Week of April 30
In 1946, I was stationed in the Aleutian Islands as a chaplain for the United States Air Force. Our particular island , Shemya, was shaped like an oyster and was just large enough to have one important airstrip.
One night a tremendous earthquake broke open the deep water of the Bay of Alaska and sent tons of surge water ( a tsunami) toward our island. The high flood water, much higher than our island, was to hit us at about 3 a.m.
We had 3,600 men on the island, but only one surface craft for about 200. The idea of evacuation was abandoned.
Hundreds of men and officers gathered in the chapel on the high side of the island. Our highest elevation was about 18 feet and we were warned to expect about forty feet. Every light was on in the chapel. We had both large and small prayer services and the men periodically sang songs of all faiths and wrote letters. Many men sat alone thinking of their families and what the impending death by drowning would be like.At about 4 a.m. the wave came. There was a strong gush of wind and high water, but nothing like the predicted 40 feet. The island of Adak, lying 400 miles to the east broke the wave in two, with one half going into the Bearing Sea and the other toward Hawaii.
We were spared. Lots of water (ranging from15 to 18 feet) and a lot of mopping up, but there were no casualties. Not a single life was lost. The water came as far as the Chapel steps. Our faith had been lifted by total trust and dependence on God, and he came to our rescue.
Lionel W. Nelson, USAF retired
Sunny Side Village, Sarasota
“Copyright©2003, Sarasota Herald-Tribune.Reprinted with express permission of the Sarasota-Herald Tribune.”
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
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Pizza Hut Providence
Spiritually charged yet physically depleted, I was running on adrenaline as I steered the oversized van into the parking lot of a South Carolina Pizza Hut.
My youth group and I were several hours into our drive home to Southeast Florida following an incredible week of Summer Camp with more than 700 other students from church youth groups throughout the United States.
The kids had said their goodbyes to new friends, exchanging numbers and promising to stay in touch after spending six action-packed days and nights together. It was a week filled with inspiring worship and innovative biblical teaching, wacky relays, a rousing camp talent show and a funky 70’s costume contest.
Several of my students made life-changing spiritual decisions and all of us felt a closer connection with our heavenly Dad.
The theme for the week was Servant hood—allowing God to minister to others through us.
I planned our meal stop after the lunch rush so we could get in and out and back on the road as quickly as possible. As my jovial, chattering students filed into the restaurant, we barely noticed the tables cluttered with half empty red plastic cups, crumpled napkins and crusty dishes. Focused on exuberantly sharing their camp experiences with each other while keeping an eye on the restroom lines, the kids seemed totally unaware of their surroundings. Soon we realized we were the only ones in the room.
Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty; the restroom lines were gone and the chatter had finally died down long enough for us to realize we had not seen a server or even been offered menus.
Soon I saw a pregnant young woman emerge from the kitchen and briefly stop behind the counter near the cash register. Being careful not to cast a glance our way, she disappeared back into the kitchen without a word. By this time thirty-five minutes had passed and the kids were hungry and cranky. I was frustrated and antsy to get back on the road. By the time she appeared again, we had logged forty-five minutes at our stop, and still had no menus.
I approached the counter intending to complain, but in that moment God helped me to see the situation through his eyes. I felt my frustration melt away. No longer did I see a dirty restaurant with lazy employees ignoring a dining room filled with restless students and their anxious leader.
Instead I saw an overwhelmed expectant mother, not much older than the students in my group, tired and alone and dying to prop up her swollen feet.
Instead of explaining the rush we were in and asking why she was not taking care of us, I heard myself asking if she had a damp cloth I could use.
Without a word I started going table to table gathering dirty silverware, stacking plates and plastic cups and delivering them to the counter. One by one I noticed my students slowly and quietly beginning to follow suit. Once the dishes were cleared I washed the table tops with the cloth she had given me. This continued until every table in the place was clean.
As they worked, the mood began to transition from impatient exasperation to compassionate assistance. Each student’s silent service was an act of pure worship that filled our hearts with humility and gratitude, and I believe it made God smile.
