CLTP 33
Power and Protection!--Part 23
True-Life Stories of Gods Help in Crisis!
(For 9 years old and up. Selected stories may be read with younger children at the adults discretion.)

DFO Stories courtesy of Guideposts; Christian Reader.
(Christian Leadership Training Program publications are circulated free of charge on a strictly non-profit basis.)

Table of Contents
The Twister that Turned Papa Around      1
On a Dark, Lonely Road   3
Swept Downriver!         4
Traveling Companion      6
A Parents Worst Nightmare       7
A Cup of Cold Water      8
Covered with the Word    9
Discussion Questions     12
Glossary for Young Readers       12


The Twister that Turned
Papa Around
By Lynna Jo Rucker
Life had become unbearable that year of 1921. I was a girl of thirteen, the third of six children. Papa had taken Mama and us children to the dead end of civilization, the western edge of the Texas Panhandle1, far from relatives and friends. South of our house for fifty miles was nothing but canyons, mesquite trees, rattlesnakes, and coyotes.
Papa was gone much of the time. But this spring, drought and poverty kept him home. He had rented some land to farm and worked us all to the point of exhaustion. We prayed silently that God would do something to restore our sense of home and happiness. Papa would not allow Mama to pray with us or teach us from the Bible as she did when he was away. Our morale hit bedrock bottom when Papa began yelling at Mama and beating us.
Then late one afternoon it seemed like the wrath of God struck. The whole day had foretold its coming. The sun had risen red-eyed and angry and beat down on the parched earth. Heat waves danced around us just beyond reach. Sweat, sticky and smothering, clung to our bodies. We had worked until our tongues were swollen, our muscles taut as iron bands, straining to get the last bit of winter corn into the barn.
And then, about five oclock, the elements gathered. Clouds and hot, dry winds from every direction assembled for a heated conference in the southwest. 
The horses became restless, so Papa decided to head for the barn, cursing the fact that he had to leave one load of maize in the field. Just as we finished unloading the wagon, Papa stopped and said, Unhitch the horses and turn them out. Suddenly, something set the elements moving like a herd of stampeding cattle.
We could see it! The twister let down its funnel as blinding bolts of lightning and earth-shaking thunder heralded its landing.
Papa screamed at six-year-old Skeeter to tell Mama to open the storm cellar door. The little fellow was almost paralyzed with fear, but he ran.
Mama had already started for the cellar with baby Debbie. She took Skeeter and the baby inside and called frantically for the rest of us.
The horses, sensing the approaching horror, struggled as they were being unharnessed. Danny ran to unlatch the gates, but his young hands froze. The horses snorted and pranced at the gate. Finally Papa opened it and grabbed Danny from the pounding feet of the horses as they ran to safety in a canyon.
We all headed for the storm cellar, leaving the red barn with its staring eyes and open mouth to view it alone. Time and eternity blended in the tree tops as they leaned away from the oncoming disaster.
A bitter taste of fear dried our throatsnot fear for lost home and provisions, but fear of death. A sudden greed for life seized us. Papa was like a caged animal trying to open the cellar door against the wind. With almost superhuman strength, Mama pushed the door open from the inside, and we all tumbled in.
No words can describe the sound of that tornado. When it came, my papa, of all people, shouted, Leah, pray!
Mama knelt on the dirt floor with her brood around her and started praying. The noise, roar, dinwhatever you want to name itwas unbearable. Papa shouted, Pray louder! Pray louder!
Mama spoke calmly: God can hear even my heart.
But I want to hear, too, said Papa as he knelt down.
Mama talked to God as if He were standing over us. She asked that His will be done in sparing our home and thanked Him for sparing our lives. She prayed that He would save each of our souls and especially Papas. Then she started speaking from His Word as though she was reading it: The Lord is my shepherdthe entire Twenty-third Psalm.
From that she went to: Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in Me (John 14:1-3). Then she went to Romans 8:38-39: For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the Love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
She continued to pray and quote Scriptures, but something hit the stovepipe vent on top of the storm cellar. As rain, hail, wind, and thunder drowned out her voice, all of us huddled closer to her. We waited in peace, knowing we had God and Mama.
