Power and Protection! CLTP 15
True-Life Stories of God's Help in Crisis!--Part 11
(Recommended reading for 11 years old and up. Selected stories may be read with younger children at adults' discretion.) [06/94]
"Nobody Knows I'm Here!"
By Fern Mann
Suddenly, like a runaway car on a roller coaster, my little Volkswagen was in midair, hurtling from the icy curve of the steep mountain road. The edge of a 300-foot embankment1 loomed up in front of my eyes, and then I was plummeting over it toward the bone-freezing waters of the Blue River.
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel and bowed my head against it, aware only of a violent motion and the shriek of grinding, crunching metal. I had no flashes of my life passing before me, but only one thought: Jesus, please help me!
I knew absolutely that my life was in His hands.
Barely an hour earlier, I'd said a cheery goodbye to my husband and two children and left our home in the heart of northern Colorado ski country for a long-anticipated visit to friends and relatives in the San Luis Valley, 200 miles to the south. Sunshine was gilding2 the majestic Rockies as I drove off at eight o'clock that sparkling morning. But the favourable weather didn't last. Though it was only October 25, winter had already begun in our alpine locale. I'd covered about 12 miles when the snow came, coating the highway with a treacherous slick.
I slowed down and decided to continue to Dillon, the next town, 25 miles away. If conditions hadn't improved when I got there, I'd turn back.
Ten miles from Dillon, the car spun off the road and was airborne. Somehow, as it somersaulted down the embankment, I was flung out. For a few seconds, I lost consciousness...
Then...piercing cold. Numbing wetness.
I choked, spat out icy water and raised my head. I was on my stomach in the swift-running, boulder-strewn river. Dazedly, I watched one of my shoes float past. Grab it! Too late. The swift current carried it out of reach. Now I saw my purse bobbing along. Get it! If no one finds you till next spring, at least they'll know who you are. Crazy thoughts, but they meant my mind was awake.
I managed to snag the purse and then--as if I were now formally prepared for departure--I began to try to crawl out of the river. Immediately, pain rocketed up my leg. I had to move crab-fashion, hitching myself forward with my left elbow. My right hip, kneecap and thighbone appeared to be shattered.
When at last I'd dragged myself onto the bank, I began to call for help, hysteria rising in my voice. After what must have been 10 minutes, a surprisingly calm question floated into my mind. Why are you screaming, Fern?
I stopped immediately. In a quiet voice, I said aloud, "I don't know, Lord. I'm sorry. I know no one can hear me. I'm wasting my voice and my strength."
At that moment, I gave all my problems to the Lord: "God, this is an impossible situation. I'm badly hurt and I'm all alone. No one can see me from the highway, and across the river it's all wilderness. There's nothing I can do but talk with You."
His answer was to fill me with an inner peace that replaced my panic and allowed me to start thinking about how to help myself. I felt an actual physical strength, even though my leg was now bleeding profusely. And although no one on Earth knew where I was or what had happened to me, I felt my spirit uplifted.
I drew a deep breath and began to look around.
My car was lying on its right side at the water's edge. From my position near it, I turned my head to gaze at the embankment. An uphill distance the length of a football field stretched between me and the highway at the top.
"I can't crawl that far, Lord, so I'll have to stay here." Snow stung my face, and I shivered in my soaking-wet clothes. "Dear Lord, I'm freezing."
Think, Fern, think.
I thought. And I remembered my down jacket! I'd packed it in the trunk of the car. Turning as much as I could, I saw a small miracle. The impact of the wreck had sprung the trunk lid and the jacket protruded about four inches. I grasped a branch lying on the rocks and poked the jacket until it started to work loose. Then I reached out and pulled it free. "Thank You, Lord!"
I wriggled awkwardly into the jacket and then began to fish through the car's slightly open side window to get at my old green sweater. It had nine wooden buttons, but I was able to work it through the narrow opening without any of them catching. I managed to hook a warm knit hat, too, but my winter boots and a car blanket were too bulky and had to stay inside. I put on the cap, laid the sweater over it and tied the arms around my neck to use as a muffler and mittens.
"See, Lord? With my sweater this way maybe I can keep my face and hands warm too. Now I'm going to try to change my position a little..."
On and on I talked aloud. Not deliriously, but conversationally--to a Companion Who was as real to me as if He was visible.
All day long, the snow fell. Occasionally, the pain from my injuries would abate, but most of the time I was shifting from side to side, backward and forward, trying to get comfortable. Then I began to be thirsty.
