CLTP 36 DFO
Power and Protection!--Part 26
True-Life Stories of God's Help in Crisis!
(For 9 years old and up. Selected stories may be read with younger children at the adults' discretion.)
Stories courtesy of Guideposts; Where Miracles Happen by Joan Wester Anderson, and A Rustle of Angels by Marilynn and William Webber.
(Christian Leadership Training Program publications are circulated free of charge on a strictly non-profit basis.)
Table of Contents
Arrest Jesse Watson!
1
Wonder at Wrigley Field
3
Roy and the Oil Heater
4
Toilet Paper from Heaven?
4
Divine Touch
5
The Black Hole
6
The Burglar
6
My Good and Faithful Friends
7
Night Vision
9
The Measure of God's Love
10
The Sheet Experience
10
Our Little Boy Was Not Alone
10
Discussion Questions
12
Glossary for Young Readers
12
Arrest Jesse Watson!
By Sgt. Norman Buckner
The warrant for the arrest of Jesse Watson was similar to many others I had handled. The big difference was that two years earlier I had arrested this same fugitive [1]. I couldn't remember much about him except that he was a big guy, tough and surly [2]. The latest report said that he had been taking drugs. He was wanted for grand larceny [3] in both Indiana and Florida.
Then one evening last April I received a call saying Jesse Watson might be hiding out in his father's apartment in Western Indianapolis. My partner Don Harvey and I went to check it out.
When we arrived at the apartment building, Don and I were joined by Sgt. Ron Bealey. Don and Ron went to the front door, and I went around to the back. Above the noise of heavy rain I could hear someone answer their knock in front. A scuffle followed, and Ron called to me. I ran around and found that Watson had tried to close the door on them, then had retreated inside the apartment. Since I had the only flashlight, I went in after him.
I couldn't locate any light switches and even with my flashlight I could see very little. Revolver drawn, I searched each room. The rain thumped away outside. The apartment was like a cavern inside, making me shiver.
Reaching the back bedroom, I stopped by the door. My light caught someone standing on the far side of the beda figure holding a blanket in front of him. It was Jesse Watson.
He was as big as I remembered, but the shadows made him seem even more awesome. At six feet two inches tall and 220 pounds, he towered over my five-foot ten-inch, 160-pound frame. A full beard gave him a menacing look.
I guessed he might have a club under the blanket. I moved toward him and said, "OK, Jesse, drop it."
"No, you drop it," he told me. The blanket fell to the floor revealing a gleaming twelve-gauge sawed-off shotgun that was pointed straight at me. One squeeze of the trigger and I would be blasted in two.
My heart began to beat wildly. I could feel a throbbing in my temples. I managed to keep my flashlight and revolver on him, but I wondered what to do. I'm really defenseless, I thought as I looked down the barrel of that shotgun. A picture of my wife, Joyce, and our two small children flashed across my mind. I had never been so terrified in my life.
For a moment I thought of firingbut something stopped me. Never in my twelve years on the force had I shot anybody. Suddenly, instead of opening fire, I found myself praying, "Please help me do the right thing, God."
Behind me, outside the bedroom window, I could sense Don and Ron waiting for me to make a move. I realized the reason they were holding back. Watson, they surmised [4], wasn't rational and might begin shooting if he saw trouble. It was better to let one person handle him. The thought unhinged me. If I was this nervous, I wondered how tense Jesse Watson must be.
For several minutes we stood facing each other. I was afraid to say anything for fear it might upset him. My throat was bone dry. "Give me strength, Lord," I prayed. "I've never been in anything like this and I'm trusting in You."
What must have been minutes later, my breathing still coming in spurts, I finally spoke again, quietly, "Jess, your only chance is to come with us."
"No way," he answered, waving his shotgun at me.
We were at an impasse [5], neither of us willing to back down. More minutes ticked by. My arm ached from holding the flashlight. Then my eyes, now becoming accustomed to the darkness, caught sight of something on the bed. There lay, of all things, a Bible.
I was filled with a feeling of hope. I stared at the book. "If Your Word is real, I need You now," I prayed.
"What about that, Jesse?" I said, pointing to the Bible.
"I'm going to church now," he muttered. Then with sudden authority, "And I feel all my sins are forgiven."
"That could be, Jesse," I said, choosing my words carefully. "But first you have to settle things here."
"How can a man on Earth be judged?" Jesse demanded. "God is the only Judge!"
I put my revolver in its holster, slowly, so Jesse could see me.
"Jesse," I said, "do you think hurting someone would be right in the eyes of God?"
I bent over to pick up the Bible, still watching Jesse. He didn't move. Flipping the pages, I had little idea what I was looking for. I could hear myself breathing deeply. I stopped at Romans 8:18.
