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, May 17, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Helping Mother
I grew up in Bowling Green, Kentucky but have not lived there since 1969. I spent three months with my parents in the summer of 1991, before I returned to Mount St Mary’s Abbey in Wrentham Ma. as a Postulant (from the Latin word for one who seeks/asks).
My parents had been living in their same old Victorian home for 42 years when, in the summer of 2000, my father fell down the stairs. He was 87. It became clear that they had to move out of that house-and the sooner the better.Since neither of my two sisters could do all the necessary things to move my parents they called my superior, Mother Agnes, and told her my help was urgently needed.
During my stay in Bowling Green I attended daily Mass. I didn’t know many people, but several introduced themselves. One man who expressed his understanding that being away from my monastery must be difficult for me, gave me a box of candy made by our monks at Gethsemani -to sweeten my time of exile! It was such a very thoughtful gesture. I suspect I did not convey the depth of my gratitude for this kindness from a person whose name I didn’t know!By mid-February of 2001, my parents were settled in the retirement complex, we had sold their house and I returned to Wrentham. In July I was transferred to our daughter house in Crozet Va. where the sisters in this smaller community were planning a capital campaign to finish the building of the monastery there.
In June of 2002, my mother had a massive heart attack. I made an emergency trip to Bowling Green. We did not expect Mother to survive, but she did. About four months later, Daddy fell and broke his hip. He did fine with the surgery and post-operative care and therapy. Daddy was expected to return home from the nursing home when he died very suddenly. It was a shock. He was 87.
Mother and Daddy were married just four months less than 70 years.I stayed with her for about three weeks and then she visited my sister in Georgia and I returned to the monastery in Crozet
Four months after Mother returned to the retirement complex she fell and broke her hip. She managed the surgery and post-surgery rehabilitation very well. Even so, my sisters and I knew she would need someone with her 24 hours and 7 days a week.
When I came to care for Mother in December 2003, I didn’t know how long I would be needed. We had to approach the needs one day at a time. My sisters were very puzzled about how in the world I would cope with not having a car. I was not terribly concerned. In the monastery I was accustomed to staying at home all the time. I knew I could count on my sisters to visit at least once a month and to help us with grocery shopping if necessary. There were also some resources provided by the staff at the complex, which I felt sure we could manage for doctor appointments and other needs.
On the weekends when my sisters were able to come, I borrowed their cars to go to church. On one such occasion, I took a few moments to speak to the pastor about my situation and to ask for some one to bring communion. He quickly observed “You could really use a car. I’m sure there is someone here who has a car they could lend you.” I had not expected that response, and didn’t pursue it with Fr Jerry.
A few weeks later, my dear friend Joy called for a telephone visit. As is her practice, she concluded our conversation with prayer. She very specifically asked that God would send someone to assist us with a car. I was-as always-impressed with Joy’s confidence in the goodness of God and of other people, an uplifting witness to the loving generosity of our heavenly Father!
The next Monday morning, since my sister was in town, I borrowed her car and went to the daily Mass. At the close of the Mass andwithout any warning Fr Jerry announced to all that “Sr Linda-whom several of you remember-is here taking care of her mother, who is very sick. Sr Linda could really use a car. I know some of you have an extra one that you aren’t using, so if you can help, please let her know.” Then he walked to the back of the church to greet us as we left.
I was completely surprised, utterly unprepared. As I turned to make my way to the door, a man walked up to me and said “I have a car for you. Give me your address and phone number and I’ll have it delivered to you first thing tomorrow morning.” I was stunned. I fumbled for an appropriately HUGE word of gratitude as I wrote out my address and phone number. I remember saying “I don’t even know your name!” He did introduce himself as “John” and promised the car the following morning.
Sure enough, there was a call the next morning-followed shortly by the delivery of a perfect little silver-blue car-easy for Mother to get in and out of with walker and wheelchair. There were no questions asked, no strings or conditions attached, just a request that we let John or his assistant know if we needed anything. Fortunately, I had one of our monastery’s Gouda cheeses in the refrigerator in Mother’s kitchen. I quickly wrapped it, addressed it to John with a thank you note, and asked the driver to return it to John.
