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 two 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
Charlotte, N.C.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
Give Me A Sign
“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, so I said yes.
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.”
“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
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, so I said yes.
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.”
“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
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Led by the Spirit
Some people think I'm a stodgy, cranky, Yankee. Well, they are right-but that's how God restored me. I wasn't always so conservative.
I spent the sixties and seventies searching through drugs, radical politics, rebellion and anger. I spent my adolescence as a ski-bum, working on a riverboat and looking for extremes. I rode motorcycles and did every reckless thing to excess. I believed that life was just an existential malaise of meaningless, random events and if there was no reason to life, I thought I would at least make it exciting.
I fought the system, institutions and all the things my generation rejected. I joined the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) and I was tear gassed more than once. I tried a lot of things to fill that God-shaped vacuum at my center, but nothing fit. Atheism was my religion. Nothing meant anything in light of death.
Then things I couldn't explain began to happen. I bought a Bible and actually began reading it. God was laying the groundwork.
When I decided to get married, I chose the church to which my family had belonged for centuries- First Church of Christ, Wethersfield. In order to be married there my fiancée and I had to join. The church preaches the Word of God in the Spirit.
My fiancée's relatives, who are from a long line of Christian evangelists in China, were praying for me. So were the faithful at First Church. I believe these prayers prompted God to save me.
The Holy Spirit began to move. It was as though the Bible had been written solely for me. Every time I opened it, the passage I read spoke directly to my needs. Every church bulletin, letter or post card from church seemed to minister to me as though I was the only person for whom it had been written. Sermons seemed prepared just for me as did the worship. And I saw the Holy Spirit in people's faces at church events. Jesus was everywhere.
One night I even had a dream that one of the pastors at the church told me "you will receive a message from your shoe." My cat awakened me, I got up, and went about dressing quietly. I remembered the dream and looked down at my shoes but there was no message. I did notice my suit was wrinkled and changed into another, which was a different color than the first one. Now I had to change my shoe to match my suit. As I was leaving the house I noticed a sticky note stuck to the heel of my shoe. On the sticky note was a Bible verse. " I am the Vine, you are the branches, abide with me."
I've been to the peaks and struggled with valleys. I've had doubts and downs and faith and ups. God is slowly and I must say, painfully at times, remaking me in His Son’s image.
I know God is at work in me, both to will and to work for His good pleasure. He is crucifying my fleshly ways, as I learn to be led by the Spirit.
I am confident of this, "that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1:6 NIV)
Jesus Christ saved me from myself. Praise God.
Leigh Standish
Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Copywright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
I spent the sixties and seventies searching through drugs, radical politics, rebellion and anger. I spent my adolescence as a ski-bum, working on a riverboat and looking for extremes. I rode motorcycles and did every reckless thing to excess. I believed that life was just an existential malaise of meaningless, random events and if there was no reason to life, I thought I would at least make it exciting.
I fought the system, institutions and all the things my generation rejected. I joined the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) and I was tear gassed more than once. I tried a lot of things to fill that God-shaped vacuum at my center, but nothing fit. Atheism was my religion. Nothing meant anything in light of death.
Then things I couldn't explain began to happen. I bought a Bible and actually began reading it. God was laying the groundwork.
When I decided to get married, I chose the church to which my family had belonged for centuries- First Church of Christ, Wethersfield. In order to be married there my fiancée and I had to join. The church preaches the Word of God in the Spirit.
My fiancée's relatives, who are from a long line of Christian evangelists in China, were praying for me. So were the faithful at First Church. I believe these prayers prompted God to save me.
The Holy Spirit began to move. It was as though the Bible had been written solely for me. Every time I opened it, the passage I read spoke directly to my needs. Every church bulletin, letter or post card from church seemed to minister to me as though I was the only person for whom it had been written. Sermons seemed prepared just for me as did the worship. And I saw the Holy Spirit in people's faces at church events. Jesus was everywhere.
One night I even had a dream that one of the pastors at the church told me "you will receive a message from your shoe." My cat awakened me, I got up, and went about dressing quietly. I remembered the dream and looked down at my shoes but there was no message. I did notice my suit was wrinkled and changed into another, which was a different color than the first one. Now I had to change my shoe to match my suit. As I was leaving the house I noticed a sticky note stuck to the heel of my shoe. On the sticky note was a Bible verse. " I am the Vine, you are the branches, abide with me."
I've been to the peaks and struggled with valleys. I've had doubts and downs and faith and ups. God is slowly and I must say, painfully at times, remaking me in His Son’s image.
I know God is at work in me, both to will and to work for His good pleasure. He is crucifying my fleshly ways, as I learn to be led by the Spirit.
I am confident of this, "that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1:6 NIV)
Jesus Christ saved me from myself. Praise God.