"Jesse, listen to this!" I read rapidly: "'For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared to the glory which shall be revealed in us.'"
Jesse was silent. He had caught the meaning for himself.
"I can't take jail," he shouted.
"Don't try to limit God, Jesse," I said. "You could be effective in jail. Look at Paul when he was in prison. And Daniel in the lions' den. You could help others get to know the Lord."
He nodded, but kept the shotgun pointed at me.
I was running out of ideas again. I glanced at my watch. Incredibly, more than an hour had passed since the stalemate [6] had begun. My body cried out in fatigue [7]. I kept praying silently.
Suddenly the silence ended with a tremendous explosion. The windows shook and a yellow flash lit up the room. The blast threw me back against the door frame.
Then I saw what had happened. In the long strain of the situation, Jesse's finger must have twitched and touched off the trigger. Fortunately at that moment his weapon had been pointed downward. The discharge tore a huge hole in the bed.
For a long minute Jesse didn't move. I held my breath. Then, abruptly, he dropped the shotgun on the floor.
I went over and touched him on the arm. He looked at me, his eyes moist. Then he held out his wrists so I could put on the handcuffs.
"The Lord sent a man of faith to rescue me," he said wearily. I was so exhausted, I couldn't reply.
I saw Jesse again two days later.
"I've been reading the Bible," he told me, "and I know that with God's help I'll make it." Then he apologized to me for letting the shotgun go off.
He was a different manand so was I. Nerve-wracking as that experience was, it seems to have opened many doors for me. When other officers ask me about it, I find myself able to share my feelings about God with them. I could never have done that before.
More than ever now, I try to look on each new case as a special one. Each personlike Jesse Watsonbecomes a special person. If I can reach out and help just one single human being, I know I have done something to make my life worth living.
* * *
Wonder at Wrigley Field
By Joan Wester Anderson
As Kenneth and Anita Steinke reared their six young children, it became obvious that Anita was the "spiritual" one in the family. "I had never been more than a Sunday Christian, with just a surface relationship with God," Kenneth says, and he saw no reason to change. But Anita prayed frequently that God would reveal Himself more deeply to her husband.
One afternoon Kenneth and Anita took the family to Wrigley Field, to watch the Chicago Cubs play the Cincinnati Reds. The Steinkes attended games often and considered themselves faithful "Bleacher Bums," part of the crowd that overlooks the outfield. Bleacher seats were cheap, and families could bring picnics, and there was always the chance a bleacher might catch a home-run ball.
Today the Steinkes sat in the right-field bleachers, with four-year-old Janet, the youngest, directly in front of Kenneth, "Janet was frail and small, but she enjoyed baseball," Kenneth says. Everyone was relaxed and upbeat.
Suddenly, in his mind, Kenneth heard the words: "Janet is going to be hit in her temple with a fly ball. If you don't take action, she'll be seriously injured or killed."
Kenneth sat absolutely still, astounded. The message was so firm, so compelling that he never thought to doubt the truth of it. "It sounds strange, but I was convinced it was going to happen," he says.
How could he prepare? He could take Janet away. But the voice hadn't told him when the ball would come. Did it make sense to confine himself and his daughter in the car or to walk her around for the next several hours? And the other kids would be inconsolable [8] if he insisted they go home now, especially on such flimsy-sounding evidence. But to Kenneth the command was anything but light and frivolous.
What if he "rehearsed" for a fly ball? Slowly, Kenneth slid his forearm in front of Janet's head. Yes, his arm was big enough to shield her. But could he react fast enough? For the next several minutes, Kenneth drilled himself, shoving his arm quickly in front of Janet, then releasing it, then shoving it again. ...
Nearby fans began to notice his movements. Several looked at him strangely, perhaps wondering if he had developed some sort of tic [9]. Janet was perplexed too.
"What are you doing, Daddy?" she asked once. "I can't see!"
The crack of Pete Rose's bat was almost anti-climactic when it came just a few minutes later. The ball shot across the length of Wrigley Field like an arrow, picking up speed as it flew over the wall, right toward Janet's head. And in the split second, Kenneth knew just what to do. Throwing his left arm across his daughter's forehead, just as he'd practiced, he used his right hand to shield his own face. The ball struck his arm with a terrible force, bounced off Anita, then disappeared into a pile of people.
Kenneth looked at his left arm. It was already starting to swell. But Janet was safe, her little face still whole and perfect.
Kenneth stayed up late that night. His arm throbbed, but it wasn't the pain that kept him awake. What had happened today? Had he really received a message from Janet's guardian angel, or his? Or had it been simply a father's intuition?
Then Kenneth had another episode, a few years ago. In a frightening dream, he had seen his toddler son, Kenny, sliding down a muddy embankment while he, Kenneth, grabbed the child with one hand, and held on to a tree with the other.
