
Sarasota, Florida
Week of May 9
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 and frankly went on with my life.
Many 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 bordering on serious depression.
While rummaging in a closet I moved a towel and there was the Bible my grandmother had given me. I felt the hairs standup on the back of my neck.
I took the advice of that gentle lady and I began reading the Bible. A few days later I told my parents about finding the Bible and what grandmother had said when she gave it to me.
“What day did this happen?” my mother asked. After I told her my mother had this curious smile on her face. “That is the anniversary of when your grandmother died.”
I can say the advice my grandmother gave me did a lot more than give me a lift; it has changed my life.
Jim Cooper
Sarasota, Florida
Monday, May 3, 2010
Hope Haulers
Week of May 2
I’m a salesman and a part time chaplain to the trucking industry. This is a true story.
Three days after 9//11, 2001 I was on my way to Destin Fl. for the annual convention of the Tennessee Trucking Association where I planned to launch Hope Haulers, a family of services to and through the trucking industry. Upon arrival I wasn’t surprised to find everyone talking about 9/11. When I spoke with the association president he asked me if I would deliver the opening prayer. I said I would.
When I stood up in front of the convention, and I hadn’t planned this, I said, “looking out at your faces I see some of you are wondering what is going on in the world and others of you look worried. I might feel the same way if it wasn’t for my faith and knowing my destiny. I believe God has us all here for a reason and if any of you have uncertainty in your life and are anxious see me before you leave this conference.”
Two hundred and fifty people came up to talk with me over the next three days.
Shortly after returning to Nashville I went to the chapel at the truck stop in Antioch to pick up some tools that I left there before going to Florida and to
talk with Chaplain Doug. A young man came in and started asking the chaplain questions. The nature of the questions told me I should retreat to the chaplain’s quarters and pray for Doug while he talks with the man. I could hear the chaplain making progress when a lady truck driver comes in and interrupts the conversation.
I came out and suggest that the lady and I go next door to the restaurant. She is angry with God and unloads on me. We talk for more than an hour and she calms down. I realize I have to leave and I give her my cell number and head back to the chapel to pickup my tools.
The chapel is empty and I wonder how Doug made out with the young man. As I walk out of the chapel with my tools I notice a truck waiting to pull up to the fuel isle but there is no truck in front of it. The driver is just staring straight ahead.
I yell, “hey trucker you can move up.” No response, the driver stares straight ahead.
I walk over and jump up on his rail. “You ok?”
The driver slowly moves his head and says he is waiting for his wife who is in the restaurant. Then he adds, “I’m a mess.”
I tell him to pull around and park and to meet me in the chapel. I drop my tools in my truck and I spot Doug in the restaurant. He tells me he had a good talk with the young man and has scheduled a follow up tomorrow. Together we go into the chapel and
pray for the man parking his truck.
After a few minutes, he comes into the chapel. “You have something heavy weighing you down?” He nods. I ask, “are you a Christian?”
“Sorta.”
“Did you ever accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
“Sorta.”
“Let’s address sorta. What do you mean by sorta?”
He tells me that he was kicked out of his house when he was 15, moved into the home of a pastor and his wife. He lived in the basement for a few years and that is when he “sorta” heard about the Lord.
.
“I find a good starting point is getting right with the Lord, would you like to do that,” I ask?
“OK, how do I do that?”
“Go for it! Just start praying.”
There is a long silence. He starts to sweat.
I say, “Tracey there is a battle going on right now over you. If it is alright with you I’ll put my hands on you and I’ll pray over your body. Are you comfortable with this?” He says, “Yeah.”
After two minutes of prayer he opens up and there is a stream of confession, repentance and acceptance of Jesus as his Lord and Savior. We all rejoice. He tells us that the gal waiting in his truck is not his wife but his live in girlfriend.
“I need to get right with that. When she came out of the restaurant with our food she wanted to leave. I told her I had to go to the chapel. She said I’ll wait here.” He looks at me and says, “When I saw you go into the chapel I wondered if you were the chaplain. When I saw you come out I hoped you would come over. When you spoke I couldn’t move my head it was like it was frozen.”