As it turned out, we had called Mother’s doctor that morning about a problem she was having, and had to rush her to his office within an hour of the arrival of that car! There have been several occasions on which I have thought, “how would we have managed without this car?”
As I prayed and pondered the goodness of God, the generosity of this person and his obvious goodness, I felt a need to write a thank you letter and describe our situation here a little more.
A few days later, I received a letter from John, thanking me for the letter and inviting me to dinner with him and his wife Chris at their home. I quickly checked with my sisters to see if either would be here for the weekend and able to stay with Mother. With that in place, I called and accepted with delight and some trepidation! After 14 years in the monastery my “going out to dinner experience” had grown rather rusty and dusty! I prepared a small flower arrangement from Mother’s garden to take along, and found myself at their door Saturday night. Warmly welcomed, I was still really tense! What to say! I thought, I can talk about the monastic life. They were both interested and attentive. It turns out they are both Benedictine Oblates of St Meinrad’s Archabbey in Indiana-near where Chris grew up. So! We have the Rule of St Benedict in common!
It was time for dinner. John had baked some wonderful bread and made a delicious Italian sauce and pasta. Chris made a great salad and the best dessert I’ve had in ages.
I still struggled with conversation at table, after 14 years of silent meals. At one point, I brought up the time I had spent in Bowling Green preparing to sell my parents house, and John said, “That’s when I first met you-remember? You were here during Christmas and I thought it must be a hard time to be away from the monastery, and gave you a box of Gethsemani’s bourbon fudge.” NOW I knew who that was!
Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I’m realizing that God is using this whole period of my time here for an incredible array of purposes. Of course, I had no clue about what was coming when Joy prayed for a car, Fr Jerry made the appeal, and John responded-on the spot. I am continually reminded of the many blessings God is pouring out in my life and how poorly I make return for all that God gives me. Please help me say THANK YOU!
Srm Linda, Bowling Green, Kentucky and
Our Lady of Angels Monastery, Crozet, Va.
My parents had been living in their same old Victorian home for 42 years when, in the summer of 2000, my father fell down the stairs. He was 87. It became clear that they had to move out of that house-and the sooner the better.Since neither of my two sisters could do all the necessary things to move my parents they called my superior, Mother Agnes, and told her my help was urgently needed.
During my stay in Bowling Green I attended daily Mass. I didn’t know many people, but several introduced themselves. One man who expressed his understanding that being away from my monastery must be difficult for me, gave me a box of candy made by our monks at Gethsemani -to sweeten my time of exile! It was such a very thoughtful gesture. I suspect I did not convey the depth of my gratitude for this kindness from a person whose name I didn’t know!By mid-February of 2001, my parents were settled in the retirement complex, we had sold their house and I returned to Wrentham. In July I was transferred to our daughter house in Crozet Va. where the sisters in this smaller community were planning a capital campaign to finish the building of the monastery there.
In June of 2002, my mother had a massive heart attack. I made an emergency trip to Bowling Green. We did not expect Mother to survive, but she did. About four months later, Daddy fell and broke his hip. He did fine with the surgery and post-operative care and therapy. Daddy was expected to return home from the nursing home when he died very suddenly. It was a shock. He was 87.
Mother and Daddy were married just four months less than 70 years.I stayed with her for about three weeks and then she visited my sister in Georgia and I returned to the monastery in Crozet
Four months after Mother returned to the retirement complex she fell and broke her hip. She managed the surgery and post-surgery rehabilitation very well. Even so, my sisters and I knew she would need someone with her 24 hours and 7 days a week.
When I came to care for Mother in December 2003, I didn’t know how long I would be needed. We had to approach the needs one day at a time. My sisters were very puzzled about how in the world I would cope with not having a car. I was not terribly concerned. In the monastery I was accustomed to staying at home all the time. I knew I could count on my sisters to visit at least once a month and to help us with grocery shopping if necessary. There were also some resources provided by the staff at the complex, which I felt sure we could manage for doctor appointments and other needs.
On the weekends when my sisters were able to come, I borrowed their cars to go to church. On one such occasion, I took a few moments to speak to the pastor about my situation and to ask for some one to bring communion. He quickly observed “You could really use a car. I’m sure there is someone here who has a car they could lend you.” I had not expected that response, and didn’t pursue it with Fr Jerry.