The meal we received from that South Carolina Pizza Hut brought with it the realization that God had given us the perfect setting to flesh out the very lesson we had just learned at camp.
What an amazing gift!
Julie Smith Searer
North Port
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Sylvia's Fire
Week of April 15
The house seemed quieter than usual. Michael, my seventeen year old, had just left for the store to return some soda cans and my mother, who lives with us, was away visiting my sister.
It was “Maddy” and I relaxing in the living room in the glow of the candlelight. “Maddy,” our miniature Schnauzer, was sprawled on the rug where he usually is when I’m in the room. I had no clue how this tranquil evening was about to change.
It was about nine on a work night so I decided to take my shower and get ready for bed.I normally take long showers but on this night I cut it short. I don’t know why but it is a good thing I did. As soon as I turned off the shower I heard the smoke alarms screaming and the dog scratching frantically at the bathroom door. I put on a pair of slacks, grabbed a towel and without thinking flung open the bathroom door. A thick wall of black smoke rushed in and I instinctively gasped—mistake. I choked, fell backward s and fainted.
I don’t know what happened in the next minute or so. My first recollection is I’m standing outside, still wrapped in a towel staring at my house that is completely engulfed in flames. Maddy is with me barking frantically but I have no idea how either of us escaped that overpowering smoke. I rushed to my neighbor’s house and Marcel took one look at the inferno behind me and called 911.
Michael had just left the store when he heard the sirens of the fire trucks. He pulled his car over to let the fire engines pass and as is his habit he raised his hand and offered a little prayer for those in distress. Little did he know that he was praying for his mother and his own house?
When the fireman arrived it seemed half the town was right behind them. The fire fighters did everything they could but the house was too far-gone. I never saw anything burn so quickly. Like many New England homes built in the 19th century the walls had been stuffed with newspapers and hay to provide insulation. Our old colonial went up like a tinderbox. All we could do was stand helplessly and watch our home burn.
A school friend of Mike’s pointed out an eerie sight. Framed in the window of an upstairs bedroom was the velvet portrait of Jesus hanging on the wall over Michael’s bed and illuminated by the flickering flames below.
We learned latter that the fire was started probably when the dog knocked over a candle on a table by the window that fell igniting a phone book left on the ottoman. The window curtain caught on fire and the flames literally raced through the walls.
The next day, after spending a short night at my friend’s house, Michael and I returned to the ruins. There was only one wall standing. We found only two things not completely destroyed by the fire. One was a blanket my mother had crocheted although it reeked of smoke. The other was the framed portrait of Jesus that was still hanging on the one remaining wall.
When we took the portrait down there was no evidence of the fire. It didn’t even have a smoky smell to it. How do you explain that?
Sylvia Jarvis
Sturbridge, Massachusetts
The house seemed quieter than usual. Michael, my seventeen year old, had just left for the store to return some soda cans and my mother, who lives with us, was away visiting my sister.
It was “Maddy” and I relaxing in the living room in the glow of the candlelight. “Maddy,” our miniature Schnauzer, was sprawled on the rug where he usually is when I’m in the room. I had no clue how this tranquil evening was about to change.
It was about nine on a work night so I decided to take my shower and get ready for bed.I normally take long showers but on this night I cut it short. I don’t know why but it is a good thing I did. As soon as I turned off the shower I heard the smoke alarms screaming and the dog scratching frantically at the bathroom door. I put on a pair of slacks, grabbed a towel and without thinking flung open the bathroom door. A thick wall of black smoke rushed in and I instinctively gasped—mistake. I choked, fell backward s and fainted.
I don’t know what happened in the next minute or so. My first recollection is I’m standing outside, still wrapped in a towel staring at my house that is completely engulfed in flames. Maddy is with me barking frantically but I have no idea how either of us escaped that overpowering smoke. I rushed to my neighbor’s house and Marcel took one look at the inferno behind me and called 911.