Then he says, “I’m an owner operator. I’ve lost my job, I’m behind in my payments and I’m broke, I had a spot all picked out one and half hours up the road where I was going to drive off and end it all. Then you jumped up on my truck.”
Chuck Sonn
Nashville, Tennessee
I’m a salesman and a part time chaplain to the trucking industry. This is a true story.
Three days after 9//11, 2001 I was on my way to Destin Fl. for the annual convention of the Tennessee Trucking Association where I planned to launch Hope Haulers, a family of services to and through the trucking industry. Upon arrival I wasn’t surprised to find everyone talking about 9/11. When I spoke with the association president he asked me if I would deliver the opening prayer. I said I would.
When I stood up in front of the convention, and I hadn’t planned this, I said, “looking out at your faces I see some of you are wondering what is going on in the world and others of you look worried. I might feel the same way if it wasn’t for my faith and knowing my destiny. I believe God has us all here for a reason and if any of you have uncertainty in your life and are anxious see me before you leave this conference.”
Two hundred and fifty people came up to talk with me over the next three days.
Shortly after returning to Nashville I went to the chapel at the truck stop in Antioch to pick up some tools that I left there before going to Florida and to
talk with Chaplain Doug. A young man came in and started asking the chaplain questions. The nature of the questions told me I should retreat to the chaplain’s quarters and pray for Doug while he talks with the man. I could hear the chaplain making progress when a lady truck driver comes in and interrupts the conversation.
I came out and suggest that the lady and I go next door to the restaurant. She is angry with God and unloads on me. We talk for more than an hour and she calms down. I realize I have to leave and I give her my cell number and head back to the chapel to pickup my tools.
The chapel is empty and I wonder how Doug made out with the young man. As I walk out of the chapel with my tools I notice a truck waiting to pull up to the fuel isle but there is no truck in front of it. The driver is just staring straight ahead.
I yell, “hey trucker you can move up.” No response, the driver stares straight ahead.
I walk over and jump up on his rail. “You ok?”
The driver slowly moves his head and says he is waiting for his wife who is in the restaurant. Then he adds, “I’m a mess.”
I tell him to pull around and park and to meet me in the chapel. I drop my tools in my truck and I spot Doug in the restaurant. He tells me he had a good talk with the young man and has scheduled a follow up tomorrow. Together we go into the chapel and
pray for the man parking his truck.
After a few minutes, he comes into the chapel. “You have something heavy weighing you down?” He nods. I ask, “are you a Christian?”
“Sorta.”
“Did you ever accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
“Sorta.”
“Let’s address sorta. What do you mean by sorta?”
He tells me that he was kicked out of his house when he was 15, moved into the home of a pastor and his wife. He lived in the basement for a few years and that is when he “sorta” heard about the Lord.
.
“I find a good starting point is getting right with the Lord, would you like to do that,” I ask?
“OK, how do I do that?”
“Go for it! Just start praying.”
There is a long silence. He starts to sweat.
I say, “Tracey there is a battle going on right now over you. If it is alright with you I’ll put my hands on you and I’ll pray over your body. Are you comfortable with this?” He says, “Yeah.”
After two minutes of prayer he opens up and there is a stream of confession, repentance and acceptance of Jesus as his Lord and Savior. We all rejoice. He tells us that the gal waiting in his truck is not his wife but his live in girlfriend.
“I need to get right with that. When she came out of the restaurant with our food she wanted to leave. I told her I had to go to the chapel. She said I’ll wait here.” He looks at me and says, “When I saw you go into the chapel I wondered if you were the chaplain. When I saw you come out I hoped you would come over. When you spoke I couldn’t move my head it was like it was frozen.”
Then he says, “I’m an owner operator. I’ve lost my job, I’m behind in my payments and I’m broke, I had a spot all picked out one and half hours up the road where I was going to drive off and end it all. Then you jumped up on my truck.”
Chuck Sonn
Nashville, Tennessee