"Kenny is going to drown unless you save him," a voice told him in the dream. Kenneth had awakened in alarm, but later dismissed his fears.
The day after the dream, however, he had taken the five older children out for a ride. "We drove rather aimlessly, until we got to a nature area where I used to play as a child," he recalls. "We walked along a trail, and as we turned a corner, there was a river with a dam just ahead."
"Daddy, look!" Kenny ran toward the water, and Kenneth ran after him. Rivers were no place for impulsive tots. But Kenny began to slide down a muddy sloperight toward the whirling water of the dam.
"Look out!" Kenneth shouted, leaning forward to grasp the little boy.
"I had him with one hand and was reaching for a tree to steady myself, when all of a sudden I realized that the scene was right out of my dream," Kenneth says. "I had been there just when I needed to be, to keep Kenny from falling and being pulled under the water." God must be calling him closer. What more proof did Kenneth need?
Today Kenneth's relationship with God is a priority. And he's glad he has had angels in his lifeboth the Heavenly and earthly varietywho never lost faith in him.
* * *
Roy and the Oil Heater
By Marilynn and William Webber
Roy Hendricks bought a new K-oil heater in October 1984, satisfied that he'd be ready for winter. In fact, it worked well and kept his mobile home toasty as the weather turned cold.
The temperature during the night of December 23 of that year was in the twenties, so Roy decided to keep the heater on all night, as he had many times since he bought it.
About 3:00 A.M., he was sleeping, face to the wall, when, as he tells it: "I heard my name, Roy, called three times. I said: 'What do you want?' and rolled over. The first thing I saw was flames up to the ceilingand what appeared to be an outline of a person between me and the fire."
He got up, grabbed the nearby fuel tank, and threw it clear of the fire, out into the yard. Then he ran outside and asked his neighbors to call the fire department. When he went back inside there was dense smoke, but no sign of fire. After things calmed down and the mobile home aired out, he was able to go back to bed.
Roy concludes by saying that the next morning there weren't even black spots on the ceiling, although he'd seen eight-foot flames with his own eyes. When he told people about the voice, the figure, and the flames, some people thought he was loony. But then he shows them what may seem an odd reminder of God's love: his K-oil heater, burned, warped, and blackened to a crisp.
* * *
Toilet Paper from Heaven?
By Kerry Slattery
A woman shared the following testimony about God's provision in her life. After her husband left and divorced her, she went through a trying time, scrambling to make ends meet financially, as well as emotionally. She was a new believer and knew that only God could get her through. She and her 13-year-old son would pray every day, including petitions for their present and future needs. Day by day, week by week, they saw God working to get them through.
One rainy winter day, they had spent all their money to pay the rent and bills, buy some groceries and with the last remaining few dollars, put some gas in the car. That was it until the next payday. Any other needs would have to wait until then. Then came the discovery of a true emergencythey were out of toilet paper!
What were they going to do now?
"Don't worry, Mom," said her son, comforting her, "we'll just pray and ask God to give us some toilet paper."
"Okay, we'll pray like we always have." A brief prayer was thrown up: "God, we need toilet paper!" That said, they called it a night and went to bed.
The next morning, she was awakened by the excited laughter and cries of her son. "Look out the window, Mom! God answered our prayer!" Someone had strewn toilet paper over their whole front yard including all the shrubs and trees.Toilet paper hung from and was wound around everything in front of her house. In spite of the normally soggy weather, it was perfectly dry that night.
They ran outside in amazement and began collecting and winding up all the toilet paper.They ended up with more than enough to get them through to the next paycheck!
Was this a teenage prank played on the "wrong" house or was it ... the toilet paper angels? Only God knowsHe was the only One besides them that knew about the emergency!
* * *
Divine Touch
By Frank Griffo
My girlfriend and I have a guardian angel. And I had the wonderful experience of seeing this divine power a few years ago.
My girlfriend woke me up in the middle of the night. I believe it was sometime around midnight. She was crying because she had this excruciating pain in her right side. I didn't know what to do because I thought I was losing her, but somehow I put everything out of my mind and I began to pray.
I began saying things like, "Father, in the Name of Jesus, help her," and I started crying and said, "Father, there is no other help that I know of," and I kept praying. I was crying along with my praying.
I don't remember if my eyes were open or closed, but all of a sudden I saw this figure dressed in a long blueish-grayish robe, with long blueish-grayish hair standing between my girlfriend and I.
He had his hand on her right side somewhat like a doctor examining his patient. I did not see his face because he was standing looking down at my girlfriend who was sitting on the sofa bed. I was sitting in the chair and he was to my right in between us and he was standing there touching her side.