"Lord, I haven't got the strength to turn over and drink from the river."
Think, Fern...the snow is wet.
The first mouthful of snow I scraped up tasted of gasoline leaking from the Volkswagen, but a bit farther away from the car it was clean.
About 3:00 p.m., despair--in the form of self-accusation--began to set in. "Oh, God, I had this awful accident and now I'm in a big fat mess. My family has no idea where I am, and I'm causing them terrible anguish by pulling this stupid stunt."
Then, blessedly, the peace of God entered my being again, bringing me back to a stable frame of mind.
"Now, Lord. My loved ones--Ray, Robin, Kevin, all my family--belong to You, not me. And, Lord, they don't even know yet that I've had an accident, nor does anyone at my destination. So, Lord, again I'm giving You every part of this problem because I just can't stand thinking how my family will react. You take care of them, Lord--it's just too terrible for me to think about, and I really can't do anything about it right now."
From then on, I didn't allow any negative thought to enter my head, not even when the sun went down and darkness closed around me. The snow had stopped, but gusts of wind whipped about. I huddled down in my wraps. The temperature fell to near zero.
Hours went by. Once in a while I peeked out from my burrow of clothing. The sky was absolutely magnificent. When I was young, my mother often took us outside after dark to point out the different stars and to teach us about God through nature. I passed the time remembering other starry nights, concentrating on happy memories.
As morning approached, I removed the twigs I'd carefully placed in the river the night before. Water had frozen on them, providing me with thirst-quenching ice to crunch on. Later, when the sun was strong enough to melt the light film of ice and snow, I found a tissue in my purse and dipped it in the water to squeeze out a drink. At intervals, I yelled--in case someone was walking along the highway above me or perhaps snowmobiling on the sloping mountainside across the river. The second day was spent shifting my body, snuggling in, drinking water, yelling for help, singing hymns, talking to God.
As the sun began to set once again, I fought discouragement with a spate3 of words: "If I'm to stay another night, I give it all to You, Lord. I love You." I huddled deeper into my jacket. "Lord, I'm so very cold. Will I ever be warm again? I wonder how my family and friends are doing. Dear Jesus, I love You so..."
"Hey!"
The voice was not my own.
In the fading light, I saw him. An angel with a fishing rod and hip boots.
"Praise God!" I yelled. The man across the river was definitely an angel! Who but God could put an idea in someone's head to go fishing in below-freezing weather? And send him to a desolate area where a woman lay in grave need?
"I'll be right over," the fisherman shouted back. He started wading toward me, but the river was too deep and he had to go upstream. When he finally reached me, he was shaking with emotion. Gently, he lifted the sweater from my face. "Oh, honey, how long have you been here?"
I had been there nearly 36 hours by the time the ambulance took me away from the banks of the Blue River. By eleven o'clock the same night, I'd been helicoptered to St. Anthony's Hospital in Denver. My family was notified, and I was placed in the care of Dr. John A. Odom Jr., one of the finest surgeons in the area.
Dr. Odom was accustomed to working with people who had been in bad accidents. While he was waiting with me to go into surgery, he said, "Fern, I've had plenty of patients who were in terrible wrecks--pinned in cars for maybe six or eight hours before they could be gotten out. They were in so much shock that it took hours to stabilize them before we could do anything for them. I'm amazed that you haven't suffered any shock and that you're rational after such a long period of time. If I'd been out there like you, I'd be frozen clear up to my elbows and knees. In fact, I'd probably be dead. I'm very impressed with you."
I was impressed, too. Not with myself, but with the faithfulness of God. Out there on the bank of the Blue River, He taught me a survival technique I'm using over and over--in everyday situations. I learned that talking with God--constantly--will not only help screen out fear and buoy4 your strength and resistance to shock, but it will also steady your mind as you face a difficulty of any kind.
Whatever the ordeal--small or large, physical, mental or spiritual--God will keep you company in it. You have only to ask.
Are you alone? Talk to Him. Scared? Tell Him. In pain? Call on Him. Pray and keep praying. Sing praises. Give Him your every fear and need.
He listens. He hears. He gives you "the peace that passes all understanding"--which is the strength to endure.
I know.
When I Asked for Help
By Clint Walker
I was skiing a few years back, up at Mammoth Mountain, near Bishop, California. I am pretty proficient5 at many adventurous activities, from shark hunting to motorcycling, but skiing is one that I had only recently tackled, which is why I was measuring the steep run before me with such a wary6 eye.