Leigh Standish
Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Copywright Thanks Be, First Church of Christ, Wethersfield, Connecticut.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
I Needed A Car
When I was 24 and single, I was working at a dead-end job and in debt. In an attempt to get a handle on my spending I attended a Good $ense Finance course at my church (Willow Greek in Barrington Illinois, a suburb northwest of Chicago.)
I volunteered for Willow’s cars program, which repairs used, donated cars and made them available for single moms. I like working on engines and besides my old Honda was on its last legs and I hoped to get some tips on how to keep it going.
About this time I received in the mail a promotion from my credit union informing me that I was pre-approved for a car loan up to $7500. The wheels in my head began to turn. I figured if I were going to get a better job I would need a better car. Armed with my car loan approval, I drove off to a used car dealer. I showed the promotion flyer to the salesman and we went off into the lot. Funny how every car he showed me was for sale at $7500.
I came home excited about the prospect of buying a better car. That week at church I shared my excitement about buying a better car with my Good $ense teacher. I told him about the $7500 loan approval and I showed him a car I had circled in the Auto Trader.
“God does not want you to go further into debt,” my teacher said, “why don’t you trust him for the car.”
His words, while spoken softly, hit me like a cold shower. I bristled but he was right, I had agreed not to take out any more loans. At the Good $ense course I had developed a spending plan which was designed to help me live within my income and to pay down debt. We were taught that good stewardship of the resources we have honors God.
When I returned home I threw the Auto Trader in the trash. I was going to trust God. At that moment I felt God was in the next room whispering, “I love you.” He didn’t solve my car problem that day but He showed His presence to me.
The next day I received a call ‘out of the blue’ from the leader of the Cars Team who said he was calling to see how I was doing.
That weekend I volunteered at the church cars program. I mentioned to the chief mechanic how my transmission was slipping and I was having a hard time getting in or out of second gear. I also mentioned I didn’t have any money for a better car right now and I wondered if he could help me fix my old Honda.
I was surprised when he didn’t ask me for more details about my aging wreck. He just walked off motioning with his arm for me to follow. We went to the back of the lot and we stopped at an old rusted out twelve- year- old Buick station wagon.
“It’s not pretty,” he said “And it is too far gone to give to a single mom to transport her kids. But it has a strong engine, reasonably good tires, and the transmission still works. Why don’t you drive it home.”
God did provide. I drove that car for nearly two years until I could afford a better one.
Peter Buchan
Palatine, Illinois
I volunteered for Willow’s cars program, which repairs used, donated cars and made them available for single moms. I like working on engines and besides my old Honda was on its last legs and I hoped to get some tips on how to keep it going.
About this time I received in the mail a promotion from my credit union informing me that I was pre-approved for a car loan up to $7500. The wheels in my head began to turn. I figured if I were going to get a better job I would need a better car. Armed with my car loan approval, I drove off to a used car dealer. I showed the promotion flyer to the salesman and we went off into the lot. Funny how every car he showed me was for sale at $7500.
I came home excited about the prospect of buying a better car. That week at church I shared my excitement about buying a better car with my Good $ense teacher. I told him about the $7500 loan approval and I showed him a car I had circled in the Auto Trader.
“God does not want you to go further into debt,” my teacher said, “why don’t you trust him for the car.”
His words, while spoken softly, hit me like a cold shower. I bristled but he was right, I had agreed not to take out any more loans. At the Good $ense course I had developed a spending plan which was designed to help me live within my income and to pay down debt. We were taught that good stewardship of the resources we have honors God.
When I returned home I threw the Auto Trader in the trash. I was going to trust God. At that moment I felt God was in the next room whispering, “I love you.” He didn’t solve my car problem that day but He showed His presence to me.
The next day I received a call ‘out of the blue’ from the leader of the Cars Team who said he was calling to see how I was doing.
That weekend I volunteered at the church cars program. I mentioned to the chief mechanic how my transmission was slipping and I was having a hard time getting in or out of second gear. I also mentioned I didn’t have any money for a better car right now and I wondered if he could help me fix my old Honda.
I was surprised when he didn’t ask me for more details about my aging wreck. He just walked off motioning with his arm for me to follow. We went to the back of the lot and we stopped at an old rusted out twelve- year- old Buick station wagon.
“It’s not pretty,” he said “And it is too far gone to give to a single mom to transport her kids. But it has a strong engine, reasonably good tires, and the transmission still works. Why don’t you drive it home.”
God did provide. I drove that car for nearly two years until I could afford a better one.
Peter Buchan
Palatine, Illinois
Friday, December 28, 2007
Chance Meetings?
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 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 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 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 by 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, 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
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 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 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 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 by 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, 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
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Away at Christmas
December 22
My first Christmas away was courtesy of the U.S. Army. I was stationed in the tropics and it didn't look or feel like Christmas. For a Northern guy palm trees with lights, carboard snowman on lawns and temperatures in the 80's wasn't Christmas.
For me Christmas was the smell of evergreens, real snowmen, and a chilly breeze in the face. This soldier was homesick and having a real pitty party for himself. Christmas carols on the radio depressed me and the few Christmas cards I received made me feel worse.