Somehow, it was like I lost touch with reality for a few seconds or was put on hold for a few brief moments. The next thing I remember is my girlfriend telling me, "Guess what? My side doesn't hurt me anymore," and that was when I recalled what I had seen.
I told her I didn't know what it was but I saw something or someone touching her side very much like a doctor examining a patient.
Ordinarily, I probably would have been afraid, but I wasn't afraidinstead I began to rejoice and call people in the middle of the night telling them what I had seen and how some miracle had happened to us that was not of this world, and how some divine person had visited us that was not of this world.
Later, when I started telling my sister Bobbie Jean back home in Arkansas a thousand miles away, my sister stopped me in my tracks. She said, "Frank, wait a minute. Let me describe this figure you saw." She said he was a little old man dressed in a long grayish robe. I said yes, with astonishment. She said he had long grayish hair. I said yes, again with astonishment.
My sister had given me a complete description of what I had seen without me telling her. And that is truly amazing. Somehow she was able to see what I had seen.
* * *
The Black Hole
By Jerry B. Jenkins
In 1960, when I was ten, I was the youngest and smallest of the Sunday night regular tag playersboys and girls, ages ten to fourteen. My size gave me one advantage: I had a knack for being best able to slip through the crowd after church and out the door. Once I heard that final amen, I would "walkdon't run" down the back steps, through the foyer, the first to set foot onto the sidewalk. And once I was outside, I ran. The game had begun.
One particular fall night, our family filled a row near the back. So far so good. And I had maneuvered myself into a seat at the end of the pew, closest to the door. At the crack of dismissal, I leapt out the aisle, down the stairs, and out into a pitch dark night.
Yes! I made it. No one was even close behind me.
By habit I took a hard left, along a sidewalk close to the building, and sprinted with all my might toward the parking lot.
Just past the edge of the building, where the sidewalk endedwham!
An arm as firm as oak caught me in the stomach. My hands and feet flew out ahead of me, but the arm held me upright until I could stand again. Dazed, with my breath slowly coming back, I looked down at a sight I could hardly believe: I was standing, teetering, at the edge of a huge, deep crater.
I staggered back. Then I remembered. The parking lot had been excavated that week. I myself had watched the bulldozer dig the foundation for a new sanctuary. I'd played sidewalk supervisor as Dad and others had slid a truckload of cinder blocks down a wooden ramp and made piles of them in that hole. I'd helped deliver cold juice Mom had sent over.
With rubbery legs I slunk toward the church door. By now my friends were out and running, away from the construction site, off to the right and around toward the big backyard. And now I saw the usually empty street lined with the cars that would have been in the parking lot. I was too shaken to join in the play.
For a long time I just stood near the front door, thinking about what might have happened. I would have fallen in, would have hit those cinder blocks, been knocked out cold. The night was so dark, no one would have found me until morning. By then it would have been too late. Now my wild imagination took over. I pictured the headlines: Jenkins Boy Found Dead.
But the arm that saved my life? Whose arm was it? Big Walt Burke, my Sunday school teacher? With his bulk, he could have stopped me. And he did sometimes hang around outside and warn us kids, including his daughters, to be careful.
No. He was just coming out now.
Old Mr. Kemple, the church patriarch who looked the part of a Southern gentleman? But he was too small and frail to have held me back. I would have run him down. And he was still inside.
The truth is I couldn't explain what had happened. I'd been saved by something I couldn't see.By someone I couldn't see.
* * *
The Burglar
CONWAY, Ark. (AP) Mrs. Cindy Hartman is a basketball coach at Greenbrier High School. She and her husband live in a parsonage next to Springhill Baptist Church, where her husband is a youth minister. Cindy summoned help when she encountered a pistol-toting burglar in her home. She dropped to her knees and prayed.
The call to a higher authority was enough to rattle the robber. He apologized, joined Mrs. Hartman in prayer and returned everything he had stolen. He also left his gun.
Mrs. Hartman, 26, said the burglar confronted her when she came in to answer the phone. He ripped the cord out of the wall and ordered her into a cramped bedroom closet. Then she dropped to her knees.
"I asked if I could pray for him," she said. "I told him: 'I want you to know that God loves you and I forgive you.'"
Mrs. Hartman said the man also kneeled, then apologized and asked to use a shirt to wipe off fingerprints. Then he yelled to a woman in a pickup truck: "We've got to unload all of this. This is a Christian home and a Christian family. We can't do this to them."
Mrs. Hartman remained kneeling while her furniture was returned. Before he left, the burglar removed the bullets from the gun and left the weapon.
* * *
My Good and Faithful Friends
By Mary Gladys Baker
"Hi, Mom!" My daughter, Dale, greeted me when I finally limped my way to the ringing telephone. "I just wanted to remind you that the baseball game starts at 6:30."