Finally I shoved off down the slope, gathering speed as I followed the contours of the twisting, irregular terrain. I still don't know how it happened, but all at once I was tumbling out of control, and then an abrupt, violent stop.
As I fell, one of my ski poles up-ended in the hard-packed snow. The momentum and my weight as I fell on it drove the pointed tip about five inches into my chest, through the breastbone and into my heart. I rolled over in the snow. The wind had been knocked out of me, and I was in terrible pain.
About 400 feet below, my instructor was looking up at me. I called as loud as I could, "I'm hurt bad--get help!" Then I fell back.
I remember a sensation as of rings of light radiating from my body, as ripples radiate from a pebble tossed into water. At the same time I had a feeling of being propelled through space; and although the pain was still there, I became less sensitive to it.
I suddenly knew that I was dying. With the knowledge came a sense of sharpened awareness. I did not think of a particular person or event; my life didn't flash before me. But I knew, with an overwhelming conviction, that the Power that had given me life could sustain it--against any odds.
My concept of time underwent a change as I lay there; my existence seemed no more than an instant in eternity, and with a clarity I had never known before, I saw life in a new perspective. Things which had seemed so important, simply were not. I had recently gone through a difficult emotional experience, and I recalled it now with a tranquillity7 that would not have been possible previously.
Although I felt I was slipping away from this earthly experience, I also felt a sense of going on. With it came a sadness that I had not done more with my life, and immediately I had a strong desire to stay, as though there were some unfinished business to take care of.
I said, "God, I'm really in trouble! I can't help myself. I'm not going to make it, unless You will see me through--and I would like to stay around for awhile." With that, I seemed content to let go.
The next thing I remember is being taken down the hill on a sled-type stretcher used for rescue operations. I supposed I was literally jolted back to consciousness because of the roughness of the terrain. The pain was almost unbearable.
When the doctor examined me, he recognized the necessity of getting me to the hospital in Bishop, some 45 miles away, as quickly as possible.
All in all, close to three hours elapsed from the time I was injured until I went into surgery at Northern Inyo Hospital at Bishop, where the doctors performed open-heart surgery. By then, according to the medical records, I was cyanosed (blue from lack of oxygen) and there was no recordable pulse or blood pressure.
I was operated on, Monday, May 24, and left the hospital walking, eight days later. I spent three days at a medical centre in Los Angeles and then went home. The end, you might say, of a remarkable experience.
But actually, it was merely the beginning.
News of the accident had been carried by the wire services, and I had been interviewed by television newsmen. In the course of the interviews I made a statement which was to change my life. I said that I had asked God for help on the mountain, and that I was satisfied that I would not be here now, if it were not for that prayer.
Then the letters began to pour in. Sacks of them arrived at the hospital, and were forwarded to me at home--from Australia, England, New Zealand, Canada, and all over the U.S.
I expected the usual get-well messages, and of course there were those, too. But the majority were one theme: "Thank you, Clint, for saying what you did. When a big outdoor guy like you will tell the World that he prayed for help, and got it, it strengthens my own faith."
"I'm not a member of any church," a Wyoming man wrote, "but what you said up there on the mountain did me more good than all the sermons in the World."
I have prayed at times in my life before, but it took this experience to help me put things in their proper perspective. I was always a loner; even as a kid, I was shy, an introvert8. I really didn't know how to get along with people. And worry--I was the World's champion worrier.
But up there on the mountain, I found a new appreciation of life. I have found that many of the problems that I thought had to be solved at once, can wait. And very often, it is in that time of waiting that the Creator speaks most clearly to us.
The waiting is not always easy, but I understand more fully now the verse from Psalm 62 which has always been a favourite of mine: "My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from Him" (Psalm 62:5).
Help from the Fifth Dimension
When our sons Chet and Jeff were teenagers, they always celebrated the end of a long trip home to Florida by dashing out of the car and jumping into our swimming pool. It was the finishing touch to a journey--as much a family tradition as the prayers that started a trip. My wife Catherine, our children and I never set out without first asking for God's protection from trip's beginning to trip's end.
One year before leaving Virginia to travel back to Florida, our family prayed together as usual, asking God to be especially close. We made the trip south without accident. But on arriving home, the boys failed to make their customary dash to the pool. "Too tired," they said.
In checking things around the house, I started to switch on the underwater light that creates a beautiful glow in the pool. But the switch was already on the "on" position. Odd, I thought. Well, I guess the bulb burned out. But then a prickly feeling crept over me.
Immediately I taped the switch in the "off" position and made sure that no one was to enter the pool.