A few weeks later, my dear friend Joy called for a telephone visit. As is her practice, she concluded our conversation with prayer. She very specifically asked that God would send someone to assist us with a car. I was-as always-impressed with Joy’s confidence in the goodness of God and of other people, an uplifting witness to the loving generosity of our heavenly Father!
The next Monday morning, since my sister was in town, I borrowed her car and went to the daily Mass. At the close of the Mass andwithout any warning Fr Jerry announced to all that “Sr Linda-whom several of you remember-is here taking care of her mother, who is very sick. Sr Linda could really use a car. I know some of you have an extra one that you aren’t using, so if you can help, please let her know.” Then he walked to the back of the church to greet us as we left.
I was completely surprised, utterly unprepared. As I turned to make my way to the door, a man walked up to me and said “I have a car for you. Give me your address and phone number and I’ll have it delivered to you first thing tomorrow morning.” I was stunned. I fumbled for an appropriately HUGE word of gratitude as I wrote out my address and phone number. I remember saying “I don’t even know your name!” He did introduce himself as “John” and promised the car the following morning.
Sure enough, there was a call the next morning-followed shortly by the delivery of a perfect little silver-blue car-easy for Mother to get in and out of with walker and wheelchair. There were no questions asked, no strings or conditions attached, just a request that we let John or his assistant know if we needed anything. Fortunately, I had one of our monastery’s Gouda cheeses in the refrigerator in Mother’s kitchen. I quickly wrapped it, addressed it to John with a thank you note, and asked the driver to return it to John.
As it turned out, we had called Mother’s doctor that morning about a problem she was having, and had to rush her to his office within an hour of the arrival of that car! There have been several occasions on which I have thought, “how would we have managed without this car?”
As I prayed and pondered the goodness of God, the generosity of this person and his obvious goodness, I felt a need to write a thank you letter and describe our situation here a little more.
A few days later, I received a letter from John, thanking me for the letter and inviting me to dinner with him and his wife Chris at their home. I quickly checked with my sisters to see if either would be here for the weekend and able to stay with Mother. With that in place, I called and accepted with delight and some trepidation! After 14 years in the monastery my “going out to dinner experience” had grown rather rusty and dusty! I prepared a small flower arrangement from Mother’s garden to take along, and found myself at their door Saturday night. Warmly welcomed, I was still really tense! What to say! I thought, I can talk about the monastic life. They were both interested and attentive. It turns out they are both Benedictine Oblates of St Meinrad’s Archabbey in Indiana-near where Chris grew up. So! We have the Rule of St Benedict in common!
It was time for dinner. John had baked some wonderful bread and made a delicious Italian sauce and pasta. Chris made a great salad and the best dessert I’ve had in ages.
I still struggled with conversation at table, after 14 years of silent meals. At one point, I brought up the time I had spent in Bowling Green preparing to sell my parents house, and John said, “That’s when I first met you-remember? You were here during Christmas and I thought it must be a hard time to be away from the monastery, and gave you a box of Gethsemani’s bourbon fudge.” NOW I knew who that was!
Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I’m realizing that God is using this whole period of my time here for an incredible array of purposes. Of course, I had no clue about what was coming when Joy prayed for a car, Fr Jerry made the appeal, and John responded-on the spot. I am continually reminded of the many blessings God is pouring out in my life and how poorly I make return for all that God gives me. Please help me say THANK YOU!
Srm Linda, Bowling Green, Kentucky and
Our Lady of Angels Monastery, Crozet, Va.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Sylvia's Fire
The house seemed quieter than usual. Michael, my seventeen year old, had just left in the car 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 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. 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 igniting a phone book left on the ataman. 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
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 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. 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 igniting a phone book left on the ataman. 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
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Family Mystery
It is one of those unexplained things in our family. Grandfather had come from his house on the Rhode Island shore to spend the better part of the week helping dad replace the front porch on our home in the city. On the second day my grandfather announced he had to go home. My dad protested but ‘Papa’ was firm.
Papa didn’t know why, he just knew he had to get back to his wife, who was blind, and their adult daughter. My father reluctantly drove Papa to the bus station.