"Thanks for calling," I said to Dale as I glanced at the ice on the kitchen window and at the snow-shrouded dusk beyond.
I knew that Dale hadn't really called to remind me about the game. She'd called to check on me. Not that I minded. I'd had 11 surgeries and enough strokes to leave my left leg dragging. Sometimes I felt the same as my left leg, dragging and worthless.
I went to the back door. Little Bit, my 10-month-old Labrador retriever, followed me as I looked for a glimpse of Scout, her seven-year-old counterpart who ruled the backyard and hated to be inside. Scout's bed was protected from the snow on a covered patio, but with the setting of the sun the temperature dropped fast. I figured now was as good a time as any to replace Scout's damp quilt with the dry one I had stored above his bed. Both my dogs had a fondness for cookies, particularly vanilla creams.
I put on a pair of old tennis shoes without laces. "Stay inside!" I ordered Little Bit as I stepped out the door. The bitter wind whipped through my nightgown as I hurried across the patio toward Scout's wagging tail. And there, suddenly, I slipped.
The hard concrete of the patio jarred the breath out of me. I opened my eyes with a moan and tried to sit up, but I couldn't move my legs. I ran a shaking hand across my left hip, where a hard knot jutted out at an awkward angle. I'd broken my hip! Stay calm. Think.
Scout wandered over and sniffed me. His cold nose assured me that this wasn't a nightmare. Shivering, I looked around for help, but my eyes weren't focusing right. I reached up and touched my face and realized my glasses were gone. Squinting, I saw them across the patio, where the force of my fall had thrown them.
The only sound I heard was the wind crackling in the frozen trees. Eerie light from the television flickered through the window, casting images on the snow. I shivered as much from fear as from the cold. How long before someone would find me? Dale had already called this evening. Everyone was buttoned up at home thinking I was watching the game. No one would check on me until tomorrow. God, help me! I can't survive here all night.
"Help! Help! Somebody help me!" I screamed, even though nobody could hear. Scout raised his ears with curiosity, then huddled back and curled into a ball on his bed. I looked at the back door15 feet and one glass storm door was all that separated me from warmth. With a determined effort I struggled again to sit up. No use. I raised up on my elbow and looked around. Scout's chain! It was 30 feet long and connected to a patio post. I pushed myself onto my side and reached for the chain. I had it!
Holding the chain with both hands, I closed my eyes and pulled, dragging myself along inch by inch. Pausing to catch my breath, I opened my eyes to check my progress only to find that the chain was pulling me away from the door! I choked back my frustration, propped myself on one elbow and began dragging myself in the right direction. There were three steps leading up to the door with a low railing beside them. If I could reach that railing, maybe I could pull myself up the steps.
I felt sand grinding into my elbow as I moved. My tennis shoes fell off, causing my heels and ankles to scrape against the concrete. "Thank You, Lord, that there's no ice on the patio," I whispered.
Loneliness covered me like a cloak. All those years of frantic bustling raising young'uns had faded into long hours of passing time. How much time did I have left? It was hard, sometimes, to be beholden [10] to people, but I'd never experienced total helplessness before.
"God, I've done all I can do. Please don't let me freeze to death," I prayed through chattering teeth.
Little Bit, whimpering, watched me through the storm door. I was close enough to see her now, even without my glasses. Barking, she hurled herself against the door. Again and again she threw herself against the glass until, finally, the door flew open. She bounded down the steps and crouched beside me, laying her cheek against mine. Warm breath panted against my frozen face.
"Good girl, Little Bit," I crooned, trying hard to swallow the lump in my throat. Little Bit licked my cheek, then, as if assured that I was still alive, ran off to play with my glasses. Scout wandered over and curled up behind my back. I could feel his heart thumping against my spine; the rhythm of his breathing was hypnotic. Soon the sighs of his sleep mixed with the sound of the wind.
Sleep. I'd always heard that freezing people should never go to sleep. They might not wake up. My face felt blistered by the cold, my elbows screamed with pain, but worse, I couldn't feel the cold on my feet.
I tried to imagine the hottest day I could remember. Those days before air conditioning, sweltering in the Oklahoma sun. Only I couldn't. I couldn't remember anything except the cold that chilled my very core. How long had I been there? I looked at the familiar sky and guessed it was after midnight.
The wind picked up, its gusts slapping me with icy fingers that lifted my gown, shooting pain down my leg. I gasped for breath as the wind whipped across the snow, stinging my face with ice crystals.
Jesus! The cry came from deep inside of me. "Jesus." Just whispering the Name made me feel stronger. How long had I been trusting that Name? Was it 50 years or 60 now? Years of reading the Bible.