The next morning, I called an electrician, who checked the pool light carefully. "You've got an old, obsolete9 fixture here," he said. "Must've been here before you bought the place. Anyhow, water got into the light socket and shorted the circuit. Good thing nobody went swimming--they would have been electrocuted10."
More than a good thing. For our family, it was one more example of how God touches our lives in a supernatural way when we seek His help.--Leonard E. LeSourd
In the late 1960s my husband, Lawson, served as a commander at an air force base in Okinawa, Japan. Since he was scheduled to be there for two years, I joined him with our two daughters.
One morning as we sat in our living room, a violent storm raged outside. Torrential rains and gusty winds caused a terrible racket. Then came the even louder sound of an airplane roaring over our house.
"That pilot's in trouble," Lawson said as he reached for the telephone to call the control tower. "He's too low and off course."
When Lawson hung up he told us the pilot had attempted a landing. But because of bad weather and a malfunctioning radar the pilot's approach to the runway had been a near disaster. Now the pilot had turned around and circled and would try to land again. He had to make it: There were passengers on board and his fuel was running out.
"Let's pray," I said to our girls. We did, and by the time we'd finished I saw that the rain had stopped and the wind had died down. Then our telephone rang.
"That was air-traffic control," Lawson said with a smile. "The plane has landed safely."
Almost immediately it began to rain hard again.--Janie K. Wynne
On a Christmas Day a young man, tall and slim with dark hair, was making his way south on Interstate 85 just below High Point, North Carolina, trying to hitch a ride.
For two years he hadn't been home; his family had heard nothing from him. He and his mother had had a disagreement, and he set off across the country, going from town to town, from odd job to odd job. He worked at filling stations and produce markets; he drove a taxi and picked crops; he was an orderly in a nursing home and a plumber's assistant. But now he was ready to go home.
Thirty miles to go, but a ride was hard to find. "Mom," he said to himself, "I'm tired and hungry, but I'm coming home."
The cold wind blew and a few trucks rumbled by. Then from across the road, he heard a voice call his name. "Mike! Hey, Mike, come here!" To his surprise there was his stepfather, waving, calling to him from his truck. Mike ran across the highway. "Get in, Son. We're going home."
Mike tossed his bag in the back of the truck and embraced his stepfather. "Fred," he said, "how did you happen to be here?"
"Your mother sent me. Just this morning in her prayers for you, she knew you were coming and that you were on Interstate 85 just below High Point."
"But how did you know I'd be here? I didn't write. I didn't call."
The two men looked at each other without saying a word. Then Fred started the motor. "She's waiting for you, Son."--Fred Nicholas (Mike's stepfather)
Elmer Hambaugh will never forget that Easter weekend shortly after he became a Christian. Especially that Monday morning when the doctors came to operate on his foot.
Earlier,
Good Friday morning, thinking to take a short work break, Elmer parked the city bus he drove for a living in front of a suburban Cincinnati police station. As he chatted inside, Elmer was dumbstruck to see his empty bus start to roll slowly downhill, straight for an intersection packed with rush-hour traffic!
He raced out, praying, Dear God, stop that bus! In an heroic effort, Elmer grabbed hold of a side-panel advertisement on the vehicle and dug in his heels--only to be knocked down and dragged under the chassis11, one foot caught wedge-like between a rolling rear wheel and the pavement.
And then, for no apparent reason, the bus came to a halt.
There it stood, neatly parked at a crosswalk, safe behind the white line. A city maintenance worker--a man who'd never driven a bus--rushed to Elmer's rescue and managed to back up the vehicle, freeing Elmer.
Doctors at the hospital shook their heads when they saw Elmer's mangled foot. Anticipating a complicated skin graft12, they scheduled a Monday morning operation.
All weekend Elmer prayed and fasted. And on Easter Monday he heard the doctor's words of amazement, words that told of something even stranger than the fact of the bus having been suddenly stopped.
"Your foot is healed! There's no reason to operate!"
Angels Watching Over Me...
By Marjorie Lewis Lloyd
A young mother was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes one spring morning. Their little garden was aflame with fresh jewel-like flowers, and the smell of warm clover filled the air. In a moment of time, the long, dreary winter was forgotten.
As she looked out the window into the back yard, she noticed that the garden gate had been left open. Her little three-year-old daughter, Lisa, had toddled through the gate and was sitting casually on the railroad tracks playing with the gravel. The mother's heart stopped when she saw a train coming around the bend and heard its whistle blaring persistently.