Some enterprizing GI's had parked a tank near the commissary with eight jeeps in front of it simulating reindeer connected to the tank by ammunition belts. There was even a stuffed Santa
waving from the open tank turret. This really set me off.
On Christmas Eve I took my bad attitude and shuffled off to the post chapel. It was a candle light service with the singing of traditional carols and the reading of familiar passages from Luke.
I sat quietly through it all.
I exited the chapel into a perfectly clear warm tropical night with a gentle breeze. A small voice in my head said something that changed everything for me. It made me realize Christmas isn't the Currier and Ives pictures or any family traditions I remembered. These are not the reason for the season.
When I looked outside the chapel and saw all the stars I heard in my head, "Remember the first Christmas was in a desert."
I don't recall what the chaplain said that night but the message was loud and clear:
"Behold, there is great joy, for in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior who is Christ the Lord. Glory to God and peace on earth."
Charles Miller
Burlington, Vt.
My first Christmas away was courtesy of the U.S. Army. I was stationed in the tropics and it didn't look or feel like Christmas. For a Northern guy palm trees with lights, carboard snowman on lawns and temperatures in the 80's wasn't Christmas.
For me Christmas was the smell of evergreens, real snowmen, and a chilly breeze in the face. This soldier was homesick and having a real pitty party for himself. Christmas carols on the radio depressed me and the few Christmas cards I received made me feel worse.
Some enterprizing GI's had parked a tank near the commissary with eight jeeps in front of it simulating reindeer connected to the tank by ammunition belts. There was even a stuffed Santa
waving from the open tank turret. This really set me off.
On Christmas Eve I took my bad attitude and shuffled off to the post chapel. It was a candle light service with the singing of traditional carols and the reading of familiar passages from Luke.
I sat quietly through it all.
I exited the chapel into a perfectly clear warm tropical night with a gentle breeze. A small voice in my head said something that changed everything for me. It made me realize Christmas isn't the Currier and Ives pictures or any family traditions I remembered. These are not the reason for the season.
When I looked outside the chapel and saw all the stars I heard in my head, "Remember the first Christmas was in a desert."
I don't recall what the chaplain said that night but the message was loud and clear:
"Behold, there is great joy, for in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior who is Christ the Lord. Glory to God and peace on earth."
Charles Miller
Burlington, Vt.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Road Sign
I recently moved to Minnesota from Florida. As I was driving home from a job interview my mind started to wonder. I thought about my future in this new state. Lord am I suppose to take this job or the one I interviewed for yesterday? I was getting tired of waiting for what God has for me next. I could feel myself getting anxious as I was thinking about money. Can I afford to live alone? How much longer can I work just part time without health care benefits? How much time off will I get and what about the holidays, and on and on and on.
At this point I realized the beautiful city backdrop of buildings sparkling in the sunlight was behind me. Seeing the city skyline is one of my favorite views and somehow, as I looked at my new home city rushing past my car window, I had relaxed and been lost in my thoughts. I had missed my exit and was in unfamiliar territory. As I looked to get my bearings I saw a bright yellow sign ahead. I struggled to read it, and as I got closer, I thought I saw the word trust. I laughed out loud for there, in big letters, and I am not kidding were the words-”TRUST ME!” – God.
Even though I was traveling seventy miles an hour, I felt like time had just stopped. With a chuckle I let go of all those thoughts and decided to do what I was told and leave the details up to God and to TRUST HIM.
As I drove off the expressway and turned my car around to find my way back to a familiar highway, I knew it was no mistake that I had become lost and saw that yellow billboard. Also in that moment of quietness I recalled that in the morning I had asked God to reveal himself to me with this interview and to make it obvious what I was to do. He made it obvious. God continues to amaze and amuse me.
Beth Bishop
Minneapolis, Minnesota
At this point I realized the beautiful city backdrop of buildings sparkling in the sunlight was behind me. Seeing the city skyline is one of my favorite views and somehow, as I looked at my new home city rushing past my car window, I had relaxed and been lost in my thoughts. I had missed my exit and was in unfamiliar territory. As I looked to get my bearings I saw a bright yellow sign ahead. I struggled to read it, and as I got closer, I thought I saw the word trust. I laughed out loud for there, in big letters, and I am not kidding were the words-”TRUST ME!” – God.
Even though I was traveling seventy miles an hour, I felt like time had just stopped. With a chuckle I let go of all those thoughts and decided to do what I was told and leave the details up to God and to TRUST HIM.
As I drove off the expressway and turned my car around to find my way back to a familiar highway, I knew it was no mistake that I had become lost and saw that yellow billboard. Also in that moment of quietness I recalled that in the morning I had asked God to reveal himself to me with this interview and to make it obvious what I was to do. He made it obvious. God continues to amaze and amuse me.
Beth Bishop
Minneapolis, Minnesota
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