After a while, the noise subsided into a steady rain. In spite of water coming down the vent, no one moved. Mama sat as if transfixed. There was a light and look on her face Id never seen before. The flickering lantern light made her hair the color of a shiny new penny, and her large, hazel eyes were bright with grateful tears.
The rain stopped almost as suddenly as it had started. Papa headed for the door with Mama by his side. Everyone found someone to hold onto.
Mama and Papa opened the door slowly. Water was everywhere. With the door all the way open, we saw the house standing untouched. Mama said, Praise God! and Papa laughed.
We all rushed out, water or not. The barn was standing except for the west shed. The chicken house was a pathetic sight, but there were still a few chickens alive. Some of them were plucked clean except for wing and tail feathers. They didnt seem to mind.
We looked to the northeast to our nearest neighbors. There was no sign that a house had ever been there. Papa went immediately to see if they were safe.
Many people came to our home over the next several days telling us how the tornado had seemed to bounce over our place. It had risen for about a quarter of a mile, then settled back into its devastating path. They couldnt understand why.
We told them how Mama had prayed and God had answered her prayer. We knew we had experienced a miracle of God. And best of all, Papa knew it. Things would be different after thatand we began to rebuild our lives. Papa had been turned around.

On a Dark, Lonely Road
By Deborah Hoyt
Our pickup slowed on the road leading into Placerville, California, a rural mountain town. My husband, Nicky, and I exchanged tired smiles. We were halfway home, returning from a visit with my sister, Carrie, who lives in Sacramento. Leaving the flatland behind, we faced an hours drive up a winding highway.
Although we had both prayed for a safe trip before starting our two-hour journey, I silently prayed again as we made our way through Placerville and onto the mountain road. I wondered why I had asked Nicky to drive at such a late hour. We had planned to stay overnight at Carries, and had visited with her until late. But for some reason at 1:00 A.M. I had wanted to head home.
Now, singing songs to stay awake, we wove up and around the side of the mountain in the dead of night. On one side of the road, majestic pines covered the slopes; on the other side a steep embankment dropped into the woods below.
My body swayed in rhythm with the truck as Nicky drove, first around one curve, then another. Keeping a sharp lookout for deer, my eyes followed the headlight beams as they illuminated the road.
Suddenly, as the headlights swept across the embankment, my heart stopped cold. There in the dirt, facing the road, lay a naked young woman. She was on her side, her knees bent slightly. One arm stretched out on the roadside, the other rested across her head. The young womans shoulder-length hair was medium brown, and her skin was ghostly white. Somehow I knew with absolute certainty that she was dead.
I put my hands to my head and screamed. Startled, Nicky reached for me. Honey, whats wrong?
I saw a dead naked woman, I cried, on the side of the road! But when he started to slow down and turn around, I screamed in fear. Im scared to go back, I said. The road was so dark and lonely, and I wondered if the person who had harmed the young woman was still there.
Its okay, honey, he said. Theres a pay phone at the ranger station up ahead. Well call for help.
Several miles later, Nicky pulled off the road in a swirl of pebbles and dust. The only light was from the phone booth. Gravel crunched beneath our feet as we raced to the pay phone and dialed. This is 911 emergency, the operator said. Can I help you?
Please come quick, I told her, sobbing. Theres a dead woman lying on the highway.
Where are you?
At the Fresh Pond ranger station. Its awfully dark out here.
In a calm voice, the operator advised us to lock ourselves in our truck until someone from the sheriffs department arrived. Nicky held me as I cried for the young woman. Several cars passed by. Why arent they stopping to report anything? My sorrow slowly turned to anger that people had passed the young woman but hadnt stopped to call the police.
Nicky and I hopped out of the truck as a sheriffs department car pulled up.
What happened? the deputy asked.
I gave him the details. He listened intently, then asked for my identification.
Okay, maam, you and your husband can get into your truck and lead us to the site. But we want you to stay about two hundred yards back from the body.
We slowly retraced our route. When I thought we were near the body, Nicky pulled over. The deputy pulled alongside us.
All right, he said. Wait here.
He aimed his spotlights toward the side of the road, then drove ahead. I took ragged breaths, trying to stay calm. Whats taking so long?
Another sheriffs department car arrived, its spotlights carefully trained on the road.