The next afternoon I stood on the unfinished porch with my dad watching the rain and wind blow by the house. At five and a half years old I was holding onto the porch railing and my dad was holding onto me. Suddenly, without making a sound, a tree in the lot across the street toppled over. It didn’t snap or crack it just blew over and was uprooted. Then another tree fell. My dad had seen enough and took me inside.
Dad gathered our family on the inside wall of the dining room, away from the windows while he stood in the opposite corner by the telephone. He called the fire department to discuss the large elm next to our house. While he was talking, we heard a thump and saw the massive tree fall past the window. A branch grazed the house but the main part of the tree fell harmlessly into our driveway.
We didn’t know it then but we were witnessing the destructive hurricane of 1938 that would claim 682 lives from Long Island, Providence and the Southern New England coastline. There was no radar in those days and there had been no warning of the approaching danger.
For two days after the hurricane my dad tried to reach Papa but the phone lines were down. Finally, on the third day my dad decided to drive. He told us later he didn’t realize how catastrophic this hurricane had been until he approached the ocean. Where there had been a row of homes there was now empty space. The road was obliterated in places by sand and he had to detour around large boats and wharfs left stranded in the middle of the roadway.
He finally arrived in Tiverton only to find that the Old Stone Bridge to Island Park and Portsmouth was gone. He hitched a ride over by boat.
When he reached the island he found everything in shambles. Many of the buildings he was familiar with were gone or reduced to rubble and my dad was disoriented and in shock. There was so much devastation. A metal street sign still in place told him he was at Papa’s road. All the cottages on the street were crushed or gone, except one. There was Papa’s house still standing with minimal damage.
Papa said when he awoke the morning of the storm he saw the ominous clouds, and boarded up his house, including the cellar windows preventing water from flooding the house. Papa, gramdma and my aunt rode out the ferocious storm in that single story house that Papa had built himself before I was born.
What had produced that overwhelming urge for my grandfather to return home? He never tried to explain it. When asked how he knew he had to return home he would just shrug his shoulders.
“Something was telling me I had to go home,” was all that he would say. He just heeded the message. And it is well he did. Like my Papa, today I pay attention to any strong inner messages. I know the source.
“Whoever listens to me will dwell safely, and will be secure without fear of evil.” (Proverbs 1:33)
Jody Estes
Providence, Rhode Island
Papa didn’t know why, he just knew he had to get back to his wife, who was blind, and their adult daughter. My father reluctantly drove Papa to the bus station.
The next afternoon I stood on the unfinished porch with my dad watching the rain and wind blow by the house. At five and a half years old I was holding onto the porch railing and my dad was holding onto me. Suddenly, without making a sound, a tree in the lot across the street toppled over. It didn’t snap or crack it just blew over and was uprooted. Then another tree fell. My dad had seen enough and took me inside.
Dad gathered our family on the inside wall of the dining room, away from the windows while he stood in the opposite corner by the telephone. He called the fire department to discuss the large elm next to our house. While he was talking, we heard a thump and saw the massive tree fall past the window. A branch grazed the house but the main part of the tree fell harmlessly into our driveway.
We didn’t know it then but we were witnessing the destructive hurricane of 1938 that would claim 682 lives from Long Island, Providence and the Southern New England coastline. There was no radar in those days and there had been no warning of the approaching danger.
For two days after the hurricane my dad tried to reach Papa but the phone lines were down. Finally, on the third day my dad decided to drive. He told us later he didn’t realize how catastrophic this hurricane had been until he approached the ocean. Where there had been a row of homes there was now empty space. The road was obliterated in places by sand and he had to detour around large boats and wharfs left stranded in the middle of the roadway.
He finally arrived in Tiverton only to find that the Old Stone Bridge to Island Park and Portsmouth was gone. He hitched a ride over by boat.
When he reached the island he found everything in shambles. Many of the buildings he was familiar with were gone or reduced to rubble and my dad was disoriented and in shock. There was so much devastation. A metal street sign still in place told him he was at Papa’s road. All the cottages on the street were crushed or gone, except one. There was Papa’s house still standing with minimal damage.
Papa said when he awoke the morning of the storm he saw the ominous clouds, and boarded up his house, including the cellar windows preventing water from flooding the house. Papa, gramdma and my aunt rode out the ferocious storm in that single story house that Papa had built himself before I was born.
