This is incredible

Week of January25, 2014

 

Brace Yourself

We are driving home from lunch after church in a driving rain, As usual I’m sitting in the back seat of our van beside our six-month old baby, Rachel. She is strapped in her rear facing car seat and is having a serious crying episode.

After several minutes of trying to comfort her, I realize that she has a very soiled diaper. No wonder she is screaming. I said to my husband, Bob, who is driving, “Brace Yourself, I’m taking her out of her car seat for a minute to change her diaper.”

I place  her on the carpeted floor and change her diaper and remove her stained pants. I think I was still leaning over tying the dirty items in a publix plastic bag when I hear Bob yell, “WATCH Out!”

Our van is T-boned, hit right in the back seat drivers side door. The impact busts out the window beside me and sends our van spinning in the middle of the intersection (Bahia Vista and McIntosh. Rd.)

“Oh my God,” we are in a wreck and Rachael is not in her car seat. Glass is raining over both of us. All I see is little Rachael in mid-air seemingly suspended there for a moment, her bright blue eyes looking right into mine. And then wooosh…she sails out the window…floating like a frizbee through the rain…across that intersection landing in a puddle, on her bottom, screaming and crying.

I am screaming, “my baby, my baby.” My sweet Bob, who doesn’t know Rachael has been ejected, turns around to see about us only to find me stuck in my seat  yelling and pointing across the road screaming, “Go get her, please. Go get her.”

A kind man in a light blue sweater, who sees the accident, gets out of his car to help. He cautions about  not picking her up. Try telling  a daddy he can’t pick up his crying  baby who has been thrown 30 feet through the air, landing in a puddle  inches from the metal base of  a utility pole.

Bob says he knew she was “whole” when he put his hands under her to lift her into his arms. The kind man in the blue sweater, holds a  poncho from sea world over Bob and baby and walks them back as I crawl over the front seat and out of the van.

The ambulance arrives with the EMT’s who see our baby  bleeding from the mouth, strap her on a back board and take us all to Sarasota Memorial Hospital. Several tests are made while we wait three hours for the storm to pass so that Bay Flight can air lift her to All Children’s Hospital in St. Petersburg.  Only patient and flight crew can go in the helicopter so our pastors drive us to St. Pete.

There are four days of MRI’s, ct scans and other tests. Everyone is amazed there are no broken bones, internal hemoraging. The bleeding from her mouth turned out to be a small glass cut. Doctors and specialist kept coming in and out of Rachel’s room, all amazed and totally not accepting that she is really ok. They all keep telling us that when someone is thrown from a spinning vehicle the ending is always sad, severe injury or death.

Yes, finally everyone agrees. This is a miracle.

Bob and I are so thankful that our baby was not seriously injured and following checkups have confirmed she is 100% fine. She truly was touched by an angel. When we share her story people can not help themselves from wanting to touch her.

She is now eight-years-old and we look at every day as a true gift. Thank you for reading Rachel’s story and pass it on. Choose to live your life today to the fullest. Brace yourself and live today with passion.

Dundie Crisp                                                                  The Paddocks, Sarasota                                                                  

Paul, Bob and God

 

 

Week of January 19, 2014

 

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 practices.

 

Then the unthinkable happened. My male friend committed suicide. I found his body slumped over in his car still in his garage. 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 made a wonderful bed for me out of the couches in her living room, made 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 we talked about our deceased friend 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. 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 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.”

 

After a while, Paul and “Bob” went off to bed.  When the house was quiet I started 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.

 

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 Salter

West Hartford, Connecticut

Chance Meetings?

 Week of January 12, 2014

 The beginning of the year is a good time to look ahead and to make some changes. In my case I decided that twelve years working in the same piano store in Poughkeepsie, New York was long enough

 

 I had gone about as far as I could go working in this family-owned store. Besides, twelve years of upstate New York winters was enough. It was time to move to Florida. When I informed Jon Vincitore, the owner of the store, he urged me to stay one more year. I agreed to stay until the fall.

 

In the spring I attended a national conference and met the owners of a piano store in Sarasota, Florida. They invited me down to Florida for an interview. I told a regular customer and former employee of the Poughkeepsie store, John DelVecchio, that I was going to Sarasota.