The first car returned and the officer handed me my ID. We cant find anything, but were going to keep looking, he said. I need your telephone number, then you can leave. Well contact you if we need to.
As the deputy made a U-turn, I looked at my husband in horror.
Nicky, they dont believe me. They probably think Im crazy.
Nicky wrapped me in his arms. Honey, I believe you. I know you wouldnt get hysterical like that for no reason.
As Nicky drove the rest of the way home, I put my head on his lap and cried. He patted my shoulder and rubbed my legs, while horrible thoughts swirled in my mind. Why didnt I shout at Nicky to stop the instant I saw her? What if an animal dragged her off the road? How can I make them believe me?
When we reached home, I cried myself to sleep.
The scene continued to haunt me. All the next day, I couldnt get the image out of my mind.
Then, on our second day home, after Nicky left for work, there was a pounding on the front door, and I opened it to find my mother and brother-in-law. Whats wrong? I asked.
Deborah, didnt you hear? They rescued a three-year-old boy yesterday on the mountain! my mother said.
I stared at her uncomprehending.
It was because of your phone call. They saved a little boy. He was rescued from a crushed car that had plummeted forty feet off the embankment. It had been hidden from view, she said. The boy was barely alive. He was sitting right next to his dead mother. She died on impact.
I went with my mother to her house, where we turned on the TV and watched as a reporter gave an update on the crash. Because of my call to the sheriffs department that night, one of the officers went back to the scene at dawn. He didnt find a womans body, but did find a toddlers sneaker on the shoulder of the road. Combing the steep embankment, the officer found little Nick Shubish with his dead mother, Christene. Nick was suffering from severe dehydration2 after five days without food or water in temperatures that approached 100 degrees.
A picture flashed on the screen. It was of a young woman with shoulder-length medium-brown hair and pale skin. I started crying. Mum, I said, thats the lady I saw on the side of the road.
But she died in the car. How could I have seen her on the side of the road?
God must have sent that vision of Christene to grab my attention. And if the vision had been less shocking, and my response less extreme, its unlikely the officer would have gone back to search the next day.
My attention returned to the television. The reporter said it was a miracle the boy was found. Doctors said he wouldnt have lived more than a few more hours.
As I wept for the mother, I prayed for the little boy. And I thanked God for my small part in the miraculous rescue.
Swept Downriver!
By Jim Cable as told to Lorena Keck
Please, pray for my dad. Hes on a dangerous job, my daughter, Cherie, requested in her church in Nyssa, Oregon. Little did I know how much those prayers would mean to me.
On July 5, 1983, I was working on a derailment near Lynndyl, Utah, on the Sevier River. The dam had broken and flood waters had washed out a railroad bridge in the canyon. A California-Wyoming construction crew worked across the river from our Oregon-Idaho division to bridge the 40-foot gap in the damaged trestle3.
It was mid-afternoon. As I welded 20-foot steel pilings together, I couldnt get over the contrast of the blue sky above and the muddy, raging river below.
As the crane driver drove the steel foundations into the bedrock, the surging water pushed against them. To stabilize the pilings, we installed 40 feet of steel supports weighing two- to three-thousand pounds across the river. Yet even these supports bowed about a foot from the force of the steel pilings being pushed by the water. The river literally moved our crane and washed the west river bank away as fast as the pilings were driven.
Tension ran high as we worked eighteen to twenty-hour days.
Kevin, I heard the superintendent bark at a fellow worker, Leave it. We need someone working on that section that is more experienced. Change jobs with Jim.
As I swung across to trade places with Kevin, a piece of metal broke off. Losing my balance, I fell backward into the swollen Sevier River, twelve feet below. A large rock broke my fall, momentarily stunning me, before I went under. I was in excruciating pain.
Jimmy, Jimmy, save Jimmy! Hurry, hes getting away! I could hear the other workers screaming.
I went under a second time.
Five times its normal width because of flooding, the angry river swirled me in circles as I came up again.
Grab the rope! Grab the rope! the men yelled.
I stretched to grab it, but it was just out of my reach.
The current dragged me under a third time. I had to think fast or I would drown.
Stay calm. Dont panic. Get rid of anything heavy. Maybe then Ill be able to swim.