So, was this what it had come down to? Me meeting my Maker by freezing to death? I thought of my eldest daughter fighting her deadly battle against cancer. None of it made sense right now. Her having cancer while an old woman like me just kept hanging on. Yet something deep inside me clung to life.
Suddenly I remembered the Scripture Paul wrote while he was in prison waiting to die: "... I also suffer these things: nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know Whom I have believed ..." (2Timothy 1:12). The Words took on new meaning as I repeated them aloud.
"Father God," I prayed, "I'm suffering out here in this cold, and I don't believe You'll let me freeze to death. I'm trusting You to save me, but whether I live or die, I love and believe in Jesus."
A few minutes later Scout stirred, then stood and began walking away, removing my only shield from the north wind. The wind blasted my back, and my body began jerking so hard I could barely talk. "Scout, come back, boy. Come back and lie down." He paused and looked back at me, then trotted back toward his bed.
I watched in amazed silence as Scout sank his teeth into the corner of the quilt on his bed, backed up and began pulling the blanket across the patio. Little Bit pranced around while Scout tugged the quilt over my body.
"Good boy, Scout!" I sobbed, pulling the damp quilt up around my shoulders and tucking it under my elbow. The quilt, tattered and potted with holes, blocked the buffeting wind. Scout lay down and stretched his long body beside my back, radiating warmth like warm coals.
I raised my head to check on Little Bit. If only I had my glasses. Ask her. The thought came unbidden.
"Little Bit, could you bring my glasses?" Little Bit trotted across the patio, picked up my glasses and brought them to me. Thank You Jesus.
My broken hip was numb, but my leg felt like raw nerves exposed to the cold. What I wouldn't give for a hot water bottle or a heating pad. Ask Little Bit.
What a strange thought. Little Bit can't go inside and get my heating pad. ... Of course, she probably feels as warm as Scout ... and she did get my glasses. ...
"Little Bit, come here, girl. Look at my legs. Could you lie down right here on my left leg?" Her liquid eyes met and held mine for a moment before she lay gently where I had asked her. Warmth from her body radiated through the damp blanket, creating moist heat that seeped into the bone, easing my pain. I felt cradled between the dogs, their satiny black coats a vivid contrast to the moonlit snow. Blood began pulsating through my frozen limbs as if answering the rhythm of their heartbeats.
"Little Bit, you and Scout are going to get as many cookies as you want when I get back on my feet."
I watched clouds drifting in the night sky while I talked to God, Scout and Little Bit. The first rays of sunrise cast a crimson flush over the snow, bringing several degrees of instant warmth. The sun was high in the morning sky when I heard a car stop by my mailbox.
"Help!" I croaked, my hoarse voice barely above a whisper. I heard the door open and knew Dale had gone into the house. "Oh, Lord, You've brought me through the night. Please don't let Dale leave without finding me."
"Mother!" Dale screamed when she saw me. Soon I was loaded into an ambulance that headed to Wichita Falls, Texas, as if its tail were on fire. I had surgery to repair my broken hip, but refused surgery to amputate my frostbitten heels. During the 15 days in the hospital, as my damaged heels peeled off in layers and fresh new baby skin took its place, it seemed as if my whole life had been peeled away and made fresh.
When I came home again, I thought back to the story of Balaam in the Old Testament and how God used a donkey. I smiled as I handed Scout and Little Bit yet another cookie. If God could use dogs and donkeys, I guess He still has use for an old gal like me.
* * *
Night Vision
By Don Bell
In the last few years my vision has deteriorated. The only way I get around is by looking out of the corner of my eye. Most days I resemble a lame rooster with his head half-cocked, tripping over furniture in my own house.
Then came an April night not long ago when a loud knock on the door roused me from sleep. A young man said there was a fire behind my property. In my rush, I bumped into a table and knocked over a lamp. My wife, Vera, came to see what the racket was. Our neighbor's toolshed was ablaze! "I'll call the fire department," said Vera, while I raced outside.
I banged on the Jensen's door to wake them up. The toolshed was attached to their garage. We didn't have much time; the garage's fiberglass siding was melting from the encroaching flames. Lord, my neighbor needs me. Be my strength.
We shoved the garage doors open and moved the car and pickup truck to safety. Next we hauled out lawn mowers, tools, everything we could get our hands on. I surveyed the contents and tried to rescue the most valuable equipment first. Finally we heard sirens.
When the firefighters confined the blaze, my neighbor thanked me. "You saw clearly what had to be done, Don," he said.
Back home I tripped over a chair, straining to see the hot cup of coffee Vera put in front of me. "You saw clearly ..." the neighbor had said. And I had. When I needed it most, the Lord had restored my vision.