What had produced that overwhelming urge for my grandfather to return home? He never tried to explain it. When asked how he knew he had to return home he would just shrug his shoulders.
“Something was telling me I had to go home,” was all that he would say. He just heeded the message. And it is well he did. Like my Papa, today I pay attention to any strong inner messages. I know the source.
“Whoever listens to me will dwell safely, and will be secure without fear of evil.” (Proverbs 1:33)
Jody Estes
Providence, Rhode Island
Friday, April 18, 2008
Seeking Employment
I was working as a secretary in a steamship company in New Orleans. I had been there a couple of years but because I had studied to be a legal secretary I was ready to get a job with a law firm. I started to seek God’s guidance to help me find a job where I could utilize my legal training. During lunch hour, I would take my Bible and head behind the office building where there were benches and fountains.
While I was out there I would often see homeless people and panhandlers. There was one man in particular that was there every day. Eventually, he came to me and asked what I was reading and I told him. He asked if I was a Jesus freak and I said yes I am. He said I made him feel uncomfortable when he was trying to ask people for money. I told him I had no condemnation for him, but that I thought he seemed able bodied enough to work. I also shared my desire to work with a law firm.
We became speaking friends and one day he said, “Since you know God so well, why don’t you pray that I get a job.” At that moment I put my hand on his shoulder and started praying out loud. “Not here, not now,” he protested but I just kept praying. That was on a Thursday. On Monday he came running up to me at lunch. He was clean and groomed and I hardly recognized him. An attorney who he had been asking for money had hired him.
I was happy for him but I was jealous. I said (silently of course) God, I am the one who wanted a job with a law firm, have you mixed things up here or what? I was sure God knew what he was doing and I thanked him for giving this man a job.
About a week later, the man came to me and said, “I have an interview for you at the law firm. The senior partner needs a secretary.” I thought this would take an act of faith for me to go on an interview at the recommendation of this man. Were they just humoring him? Those thoughts vanished immediately because I knew no matter what; I would do nothing to cause this man to waiver in his belief in answered prayers. I was not going to let pride prevent me from going and thereby show a lack of faith.
I thanked God for the opportunity, went on the interview and I was hired on the spot. The attorneys still tell people that the best employment recommendation they ever had was from a homeless man. I quickly remind them that God alone was the employment agency. God will answer your prayer when you step out in faith. God also has a wonderful sense of humor.
Carolyn Bourgeois
New Orleans, LA.
While I was out there I would often see homeless people and panhandlers. There was one man in particular that was there every day. Eventually, he came to me and asked what I was reading and I told him. He asked if I was a Jesus freak and I said yes I am. He said I made him feel uncomfortable when he was trying to ask people for money. I told him I had no condemnation for him, but that I thought he seemed able bodied enough to work. I also shared my desire to work with a law firm.
We became speaking friends and one day he said, “Since you know God so well, why don’t you pray that I get a job.” At that moment I put my hand on his shoulder and started praying out loud. “Not here, not now,” he protested but I just kept praying. That was on a Thursday. On Monday he came running up to me at lunch. He was clean and groomed and I hardly recognized him. An attorney who he had been asking for money had hired him.
I was happy for him but I was jealous. I said (silently of course) God, I am the one who wanted a job with a law firm, have you mixed things up here or what? I was sure God knew what he was doing and I thanked him for giving this man a job.
About a week later, the man came to me and said, “I have an interview for you at the law firm. The senior partner needs a secretary.” I thought this would take an act of faith for me to go on an interview at the recommendation of this man. Were they just humoring him? Those thoughts vanished immediately because I knew no matter what; I would do nothing to cause this man to waiver in his belief in answered prayers. I was not going to let pride prevent me from going and thereby show a lack of faith.
I thanked God for the opportunity, went on the interview and I was hired on the spot. The attorneys still tell people that the best employment recommendation they ever had was from a homeless man. I quickly remind them that God alone was the employment agency. God will answer your prayer when you step out in faith. God also has a wonderful sense of humor.
Carolyn Bourgeois
New Orleans, LA.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Comforting Revelations
The first anniversary of my son Steven’s death was approaching. I wanted to be far away from anything familiar so I booked a trip to Tahiti with a co-worker.
