God and a Rag Doll

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Week of July 22

 

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 tempt 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 they drove us to school but nobody ever said anything about being late that day.

 

Colleen Jorgenson
 Veradale, Washington

"God,give me a sign"

Week of July 14, 2013

 

“Some of you are feeling pretty low right now but believe me you will feel a lot better in six weeks.”

 

I heard him loud and clear. I wanted this six-week Divorce Recovery Workshop at my church to be over now so I could feel better. The instructor was right about one thing. I was feeling lower than a reptile slithering in the mud. I hoped he was right about feeling better in six weeks. All I could do now was hold onto that hope.

 

My marriage of seven years wasn’t officially over yet but it had ended a long time ago. Drugs and alcohol had taken their toll. I had been the one to sober up first but all I got for my effort was more verbal abuse from a husband that blamed everything on me,. He continued to medicate himself while I felt a constant ache of loneliness and the pain from the yelling and nightly name calling. There seemed to be no end. Somebody had to end this madness. I moved out and filed for divorce.

 

I told all this to my Divorce Recovery small group. Each person in the group got to share their situation. We all listened to each other with compassion. I felt particularly sorry for the gals with young children. At least I didn’t have that problem. A childhood disease had left me barren. I didn’t think I could ever feel good about that but I was thankful now that I didn’t have to go through this with a child too.

 

The group and our facilitator became my support base for the next several weeks. We helped each other deal with the grieving over the loss of an intimate relationship and to focus on what we had to do to become a whole person again. That meant we had to let go of the anger and the blame in order to begin the healing process. The group was there for me the night my divorce became official by court order. I was glad to be with them and not alone in my apartment.

 

The instructor was right. I did feel better on “graduation night” from the workshop and there were plenty of tears and hugs and brownies. Our group exchanged phone numbers before leaving. The high I felt at the end of the workshop came crashing down a week later when I lost my high salaried marketing position. The corporation just eliminated the entire department.

 

I was devastated. During all the trials of the divorce I had poured myself into the job and had relied on the steady income to keep me independent. Now what would I do? How would I keep the apartment once the severance pay ran out? I went into depression. It got worse as the weeks went by and I couldn’t find another position within the corporation or a like paying job in the city.

 

 I was at or nearing the bottom of my depression pit when a friend from the divorce group called. She asked me how I was doing and I told her. She invited me to he son’s sixth birthday party that afternoon and I at first declined. But she insisted and I thought maybe it would cheer me up.

 

The party was outside in the yard. It was a mistake to be there. The children playing and the mother’s talking about kids and families depressed me more. When they were occupied with a pin the tail on the donkey game I slipped into the house. I wandered into the living room and all of a sudden the tears gushed out and I was shaking uncontrollably.  I cried out to the Lord. With my head bowed and my hand gripping the fireplace mantle I said, “Lord are you there? Let me know. Give me a sign or something that I can know you can hear me… that I matter.”

 

The tears subsided and the shakes stopped. I lifted my head slowly and there in front of me above the mantle I saw through moist eyes a framed copy of “Footprints.”

 

Mary Beth Darling

Portland Oregon

Sherry's Angel

 Week of July 7

 

On a Monday on my lunch hour, I had an appointment to see a doctor at the hospital.  I was bleeding and worried.  All alone and trying to be strong, I ventured to the hospital and before I entered I picked up my Bible that I always carry in the car and read a scripture. 

 

Upon walking into the waiting room I heard God say to me, "Go speak to that man, He is an Angel." 

 

I looked up and saw a man sitting in a wheelchair. His arm was propped up in a brace, and his leg was emaciated but stabilized with a series of halos around it.  I approached him.  

 

His kind eyes looked into my soul, and they took me backwards as he really saw into me.  I said hello and he replied hello.  I asked if he would walk again and he said yes.  Then I asked if he knew that JESUS could heal him. He enthusiastically said YES as if letting me know that I understood and was good to point that out. 

 

So I said my name is Sherry while reaching out to shake his hand, to which he paused and shook my hand and said, "I’m Angel."  I said really?  "Yes," he said. 

 

Then I went upstairs to my doctor and learned all would be OK. When I was walking out I noticed Angel was still there.

 

I went back and let him know that God told me to talk to him, and that he was an Angel. All he said was, "oh," yet never denied it.  Then curiosity got me and I asked how this happened, to which he responded, "an accident.”  Well I said nice to meet you and God bless you Angel.