As she raced from the house screaming her daughter's name, she suddenly saw a striking figure, clothed in pure white, lifting Lisa off the tracks. While the train roared past, this glorious Being stood by the track with an arm around the child. Together, they watched the train go by. When the mother reached her daughter's side, Lisa was standing alone.
During World War II, George was a navigator on a B-24 bomber called "The Liberator", stationed in Italy. On one particular mission, his plane was flying over central Europe. As they approached the target area to be bombed, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and heard a voice say to him, "Get up and go to the back of the plane." He proceeded to do so, leaving the pilot alone in the front of the plane.
In the brief moments that he was back there, anti-aircraft fire13 took place over the target area. When George returned to the front of the plane, he noticed a shell three inches in diameter had blown a hole in the fuselage14 of the plane and right through his navigator's seat.
To this day, he is confident God sent an Angel to tell him to go to the back of the plane at that specific moment. He has remained conscious of God's hand on his life through the years and it has greatly added to his faith and trust in Him.
Latvia is a picturesque country nestled between the Baltic Sea and Russia. It is a country of fragrant woods and singing streams, and sloping meadows covered with flowers. In 1940, Russia seized this country and made it into a Communist state.
Rudolf was a young, dedicated schoolteacher who was proud of his Latvian country. One day in 1942, he was suddenly taken away from home and placed in the Daugavdils concentration camp for "political reasons". Life there was a grim and bleak existence of cold, black nights followed by senseless, empty days. Weeks soon became months, and Rudolf yearned for the day when his cell door would open and he would be free again. During the long, interminable15 nights, he would often remember how the birds used to fill the countryside with their songs on summer mornings and the way the fresh clover smelled in the warm sunshine. Would the day ever come when he would be free to experience these simple joys again?
After he had been a prisoner for six months, all hope for his release seemed to be gone. One afternoon as he sat in his cell, he put his head in his hands and began to pray. "Is there any help, Lord? Is there any hope?"
Suddenly, a brilliant light flooded his cell and stood as a great wall of light before him. And although he had not seen the sunlight for over six months, this vivid light did not hurt his eyes. In the middle of the wall of white light there appeared this message: "23 September." It was written in bold black letters.
He heard a clear, steady voice say, "That's the date when you will be free. Do not tell anyone this date." The words sang their way into his heart with a renewed message of hope.
Then the cell began to dim as though the sun had slipped behind a cloud, and the light was gone. Rudolf was left once again in the cold darkness. Only there was a difference. Instead of bitter despair, a quiet warmth began to soak through to his lonely heart. A sense of peace surrounded him and he felt secure and loved by God. He knew that September 23 was still six weeks away, but a small seed of faith took root in his soul, giving him new courage and strength.
At last the long-awaited date arrived. If anyone was to be set free in his prison, it always took place at ten o'clock in the morning. However, ten o'clock came and went without the promised freedom. At two o'clock (the same time he had seen the great light in his cell six weeks earlier), the door swung open and a guard's voice pierced the darkness:
"Rudolf Matiss, pick up your belongings and come to the office!" With no explanation, he was given his passport with the words, "You are free to go!"
He walked away from that bleak concentration camp that afternoon with the autumn sunshine brushing his face and the soft wind filling him with the fresh breath of freedom.
For the past forty years, September 23 has remained a special day of celebration for Rudolf. He remembers it with a feeling of peace deep in his soul that has never left him.
Emily grew up in a lovely southern town filled with charm. She was seven years old and it was her responsibility to walk home from school with her little five-year-old brother. Each day as they walked down the tree-shaded street, Emily looked forward to passing her favourite house. It was a large brick home set in a garden carpeted with flowers and surrounded by a tall fence.
One afternoon as they were walking past the big house, she and her brother suddenly felt a hand on their shoulders. In an instant, they were picked up and placed gently down about fifteen feet away. In that same moment, a car came down the street at tremendous speed and ran up over the curb, smashing into the iron fence at the exact spot where Emily and her little brother had been walking. Had they been there, they would have been crushed into the fence. When Emily turned around to see who had picked them up, no one was there.
The Voice out of Nowhere
By Robert Meeler
I was 38 when the Lord spoke to me and told me to do the strangest thing.
We had a little farm in the mountains of North Georgia then--me, my wife Nell and our six children. I'd never been to school a day in my life and I couldn't read a word, but I did know how to farm. I'd learned that from my father. The day I heard God speak was a beautiful one, the kind where the sun blazes down and warms your bones. I was bending over, picking some peas for supper, when out of the blue a Voice boomed: "I WANT YOU TO GO PREACH!"