Michael had just left the store when he heard the sirens of the fire trucks. He pulled his car over to let the fire engines pass and as is his habit he raised his hand and offered a little prayer for those in distress. Little did he know that he was praying for his mother and his own house?
When the fireman arrived it seemed half the town was right behind them. The fire fighters did everything they could but the house was too far-gone. I never saw anything burn so quickly. Like many New England homes built in the 19th century the walls had been stuffed with newspapers and hay to provide insulation. Our old colonial went up like a tinderbox. All we could do was stand helplessly and watch our home burn.
A school friend of Mike’s pointed out an eerie sight. Framed in the window of an upstairs bedroom was the velvet portrait of Jesus hanging on the wall over Michael’s bed and illuminated by the flickering flames below.
We learned latter that the fire was started probably when the dog knocked over a candle on a table by the window that fell igniting a phone book left on the ottoman. The window curtain caught on fire and the flames literally raced through the walls.
The next day, after spending a short night at my friend’s house, Michael and I returned to the ruins. There was only one wall standing. We found only two things not completely destroyed by the fire. One was a blanket my mother had crocheted although it reeked of smoke. The other was the framed portrait of Jesus that was still hanging on the one remaining wall.
When we took the portrait down there was no evidence of the fire. It didn’t even have a smoky smell to it. How do you explain that?
Sylvia Jarvis
Sturbridge, Massachusetts
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Sherry's Angel
Week of April 8
On a Monday at Noon on my lunch hour, I had an appointment to see a doctor at the hospital. I was bleeding and worried. All alone and trying to be strong, I ventured to the hospital and before I entered I picked up my bible that I always carry in the car and read a scripture.
Upon walking to the hospital I heard God say to me,"Go speak to that man, He is an Angel."
I looked up and saw a man sitting in a wheelchair. His arm was propped up in a brace, and his leg was emaciated but stabilized with a series of halos around it. A I approached him.
His kind eyes looked into my soul, and they took me backwards as he really saw into me. I said hello and he replied hello. I asked if he would walk again and he said yes. Then I asked if he knew that JESUS could heal him. He enthusiastically said YES as if letting me know that I understood and was good to point that out. So I said my name is Sherry while reaching out to shake his hand, to which he paused and shook my hand and said, "I'm Angel." I said really? Yes he said.
Then I went upstairs to my doctor and learned all would be OK. When I was walking out I noticed Angel was still there. I went back and let him know that God told me to talk to him, and that he was an Angel. All he said was, "oh," yet never denied it. Then curiosity got me and I asked how this (his injuries) happened, to which he responded, "an accident." Well I said nice to meet you and God bless you Angel.
The footnote to this story is years later I was meeting with the Hospital Administrator on business and told him the story. He said it was peculiar, as the entrance where he sat was an outpatient entrance, and they never let anyone sit there for long. He had been there for over a half hour.
Sherry Sargent
Batavia,Ohio
On a Monday at Noon on my lunch hour, I had an appointment to see a doctor at the hospital. I was bleeding and worried. All alone and trying to be strong, I ventured to the hospital and before I entered I picked up my bible that I always carry in the car and read a scripture.
Upon walking to the hospital I heard God say to me,"Go speak to that man, He is an Angel."
I looked up and saw a man sitting in a wheelchair. His arm was propped up in a brace, and his leg was emaciated but stabilized with a series of halos around it. A I approached him.
His kind eyes looked into my soul, and they took me backwards as he really saw into me. I said hello and he replied hello. I asked if he would walk again and he said yes. Then I asked if he knew that JESUS could heal him. He enthusiastically said YES as if letting me know that I understood and was good to point that out. So I said my name is Sherry while reaching out to shake his hand, to which he paused and shook my hand and said, "I'm Angel." I said really? Yes he said.
Then I went upstairs to my doctor and learned all would be OK. When I was walking out I noticed Angel was still there. I went back and let him know that God told me to talk to him, and that he was an Angel. All he said was, "oh," yet never denied it. Then curiosity got me and I asked how this (his injuries) happened, to which he responded, "an accident." Well I said nice to meet you and God bless you Angel.