* * *
The Measure of God's Love
By Joan Wester Anderson
Ray told Radio Station WEZE listeners in Boston what happened to him the morning after a snowstorm. "I tried several times to make a phone call, but the line was dead," he said. "So I looked at the snow on the front walk and decided to go out and shovel."
As Ray pulled on his boots, the telephone rang. It was his brother, and they talked briefly. Ray was glad that the telephone service had been restored. He hung up and opened the door.
"There, lying across my path, was a live electrical wire," he said. "It had obviously fallen during the moment I was on the phone. I would have been right under it if my brother hadn't called."
Ray picked up the phone to call his brother to tell him about his near miss. But the phone was dead again. And it remained out of service for the rest of the weekend.
"Monday morning, when the telephone crew came, I told the foreman that I had received one call on Saturday," Ray said.
The foreman gave him an odd look. "You couldn't have," he said. "No one in this area has had telephone service since Friday night. The lines were completely destroyed during the storm."
Then Ray knew Who had temporarily repaired the wires, just for him.
* * *
The Sheet Experience
By Jennifer Ailstock
A couple of years ago, I started to notice, behind my left shoulder, a brilliant white light, a loving presence. I can "see" it almost any time, and sometimes I have mental dialogues going on, and I feel as though I am being helped and guided through my problems and uncertainties.
The most incredible experience, however, happened just a month or so ago. My four-year-old daughter, Annie, woke up in the middle of the night crying. I went into her room and saw that she had soaked her bed. Stumbling in the half-dark, I grabbed a clean sheet, thinking to myself, "I hope this one fits her bed." I went back to her room and, kneeling by the foot of the bed, I lightly unfurled the sheet, seeing right away that it was a fitted sheet that would fit her mattress. "Thank You, Jesus!" I said to myself.
Immediately, and miraculously, the sheet was suddenly on the bed! All four corners were neatly tucked under! At that same moment I sensed, "You're welcome," and I felt a great surge of love. I can't even describe how wonderful it was. Jesus said that to me! Even Annie noticed. She said to me, "Mommy, how did you make the bed like that?" I cried, and I cry now when I remember it. I have tried to tell a few people about this, but I cannot convey to another with words the impact this experience had on me.
* * *
Our Little Boy Was Not Alone
By Wayne Kent
Leslie and I named our second child Benjamin. We liked the name even better when we read an Old Testament reference that called Benjamin "the beloved of the Lord [who] shall dwell in safety by Him ... and he shall dwell between His shoulders" (Deuteronomy 33:12). As soon as Ben started to walk, Leslie and I smiled at the wisdom of our choice. Benjamin knew two speedssleep and run. He needed all the protection he could get.
The November before Ben's fourth birthday, we were preparing to move from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Decatur, Illinois. I had asked to be minister at the First Christian Church in Decatur. One Friday morning, I was just about to leave for the day when our seven-year-old daughter, Jacqueline, ran into the kitchen.
"Benny's hurt himself!"
Ben's face was red and he was holding his neck. There was only a small mark, barely a scratch, on his throat, but his face was swelling before our eyes.
"What happened, Jacqueline?" I asked, trying to stay calm.
"He was dancing and hit his neck on the coffee table," she said, her eyes wide with fear.
Ben clutched his throat as he tried to breathe. "Daddy, make it stop! Make it stop!" His face was so swollen that I couldn't see his eyes.
"Mom, call 911!" I shouted to my mother, who was visiting.
Within three minutes Ben's facial features had disappeared, and the swelling had progressed all over his body, making him look much heavier than his 40 pounds.
When the ambulance arrived, Leslie jumped in the front. A paramedic [11] and I restrained Ben's waving arms and legs in the back. As the sirens blared, we sped through the streets to Tulsa Regional Medical Center. Then Ben stopped breathing. "Pull over!" the paramedic screamed to the driver. "Get back here fast and help!"
The ambulance ground to a halt, and I jumped out to make room as the driver hurried to Ben's side. Leslie dropped to her knees on the side of the road. "We need You now, Lord!" she prayed. "Please help our son!"
I stood helplessly as the paramedics put a tube down Ben's throat to force air into his lungs. "Okay, let's go." The driver was once again at the wheel. Reaching the hospital at last, we raced into the emergency department, but we were stopped at the door of a treatment room. A nurse tried to guide us through a door down the hall.
I stopped cold. "I'm not going in there," I said. It was the room where doctors often told anxious families the worst, where I myself had tried to comfort church members whose loved ones had died.
"Please tell us," Leslie pleaded. "Is our little boy alive?"
"Someone will be with you soon," the nurse responded gently.
As we stood in the hallway outside that awful room, my heart ached for all the families I had sat with there. After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse told us that Ben, still clinging to life, was being flown by helicopter to Saint Francis Hospital's Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.