I jerked up and looked around. Some rascals are playing a trick on me, I thought. I ran to the big rock on top of the hill, where I could see for miles. But when I got there, not a soul was in sight--and not a sound could be heard except the birds chirping and the soft swish of the wind. I was sure then that God Himself had given me an order, and I began to shiver. Why would He want me, an ignorant farmer?
"No, Lord!" I cried into the sky. "I can't preach. Not a man like me with no learning. Why, I can't read Your Word. Besides, I'm too new a Christian."
A couple of weeks before, Nell had taken me to a prayer meeting, and that night I'd accepted Jesus. But how could a brand-new Christian preach to others?
"Don't ask me, God," I mumbled, looking down at my cracked, dusty old brogans16. Then I started to run down the hill, away from that Voice.
As it turned out, I kept right on running for five years, because during that time I didn't go to church much. I didn't have time for it. A farmer leads a busy life, seven days a week. Or so I told myself.
Those were lean, hard years for our family. Everything seemed to go wrong. My crops failed; I was in a bad accident with my pickup truck, and--worst of all--my sweet little daughter Betty died. I walked around half-dazed most of the time, and that got me into more trouble.
Where I lived, getting ready for planting meant burning off the fields before ploughing. I knew perfectly well how to burn safely, but the spring that Betty died I wasn't giving the job my full attention. I raked brush into a pile to start the fire, and when I bent down and struck the match, I didn't notice the wind had picked up.
All at once the wind whooshed across the field and whipped my fire out of control. I had to keep it away from the sprouting fields my neighbour had recently planted! I panicked--raced into the fire and tried to beat it out. Instantly I was completely surrounded by flames. They roared higher than my head. "Lord, save me!" I yelled.
"I don't want to die. Save me, and I'll do what You want!" The last thing I remember is covering my eyes with my arm and dashing through a wall of fire.
I was badly burned and spent a long time in the hospital, but God answered my prayer. Now I had a promise to keep--somehow. I had to find a way to do what He wanted.
Shortly after I was on my feet again I sold my farm and moved my family to what I hoped was a better one near Lyerly, Georgia. I went with my family to the Belmont Baptist church. I had a lot of catching up to do.
Several years passed and I did my best to honour the Lord and learn about His teachings. Just by listening hard, I memorized a good amount of Scripture. I wasn't preaching, but I was never shy about testifying about the Lord. Then one day the church deacons called me aside.
"Bob," they said, "we'd like you to teach the adult Sunday school class."
"I can't," I told them. "I don't know how to read."
But those people were a good bunch of friends. "That doesn't matter, Bob," they said. "You'll make a good teacher anyhow." They wouldn't let up urging and encouraging me.
I was still ashamed about my ignorance, but I remembered my promise to God. Maybe this is what God meant when He told me "go preach," I thought. Teaching is almost like preaching. Maybe this is what He had in mind all along.
I accepted the job.
Before each class my wife, bless her, read the lessons to me. I couldn't have done the job without her. But Nell didn't have much formal schooling and there were many words she couldn't make out herself. After two years, I began to feel frustrated. I needed to learn to read for myself. Even with a lot of back-patting from the folks in my Sunday school class, I felt they deserved a lot more than they were getting from me.
If only I could get some schooling...but we were still poor. And even if I could afford to take time away from my farm work, how could an old codger in his 50's fit into a classroom with little kiddies? It seemed impossible! The blues began to gather around me like clouds around a mountaintop.
One day, fed up with the daily torment, I decided to will myself to read. I grabbed my Bible and stomped into the woods behind our house. I sank down under a pine tree and opened my Bible. The mass of black letters all seemed a jumble. None of those little marks printed on the page had any meaning to me. I tried so hard to make them out that my head began to hurt and my stomach knotted up. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I slammed the Book shut and let the tears come. Inside there was a deep ache, and it came out in great moans.
"Lord," I sobbed, "You know my misery. You know I'm trying to serve You. I want to do what You want me to do, but I don't know how. I need to read Your Word, but I can't. Dear God, help me!"
For hours I sat there, crying and begging for help from Above. At last a peaceful feeling settled over me. I didn't know what it meant, but I felt better, as if Someone had put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You'll be all right now."
That night, I was listening as Nell read the Bible to me. She stumbled on a word, and without thinking I leaned over to look at the page. "That's `impoverished,'" I said.
She picked up reading where she'd left off until another word stopped her. Again I looked at the page. "That's `inhabitants.'"