On The morning (September 1) I told my friend that I needed to be alone for awhile and I was going for a walk on the beach. As I was leaving our hut, almost as an after thought, I grabbed my camera.
At the beach I sat very still and looked out at the water for sometime. I noticed out of the corner of my eye a figure on horseback riding in shallow water. As the horse drew nearer I could see the rider was a young man, bare to the waist with long blond hair. I felt myself stiffen, fully alert.
When he was right in front of me the young man turned his head in my direction, smiled and nodded. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. He was the image of Steven. Even in my stunned state, I slowly reached for my camera and took a picture. A beautiful calmness came over me. I remember thinking, no matter how far you go to avoid reality, it will follow you.
When I returned to the hut my friend asked if I was ok. I related what happened on the beach and I stated that I was fine, “but if when I get home and develop the pictures and there is nothing there I am really going to freak out.” The picture did come out and anyone I show it to says, “that’s Steven.”
A few years after this episode, I felt it was time to visit Vermont where Steven has died. I only had the name of the town and the name Terrible Mountain. A friend insisted on driving me. As we approached the town we came around a curve and I asked my friend to stop so I could ask a man raking leaves if he knew where the place was. He pointed to a road opposite to where we were stopped.
I walked alone around the place where the house had burned. I looked at the magnificent view my 18-year-old son had seen and I felt at peace.
Back in the car, I asked my friend to please turn on the radio as we drove down the mountain. The first song was The Beatles, “Let it be.” The next song was the Grateful Dead’s “Ripples in Still Waters.” Both songs were sung at Steven’s memorial service.
I am truly grateful to have experienced these miracles which have brought me comfort and helped me face many of life’s struggles.
Margaret (Peg) Salter
New Port Richey, Fl.
On The morning (September 1) I told my friend that I needed to be alone for awhile and I was going for a walk on the beach. As I was leaving our hut, almost as an after thought, I grabbed my camera.
At the beach I sat very still and looked out at the water for sometime. I noticed out of the corner of my eye a figure on horseback riding in shallow water. As the horse drew nearer I could see the rider was a young man, bare to the waist with long blond hair. I felt myself stiffen, fully alert.
When he was right in front of me the young man turned his head in my direction, smiled and nodded. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. He was the image of Steven. Even in my stunned state, I slowly reached for my camera and took a picture. A beautiful calmness came over me. I remember thinking, no matter how far you go to avoid reality, it will follow you.
When I returned to the hut my friend asked if I was ok. I related what happened on the beach and I stated that I was fine, “but if when I get home and develop the pictures and there is nothing there I am really going to freak out.” The picture did come out and anyone I show it to says, “that’s Steven.”
A few years after this episode, I felt it was time to visit Vermont where Steven has died. I only had the name of the town and the name Terrible Mountain. A friend insisted on driving me. As we approached the town we came around a curve and I asked my friend to stop so I could ask a man raking leaves if he knew where the place was. He pointed to a road opposite to where we were stopped.
I walked alone around the place where the house had burned. I looked at the magnificent view my 18-year-old son had seen and I felt at peace.
Back in the car, I asked my friend to please turn on the radio as we drove down the mountain. The first song was The Beatles, “Let it be.” The next song was the Grateful Dead’s “Ripples in Still Waters.” Both songs were sung at Steven’s memorial service.
I am truly grateful to have experienced these miracles which have brought me comfort and helped me face many of life’s struggles.
Margaret (Peg) Salter
New Port Richey, Fl.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
A Miracle for Dad
On 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.
I 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 her 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 while talking to her comatose dad, there was such a strong reaction on the monitoring machine that the nurses came in the room. The second time it happened the nurses asked Colleen 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 radio station the first thing she heard was, “Behold the Lamb of God.”
Jack Reilly
Tucson, Arizona (as told by his daughter)
I 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 her 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 while talking to her comatose dad, there was such a strong reaction on the monitoring machine that the nurses came in the room. The second time it happened the nurses asked Colleen 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 radio station the first thing she heard was, “Behold the Lamb of God.”
Jack Reilly
Tucson, Arizona (as told by his daughter)
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