I tore off my welding rods, tool belt, jacket, and gloves. My steel-toed boots wouldnt budgethey had already filled with water. Because they were so heavy, they kept me somewhat upright in the water, but I couldnt touch bottom or kick my feet to swim.
The river was moving at about twenty knots, and I could see that the workers running on the bank were being quickly outdistanced.
Frantically trying to keep my head above water, I realized a bend in the river was going to drive me into a cliff. As the river pushed me toward that rock wall, I prayed in my heart, Lord, I need Your help. Fearing the worst, I whispered goodbye to my wife, Bev.
At that moment I felt as if I was shot out of the water. I saw what looked like the Lords hand reaching out to me from the shore, a good thirty feet away. Then I must have passed out, because the next I knew I was on the bank, clinging to some moss tangled in some sage brush. Kevin, the worker who had traded places with me on the bridge, somehow was there already. How he reached me was a miracle in itself.
When I first hit the water Kevin was working eighty feet from the east end of the bridge. Kevin needs glasses to see distances, and when I fell, he wasnt wearing them. Amazingly, despite the noise of his welding tools, Kevin heard the splash and my cry for help.
His attention was drawn to the river, and he saw me in the water.
He told me later: I could clearly see you floundering. It was as if you were only three or four feet away from me. I could see the expression on your face as you struggled to stay on top of the water.
Not stopping to shed his tool belts or leathers, he took off at a dead run. In a remarkably short amount of time, he crossed forty feet of uncompleted bridge, precariously balancing on the ties that had been laid. When he reached land, he slid down a forty-feet embankment, slogged through soupy mud, crossed a barbed wire fence, and waded a canal filled with waist-deep water.
He later admitted he was oblivious to anyone else being around until just after he reached me. He grabbed me, squeezing me four or five times to expel the water from my lungs.
To me, his shouts sounded far away. Jim, say something. Come on, Jim, you can make it. You cant die.
By this time other men had arrived to help.
Later at the hospital, I learned why I had experienced such intense pain the moment I fell: the tip of my collar bone had broken off when I hit the rock. Miraculously, I had not choked on it. X-rays also showed my lungs were clear, even after swallowing so much debris-filled water.
Hours later, back in our construction site home, Kevin filled out the accident report.
Im going to quit my job, Jimmy, he said. I cant face myself. My shoddy work almost cost you your life. Its a miracle youre alive.
As I looked at him, the burden of guilt he was carrying was apparent. Dont quit your job. Its nobodys fault. Dont blame yourself, I tried to console him.
But he was insistent. He told our crew chief it was his last day. Then he offered to drive me home. I was told to take time off to fully recuperate.
As we drove to Payette, Idaho, twelve hours away, I heard Kevin talking with God for the first time. Gazing at the dark sky as he was driving, he prayed, Lord, if You can hear me, I want to thank You for sparing Jimmys life, because I would have been guilty if he would have died. And, Lord, I promise You Im going to attend church again.
God had used my accident to convince both of us that we needed Him in our lives. Perhaps some of the other crewmens lives changed too. I dont know for sure. I do know for many weeks afterwards, my co-workers kept saying over and over, It had to be Gods doing because what happened in a matter of minutes was humanly impossible. It was a real miracle.
I had to agree, extremely grateful for God allowing me to live through such a terrifying ordeal. As my daughter and the people in her little church prayedmost of them strangers to meGod was listening and honoring their requests.

Traveling Companion
By Karen Rego
My four-year-old son, Wil, endured terrible leg pains. After consulting various doctors, my husband, Tom, and I were told Wil was probably suffering from arthralgiadifficult growing pains. We learned to live with his complaints and help him bear the pain. But one of the hardest times we had was during a trip to Florida.
We were flying to Miami to attend a wedding. Wil and his seven-year-old brother, Matthew, sat in window seats so they could enjoy their first jet ride. Suddenly I heard Wil say to his daddy, My leg hurts.
I rubbed Wils leg constantly, but his cries grew until they echoed throughout the cabin. I had never felt so helpless. God, be with us, I prayed silently. Finally we landed and Wil made his way uneasily out of the plane.
The following day Wil was fine. We enjoyed the wedding and a few days of vacation, then boarded the plane for our flight home. We were in the air less than five minutes when to my relief, Wil fell asleep. He slept through the entire flight.