The third time it happened, Nell got a funny expression on her face. "You know this Book better than I do," she said.
And all of a sudden it hit me. She was reading verses I hadn't memorized!
Almost fearfully, I took the Bible from her and ran my eyes over the page. "I can read, Nell," I cried. "I CAN READ!"
I flipped page after page and every sentence made sense. I even picked up a magazine and read the words on the cover. "It's got to be God's work," I whispered. "Only God could do this for me."
How long had He been planting His Words in me so that now, this night, they had sprouted and bloomed? Without another word we joyfully gave thanks to Him.
I stayed up late that night, searching the Scriptures with my own eyes. What a joy to read for the first time the Words in Job 32:8, "There is a spirit in Man: and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understanding."
To me, those Words will always have a special meaning. They say that every one of His children has a secret Teacher Who lives within us. If you ask His Help--and trust in His wisdom--you'll be given whatever knowledge you need to have.
How else could an ignorant old farmer learn to read without ever setting foot in a schoolhouse?
(Note: Robert Meeler taught his Sunday school class for seven more years. Then he became the preacher for a church in Alabama.)
Only Minutes to Live
By David Vaughn
The steady buzzing of the chain saw filled the wooded hollow where I was working that cold afternoon in late October, 1982. Cutting my own wood saved us $500 in fuel bills each winter. Although my wife, Pam, didn't like my being out in the woods alone, I loved the solitude of my own world.
Working at a steady pace, I was warm, even in my T-shirt. The work went fast due to how I had removed the saw's safety roller tip, which gave me an extra two inches of blade to cut through thicker trees. (However, removing this safety tip was a big mistake!) In a little over an hour I had enough wood to fill the truck.
As I turned to load the truck, I noticed the cherry tree I had felled the previous evening. It had appeared to be rotten, so I'd left it. Now I thought, Maybe I'll give it a cut.
Leaning over, I pressed the whirling blade against the fallen trunk. It sliced like butter. Then, halfway through, the chain started throwing off sparks--it had hit a piece of embedded barbed wire. The kick, when it came, was so strong that it threw the chain saw up and back. Ducking, I felt the razor-sharp blade whirl past, just flicking my T-shirt.
Still holding the whirring saw, I thought, Boy, that was close! Then I felt something warm on my chest. I looked down. Blood...
Throwing down the saw I thought, Good Lord! What have I done?
I knew I had to stay calm and assess the damage. As I went to look in the truck mirror, I reached up and touched my neck. It was cut! Strangely, even though I was bleeding, I could feel no pain. All I could think was, I'm going to die!
I twisted my T-shirt around my neck like a tourniquet17, but it didn't help. I sat down on the tail end of the truck and resigned myself. I have maybe five minutes to live...
So many shades of beautiful green, the light, filtering through the leaves. Funny, as many times as I had been in the woods, I had never noticed all the colours...so beautiful. Now the light was turning golden. I thought, It's a great feeling to die. And if I were going to choose a place, this tranquil spot deep in the woods was as good as any. I felt no pain. I felt only acceptance.
I thought of Pam and our little son, Michael, and all the things I hadn't said, hadn't done for them. I'd always thought Pam deserved someone better than me. I was just a poor workingman; I had never accomplished anything important--and now I never would.
It occurred to me that my body would be hard to find out here; I had to try to get as far out of the woods as I could. I struggled over to the door of the truck, opened it and climbed into the driver's seat.
I stepped on the gas and roared up the slope, leaves spraying. I still don't know how, but I made it. Letting up on the gas just a bit, I started the turn, then hit the gas again, hard. The truck weaved between the trees, but moments later I was in a clearing.
Before me stretched a broad meadow. In the middle, about 350 yards away, was a huge tree. If I can make it there, it'll be far enough. They'll spot the truck.
Away I went, bouncing across that pasture. I bumped to a stop under the spreading canopy. I was still conscious, but beginning to feel tired. Another couple of hundred yards farther, cows were grazing near a fence. On the other side of the fence was a road. Could I make it there? I stepped on the gas again. Two minutes later I pulled up beside the fence and emerged from the truck. This is pretty good, I thought, I made it thus far. The gate was made of heavy water pipe about seven feet long. And it opened uphill. Even if it had been unlocked I couldn't have opened it. I clambered over it.
By now I felt as if I was walking underwater.
A car was coming up the hill. I wobbled towards it, waving my arms. The car slowed, but the driver must have thought I looked like a bloody scarecrow, because she stepped on the gas. I groaned.