 

The footnote to this story is years later I was meeting with the Hospital Administrator on business and told him the story.  He said it was peculiar, as the entrance where he sat was an outpatient entrance, and they never let anyone sit there for long.  He had been there for over a half hour.

 

Sherry Sargent

Batavia, Ohio

God can provide a car

A Grandmother’s Vision

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Week of July 1

 

I was 24, single, and living in the Chicago area. 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 Creek in Barrington, Illinois.I volunteered for Willow’s cars program, where volunteers repair used donated vehicles and make 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 running. About this time I received in the mail a promotion from my credit union informing me that I was preapproved for a car loan up to $7500. That set the wheels turning in my head. I figured if I were going to seek a better job I would need a better car. Armed with my loan approval letter, I drove off to a used car dealer. I showed the flyer to the salesman and off we went into the car lot. Funny how every car he showed me was on sale for $7500.That week at church I shared my excitement about buying a car with my Good $ense teacher. I told him about the $7500 loan and I showed him a particular car that I had found in Auto Trader.He was friendly but firm in his reaction. "God does not want you to go further in debt, "Why don't you trust God for the car."

His words, while spoken kindly, hit me like a cold shower. I bristled but admitted 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 existing debt. We were told good stewardship of the resources we have honors God. When I returned home I threw the Auto Trader in the trash. I would trust God.

 

 The following Saturday I was working with other volunteers in the cars program. I mentioned to the chief mechanic how the transmission on my old Honda was slipping and that I was having a hard time getting out of second gear. I told him I didn't have any money  right now and I wondered if he could help me fix my aging wreck.  I was surprised when he didn't ask any questions but just motioned me to follow him. We went to the back of the lot and he stopped at an old rusted 12-year-old Buick station wagon.

 

"It’s not pretty," he said, “and it is too far gone to give to a single mother to transport her kids. But it runs, has reasonably good tires and the transmission still works. Why don't you drive it home?" God provided. I ended up driving that Buick for nearly two years until I could afford to buy a better car.

 

Peter Buchan

Chicago, Illinois

A Boy Challenges God

 

Week of June 23

 

It started like any other day for Jay, an eight-year-old going on nine thank you, but what happened that afternoon would change his life in a flash.

 

Jay was growing up in a new subdivision in Woodhaven Woods, Michigan where his dad was serving as a minister. The homes were new and had flat back yards with no fences and all backed into a wood line fifty to seventy yards deep. It was a great place for an eight year old to grow up and play.

 

Most of the trees were hardwoods, like oak and maple, tall and straight. All except one as Jay remembers. That tree was forked about four feet up. One fork was badly decayed and hollow near its base while the other was solid and healthy.

 

Jay remembers the afternoon was very windy, lots of threatening clouds but it wasn’t cold and it wasn’t raining. He was standing in his yard when he challenged God. He doesn’t know what prompted him. He just did. What goes through and eight year olds mind anyway? Jay tells it this way.

 

 “ I saw the trees swaying and said, ‘Ok God. You knock over a tree and I will never doubt you again.’ Within seconds there was a loud crack. Even though

 

I was several hundred yards away but I could see it was the forked tree that had fallen. Some parents gathered around the forked tree and I went over to see. It was then I saw that the solid half of the forked tree had cracked all the way to the ground and toppled. Surprisingly, the decayed half was still standing. You could look right threw and see light on the other side. I don’t know what was holding that tree up. It looked as if it would fall over at any minute so the parents were keeping the children at a safe distance.

 

I thought about it later. God knocked over the strong but held up the weak. You could read into that. The weak half of that tree never did fall on its own. Some men cut it down later to insure it wouldn’t fall on anyone.

 

I didn’t tell anyone about this experience for the longest time. I guess I thought that was between God and me. Even now, decades later I have only shared this experience with a few others for fear of being seen as bragging or worse. But there is no doubt in my mind that God felled the strong half of that tree that day.

 

Jay Hessler

Woodhaven, Michigan

(Mr. Hessler now resides in Florida-Ed)

Facing a Tsunami

Week of June 16

 

  I was stationed in the Aleutian Islands as a chaplain for the United States Air Force. Our particular island , Shemya, was shaped like an oyster and was just large enough to have one important airstrip.

 

One night a tremendous earthquake broke open the deep water of the Bay of Alaska and sent tons of surge water ( a tsunami) toward our island. The high flood water, much higher than our island, was to hit us at about 3 a.m.

 

We had 3,600 men on the island, but only one surface craft for about 200. The idea of evacuation was abandoned.