The footnote to this story is years later I was meeting with the Hospital Administrator on business and told him the story. He said it was peculiar, as the entrance where he sat was an outpatient entrance, and they never let anyone sit there for long. He had been there for over a half hour.
Sherry Sargent
Batavia,Ohio
Monday, April 2, 2012
Jack's Easter Miracle
Week of April 2
Good Friday Jack was working out at the gym, as he often did. Without warning he collapsed on a weight machine and slid to the floor. A cardiac nurse happened to be working out nearby. She normally would not have been at the gym at that hour but a schedule change at work allowed her to be a the gym. She had the presence to remove vomit from Jack’s mouth which cleared his air passage. Jack, unconscious but breathing on his own, was rushed to a nearby hospital.
In the emergency room Jack remained unconscious, a couple of times the doctors lost a pulse. He remained in a coma. The doctor told his wife that a cat scan showed no activity…if he regained consciousness he probably would be a vegetable. Jack’s youngest daughter, Colleen, a high school student, told her mom not to believe the doctor.
“Our God is bigger than that,” she said. Later after the rest of the family arrived, Colleen found her way to the Chapel. She was alone. She prayed for God’s healing power. She said she clearly heard a voice in her head say, “I will restore those (brain) cells Sunday to glorify my son’s resurrection.”
When she reported this revelation to her family she was met with skepticism, heads shaking in disbelief, and eyes rolling. The next day Jack was still in a
comma and on life support. Twice Colleen, in talking to her dad, got such a strong reaction on the monitoring machine that the nurses came in the room. The second time Colleen was asked to leave the hospital room. She insisted her dad was going to be ok. “You don’t know my God or my dad,” she told the nurses as she left.
The next day, Easter morning, there was a banging at her bedroom door. It was her little brother reporting that “Dad woke up.”
An excited Colleen, while driving to the hospital stopped at every convenience store she passed to exclaim “Behold the Lamb of God, my dad is healed.” She arrived at the hospital to find her dad sitting up and being his old feisty self.
When Colleen returned home that day and turned on her favorite Christian station the first thing she heard was “Behold the Lamb of God.”
Jack Reilly
Tucson, Arizona (as told by his daughter)
Good Friday Jack was working out at the gym, as he often did. Without warning he collapsed on a weight machine and slid to the floor. A cardiac nurse happened to be working out nearby. She normally would not have been at the gym at that hour but a schedule change at work allowed her to be a the gym. She had the presence to remove vomit from Jack’s mouth which cleared his air passage. Jack, unconscious but breathing on his own, was rushed to a nearby hospital.
In the emergency room Jack remained unconscious, a couple of times the doctors lost a pulse. He remained in a coma. The doctor told his wife that a cat scan showed no activity…if he regained consciousness he probably would be a vegetable. Jack’s youngest daughter, Colleen, a high school student, told her mom not to believe the doctor.
“Our God is bigger than that,” she said. Later after the rest of the family arrived, Colleen found her way to the Chapel. She was alone. She prayed for God’s healing power. She said she clearly heard a voice in her head say, “I will restore those (brain) cells Sunday to glorify my son’s resurrection.”
When she reported this revelation to her family she was met with skepticism, heads shaking in disbelief, and eyes rolling. The next day Jack was still in a
comma and on life support. Twice Colleen, in talking to her dad, got such a strong reaction on the monitoring machine that the nurses came in the room. The second time Colleen was asked to leave the hospital room. She insisted her dad was going to be ok. “You don’t know my God or my dad,” she told the nurses as she left.
The next day, Easter morning, there was a banging at her bedroom door. It was her little brother reporting that “Dad woke up.”
An excited Colleen, while driving to the hospital stopped at every convenience store she passed to exclaim “Behold the Lamb of God, my dad is healed.” She arrived at the hospital to find her dad sitting up and being his old feisty self.
When Colleen returned home that day and turned on her favorite Christian station the first thing she heard was “Behold the Lamb of God.”
Jack Reilly
Tucson, Arizona (as told by his daughter)