Up the road, perhaps 100 feet away, was a boat-storage and tackle shop. Slowly, with great effort, I placed one foot ahead of the other, climbed the one big concrete step up onto the porch, and tottered to the door. It was dark inside.
Balling my fists, I banged on the windows. A light went on. Then, Peggy Suite, the proprietor18, was staring at me through the glass.
Don't panic! Don't panic! I was thinking. I managed to croak, "Call an ambulance..."
At once Peggy's partner, Dan, a bear of a man, was on the porch. He pulled a picnic bench from the wall and gently laid me on it. Then he went to fetch a towel. He pressed it hard against my neck. Quickly it soaked through.
"Am I dying?" I rasped.
"Now you just keep quiet!" Dan ordered. "You are not going to die."
"Pam...where's Pam?"
"She's coming. We've called the paramedics19."
I felt a need for something...I wasn't sure what. I remembered a kindly Sunday school teacher who in my childhood had taken us fishing and told us stories about Jesus. But I never had use for religion and church.
"Dan...pray for me," I whispered.
"Uh, I don't know how," he replied awkwardly.
I was scared. I didn't know how to pray either. But I found myself talking to God. I told Him I was sorry I had lived the life I had and sorry for the things I'd done without knowing any better. "Please forgive me for my sins, God. Please take my soul to Heaven."
An incredible peacefulness rolled over me, and I no longer cared if I lived or died. Although the temperature was in the low 30's (near freezing), a warmth flooded me from the inside out. I felt no pain.
"You know, God, this isn't fair at all," I said. "All my life I've gone my own way. And now, when I need You so bad and call out...there You are. I haven't done a thing to deserve this kind of Love. I'm dying, I know. But if I had it to do over again, I would do it differently." I had an overpowering impression that God was listening--and approving.
I became aware that people were hovering, milling around me. A paramedic was leaning down, telling me to hold on. I was perplexed. How come they're so upset? I thought. Can't they see how happy I am? It's okay. I'm so happy I'm glowing.
My arms and legs began jerking with convulsions, but in my joy I hardly noticed or cared. Then hands were stripping my clothes away, putting canvas pressure leggings on me, carrying me to the ambulance. I looked up to see Pam beside me.
The ambulance did 80 miles per hour all the way into Bloomington. The police had set up roadblocks all along our route. I was tired, so tired. By now I was drifting. Then, nothing.
The next morning the surgeon, Dr. James Topolgus, stopped by. I had lost 80 percent of my blood--as much as you can lose and live. But he had sewn me up and given me a blood transfusion20. "You're very lucky I was on duty," he quipped. "You got the best care in town." He paused, and then said, "But I'm not that good." I had been so far gone, only God could have saved me.
People began stopping by my room at all hours, to see the guy who cut his throat and miraculously lived. And just five days after the accident I was feeling so much better that my doctor sent me home. Two months later I was back at work.
I was a changed man. I began devouring the Bible, learning all I could about this God Who had saved me. I began telling my story at Pam's church (which was now also mine), and at other churches. I told my listeners I had always believed I was self-sufficient. That's why I loved being in the woods, my domain, where I thought I was in total control. But that cold October afternoon, I found out that I wasn't in control at all. God was. And when I acknowledged that, He reached down, held me--and saved me. n
Discussion Questions
Following are a number of questions, some of 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 you may 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.)
1embankment: a mound of earth or stones used to hold back water or support a roadway
2gilding: covering with a thin layer of gold
3spate: a large number; great quantity
4buoy: hold up; keep from sinking
5proficient: skilled
6wary: guarded; cautious
7tranquillity: serenity; calmness
8introvert: a person more interested in his own thoughts and feelings than what is going on around him; a person who is shy and unsociable
9obsolete: no longer in use; out-of-date
10electrocuted: killed by receiving a strong current of electricity running through the body
11chassis: framework which holds the body and motor of a vehicle, to which the axles and wheels are attached
12skin graft: a surgical operation in which a portion of healthy skin is removed from one area of the body and attached to another area, to replace skin destroyed by a burn or other injury
13anti-aircraft fire: gunfire shot from the ground at enemy aircraft
14fuselage: the body of the aircraft
15interminable: unceasing; endless
16brogans: strong work shoes made of heavy leather
17tourniquet: a device for stopping bleeding by compressing a blood vessel, such as a bandage tightened around a bleeding limb
18proprietor: owner
19paramedics: emergency medical workers trained to give emergency care or assist doctors
20blood transfusion: the injection of blood from one person into another in cases of severe accidents, injuries or illnesses