 

“Maybe you’ll bump into my cousin, Ray White. He can play the drum, guitar and he can sing. You’ll like him. He is doing construction right now somewhere in the Sarasota/Bradenton/Venice area.”

 

“Do you have a number I can call or an address?”   He had neither.

 

In July I flew to Sarasota for my interview with the principles of O’Lynn Callahan Piano and Organ at

 

the Corner of Bee Ridge and Tamiami Trail. The interview went well and I followed them to look at their new store in Venice, a twenty minute drive south. Before the morning was over we agreed I would manage their Venice store in the fall.

 

On the way back up Route 41 I was driving through Osprey when I saw a sign “Condo for Rent.” I stopped and within an hour I had made a deposit on it. I now had a job and a place to stay when I returned. I had accomplished in a half day what I thought would take me several days. Now it was time to look around.

 

I drove into Sarasota Square Mall. Walking through that mall I ran across a piano/organ store with several young men taking turns playing an organ set up in front of the store. As I lingered to watch a little guy walked up to me and asked, “Can I help you?”

 

“Oh,” I said, “ I’m just looking around. I just flew down from Poughkeepsie, N.Y. for an interview,”

 

“Poughkeepsie Huh?   Do you happen to know John DelVecchio?” he asked.

 

“RAY?  RAY WHITE?”

 

 

 

I don’t know who was more surprised, Ray. or me.  Turns out he had left construction recently and that

 

this was his second day at this store. While neither of us was particularly religious at that point we both agreed our meeting this way, “Must be a God thing.” I still get goose bumps up and down my arms when I recall that moment.

 

Before moving to Florida I set out to say goodbye to family and special friends living in New York and New England. However, saying goodbye to Uncle Dennis was going to be a challenge. No one knew exactly where he was living, somewhere in the Berkshires was what I was told.

 

One day while driving the Mass Pike to return to Poughkeepsie I intentionally pulled off at the Lee/ Barrington exit for the Berkshires to see if I could find a phone book and locate Uncle Dennis. Besides I was hungry and wanted something to eat. Coming off the exit there is a town to the left and one to the right. It didn’t seem to matter which way I went but something made me feel I should go right. I drove passed several fast food drive-ins that I normally would have driven into and continued down main street to the end of the business district. There at the end was a diner with a single parking space open right in front.

 

 

As I walked up the steps to the entrance I saw there was one man sitting at the counter. The back of his head looked familiar. Could it be? It was him! I slipped in and sat beside the man at the counter and said casually, “Hello Dennis.”

 

 He told me he lived in the town to the left of the exit but he often came to this diner. He especially liked the pies here. If I had tried to look him up in the phonebook I would not have found him. He didn’t have a phone.  I had a nice visit with Dennis that day and actually returned two weeks later to his home where I presented him with a guitar that I knew he wanted.

 

Ray White and I became partners in a band and played together for several years in Florida. We also both became Christians and Ray is now a worship pastor at a church and goes on frequent missions trips to Africa.   I play regularly at worship services for a church and I have also started my own company Worship Media Solutions helping churches with their sound and video needs.

 

As busy as I am, I try to stay attentive to any unexplained prodding or feelings. For example, the other day I left my house to get a haircut when I felt a strong urge to stop at the Living Word Book Store and see Jesse Ramos. So I drove out of my way to the bookstore. In the parking lot I passed a woman walking to her car. I felt I should speak to her but I didn’t know what to say and being basically shy I walked by as she stopped and opened the trunk of a car. As I walked into the store there was Jesse at the counter holding my calling card in his hand and waving his arm at me.

 

“Hey Rick, what timing. There was a gal in here whose church needs your services. She just left.”

 

“She’s there putting something in her trunk,” I said.

 

He looked out the store window, “Yeah that’s her how did you know?”

 

How did I know? How do I explain my bumping into Ray White out of the thousands of people who live and work in Sarasota County? What directed me to that diner in the Berkshires that afternoon I found Uncle Dennis? Why did needing to see Jesse Ramos come to my mind when I started off for a haircut?

 

Were these all chance meetings? I don’t think so, not for a minute.

 

Rick Furrow

Formerly Poughkeepsie, New York

now Sarasota, Florida

God and a Raggedy Ann Doll

Week of January 5, 2014

 

One morning before leaving for high school, God put it on my heart that 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 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