Leslie went in the helicopter and I took the car. When I arrived 20 minutes later at Saint Francis, I was greeted by more than 40 friends, neighbors and members of our church. Mom had notified people about Ben, and that had started a chain reaction of prayer involving people all over Tulsa.
Five hours later we got the diagnosis. When Ben fell against the coffee table he had hit his throat so hard that his trachea [12] had torn. Air from his lungs had escaped into his body, causing the horrendous swelling all over.
After surgery to patch the tear, Ben was put into a drug-induced coma [13] to keep him immobile while his trachea, still filled with a breathing tube, slowly healed. Day after day, we waited and wondered. Would Ben live? Would he suffer brain damage? At this point the doctors didn't know any more than we did. But the hundreds of people who came to the hospital during those days helped us in ways the doctors couldn't.
In our panic on the day of the accident Leslie and I had left both purse and wallet at home. But it didn't matter. Friends dropped 20 quarters into my hands, saying, "This'll come in handy for the hospital vending machines."
Our friend Jan Rohman kept talking to Ben. She took plastic farm animals and walked them up his arms. Another friend, Dyanna Walling, slept in Ben's room for two nights so Leslie and I could get some good rest in a room down the hall. Someone copied the music and words for "Be Strong in the Lord" from an old hymnal and brought it to the hospital. A call came from our new church in Decatur saying that the children there were wearing "Ben Bands" on their arms to remind them to pray for our son.
We received cassettes of healing music and Scripture, sent by friends across the country, whom we hadn't heard from in years. Schoolchildren from both Tulsa and Decatur sent handmade cards with bright crayon messages.
Six days after the accident, Ben woke up. "Mommy?" he whispered. Leslie leaned close. "I want to go to Heaven," he said. "I want to play with Jesus and the puppies. There are lots of puppies in Heaven." Thunderstruck with joy, Leslie climbed into Ben's bed and snuggled next to him.
Ben completely recovered and was soon released from the hospital. When Leslie asked more about his visit to Heaven, he explained matter-of-factly: "It's like a big dog show! Lots of dogs and puppies!"
Benjamin had always been afraid of dogs, but not anymore. And when he saw Jan and Dyanna, he said, "Auntie Jan, you played animals with me. Auntie Dyanna, you sleeped with me."
Although we may never know what Ben experienced during the six days of his coma, I do know one thing for certain. Benjamin Kent was not alone. He rested between God's shoulders.
Nor were we alone. From the many people who comforted us, I've learned that being a minister isn't just about preaching a well-polished sermon.
While Ben, "beloved of the Lord," was with Jesus playing with puppies, Leslie and I were learning that God is everywhere, not only in Heaven, but here on Earth.
* * *
Discussion Questions
Following are a number of questions which can be applied to each of the stories in this magazine. After reading each story, you can choose several of these questions for discussion. You do not necessarily need to ask or discuss every question after reading every story, but please choose those which apply and are helpful.
1. Is there anything that could have been done to avoid the difficult situation the people in this story found themselves in?
2. The people in the story responded in one way to what happened to them.What are some other ways that people might react if the same thing happened to them?
3. Does this story show you anything about the benefits of the training, education and instruction you have received? Please discuss.
4. How might you have reacted if this had happened to you? How do you think you should react in similar situations? What would you pray and ask God to do?
5. Did you feel that the people in these stories could have been more of a witness? If so, how?
6. What lessons could you learn from a situation like this?
7. Why do you think God allowed this situation for these people?
8. Is there anything in these stories that you don't understand?
9. Did the Lord do a miracle in this story? If so, how did He use the miracle in the lives of the people in the story? Did it bring a change in their lives?
10. What specific answers to prayer are there in this story?
11. Does this story encourage your faith that God will help you in difficult, dangerous or seemingly impossible situations?
12. Have you ever experienced the Lord doing a miracle to save your life or someone else's? If so, what was it? Did it change your outlook on life or your relationship with the Lord or others?
* * *
Glossary for Young Readers
(The meaning given is for the use of the word in the story and does not cover every meaning of the word.)
1 fugitive: a person running or fleeing from the law
2 surly: gruff
3 larceny: theft
4 surmised: guessed
5 impasse: a situation that is so difficult that no progress can be made
6 stalemate: a situation in which further action is blocked
7 fatigue: extreme tiredness
8 inconsolable: impossible or difficult to comfort
9 tic: an involuntary habitual muscular movement
10 beholden: indebted to; owing something
11 paramedic: emergency medical worker trained to give emergency care or assist doctors
12 trachea: windpipe
13 coma: prolonged unconsciousness caused by either injury or disease
[End]