 

Hundreds of men and officers gathered in the chapel on the high side of the island. Our highest elevation was about 18 feet and we were warned to expect about forty feet. Every light was on in the chapel. We had both large and small prayer services and the men periodically sang songs of all faiths and wrote letters. Many men sat alone thinking of their families and what the impending death by drowning would be like.

 

At about 4 a.m. the wave came. There was a strong gush of wind and high water, but nothing like the predicted 40 feet. The island of Adak, lying 400 miles to the east broke the wave in two, with one half going into the Bearing Sea and the other toward Hawaii.

 

We were spared. Lots of water (ranging from15 to 18 feet) and a lot of mopping up, but there were no casualties. Not a single life was lost. The water came as far as the Chapel steps. Our faith had been lifted by total trust and dependence on God, and he came to our rescue.

 

Lionel W. Nelson, USAF retired

Sunny Side Village, Sarasota

 

“Copyright©2003, Sarasota Herald-Tribune.Reprinted with express permission of the Sarasota-Herald Tribune.”

God and a Raging River

 

Week of June 10

 

It is June and time for our annual family reunion camping along the banks of the Raven Fork River.  Only this yearly outing with the family will change the course of my life.

 

On the drive from Florida to Cherokee, North Carolina my wife and I talk about the offer made by the pastor of our community church in Sarasota. He wants me to serve as Interim Children’s Director on a six-month trial basis. I have served the children’s ministry as a volunteer for several years while managing a restaurant for a national chain.

 

My heart is with the children but my head and my wife are saying it would be financially irresponsible to take an interim position for six months while a committee searches for a director. Besides, I would have to take a pay cut and with a wife and two children to support that would be fiscal stupidity.

 

We arrive at the campsite in a steady drizzle. Most of the families are gathered under a large tent fly. We join them for lunch. After the meal I decide to go fishing where I often do some of my best thinking.

 

 

The Raven Fork has eight-foot banks opposite the campground and is relatively shallow ranging in depth from calf deep to waist deep.

 

I put on waders and rain gear and proceed into the calm water. Most of the adults are playing cards under the tent fly while Pete, my brother-in-law, watches me fish from the bank.

I am so engrossed in fishing that I am oblivious to what is happening around me. The flow of the water has picked up and the river has been rising. The water suddenly changes color to a muddy brown and the depth where I am standing goes from waist deep to almost chest deep. This gets my attention and I sense the danger.

 I take a step toward the near bank, this is a big mistake. The river is deeper on this side and instantly my waders fill with water and drag me down like a sinker.

 

I am struggling to regain my footing and get to the surface. I'm in trouble and being propelled backwards by the rushing water.

 I I hit a boulder with such force that it pops me upright to the surface like a bobber. I stand there, breathing heavily and leaning forward to stay upright with the water pushing against my chest. I am unable to move. This is serious.

My brother-in-law is frantically yelling for the other men, who soon appear on the bank above me. They lower an inflated tube with a rope tied to it but it does not reach.

 

Next they throw the inner tube but it blows past me and is punctured somewhere downstream when it hits a sharp rock or pointed stump. Someone finds another piece of rope and ties it to the first rope. The men lower a now deflated tube tied on the longer rope. After a couple of attempts this one reaches me and I wrap the rope around my hand.

 

When the men pull on the rope I am immediately projected prone in the water and with the river pushing against me my rescuers are nearly pulled off the bank into the racing water.

 

It takes all the strength of those ten men and older boys to hold me against the current. Gradually they ease me to the bank, which is terraced with rocks held in place by a wire mesh. I am able to grab a tree growing out of the bank and I hold on while some men crawl gingerly down the bank and help me out of the water to safety.

 

Later standing on top of the embankment several of us watched logs, branches and other debris being propelled down river by the rushing water. A large log shot right over where I had been standing helpless against the river. That could have been fatal.

I learned firsthand the power of water and how fast things can change. I see now how people can be caught in flash floods, something I didn’t fully appreciate before.

 

Pete interrupts my musings. “Chris you have to see this,” he says holding the rope in his hands, “this is how close we came to losing you.”

 

What had been my lifeline is frayed so badly that the rope in one spot is down to a single strand that my brother-in-law proceeds to snap with his fingers.

 

On reflection, I think God was testing me that afternoon. I could easily have drowned if I hadn’t hit that rock, which stood me up providing time for others to help me in my distress. As I thought about my life ending in that river I asked myself, did I want to be just a restaurant manager or did I want to be a teacher of God’s children?

 

I decided to take the position of Interim Director of Children’s Ministry.

 

Chris Cahill,
Pittsfield,  Massachusetts