The next Sunday was Palm Sunday4. During our service, in a reenactment of Christs entry into Jerusalem, a member of our congregation dressed as Jesus came down the aisle. Wil turned to his daddy and asked, Is that the real Jesus?
No, Tom replied. Jesus is up in Heaven.
Wil nodded. Like on the jet?
Startled, I asked him to repeat what he had said. The real Jesus, he replied, was next to me on that big jet.
You saw someone on the plane who looked like Jesus? I asked.
No, Wil replied matter-of-factly, I saw Jesus, outside my window.
I told Jesus my leg was hurting, he continued, and He said, No problem. Ill take care of you. Then I told Jesus Id take care of Him too.
I asked Wil if he was speaking of the flight returning from Florida. No, on the first flight, Wil said, Mama, you know my legs werent hurting on the way home.
After church Wil repeated his story as if it had been an everyday occurrence. Next time I want you and Daddy to look out the window so you can see Jesus too, Wil said, then added, I wasnt even looking for Him. He was just there.
Once we had landed in Miami and the time of hardship was over, Jesus simply, in Wils words, floated away. My sons experience reminded me that whether we can see Jesus or not, we remain in His loving embrace always. When facing lifes most difficult times, Jesus is there to comfort us.

A Parents Worst Nightmare
By Karen S. Daily
Tuesday, September 26, 1995, started out like most other days, except that morning my husband, Bud, and I had taken our two-year-old daughter Katie out for breakfast. We liked these little excursions while the four older children were at school; it allowed us to give focused attention to our baby of the family.
Katie brings great joy to our lives. Her big brown eyes and head of curly brown hair make her look like a little Shirley Temple. She is bright, curious and energetic.
That morning after breakfast she was exceptionally adventurous. On the way home, we stopped at several stores, and when she became tired of waiting, she became ornery5, slipping away from me as I stood in the checkout line. By the time I rounded her up and got in the car to head home, my energy was drained. I could hardly wait till lunch was over to put Katie down for her nap. As naptime approached we played our little game of Whose Bed Are You Sleeping in Today? She chose my bed.
Okay, I said, into my bed.
As I left the room, Katie called me back: Mommy, pray with me!
Bud prays with her every night, but I came back, knelt down beside her, and held her hand. Together we repeated our usual prayer, asking for forgiveness for our sins, and thanking God for His blessings. I added a prayer for an angel to guard and protect my little one that day. Then Katie and I sang Jesus Loves Me.
The afternoon was as quiet as I hoped it would be, but dinner time, as usual, was chaotic. The four school-age children have band, football, and cheerleading immediately before and after dinner, and we all seem to be heading in different directions. I asked Bud if he would drive the family shuttle.
Bud began rounding up the four. While one child was searching for a lost toy, another was whining, Hurry, Daddy, Im gonna be late! Finally, in a mad dash, they scrambled out the side door.
No one saw Katie run out the front door. No one heard her two-year-old voice say what she typically says when trying to get a ride along with her father: I come wit you, Daddy!
My husband remembers beginning to back out of our driveway. One of the kids shouted, Wait for Zach! Looking up, Bud saw Zach coming out the side door. At the same moment, he felt the tire roll over something. The cat, he thought, his stomach sinking. Then he saw me running out the front door, my eyes wide with fear.
Stop! I screamed. Katie!
It was a parents worst nightmare: Katie was under the rear tire. I fell to my knees beside her as Bud jumped out of the car.
Oh, Jesus, no! he cried.
This cant be happening, my mind told me. Not our baby! But it was. We were frantic. I tried to pull Katie out, but the whole left side of her body was pinned under the tire. Bud jumped back into the wagon, faced with the awful decision of how to move the vehicle without injuring her more, or possibly killing her.
Then a gentle voice we now know was Gods told him to put the car in reverse and ease back. Quickly, he responded, and I pulled her out. Holding her close, I told her she would be all right.
Daddy ran over me, she cried. I was comin too!
I was so relieved to hear her complaining. But inside my thoughts were racing. Am I holding my dying child? What is happening inside her little body? Massive bleeding from crushed organs? I had no clue. Fear gripped me.
We raced into the house to call for help. Our oldest, 16-year-old Chris, was so shaken that at first he couldnt dial the number (we didnt have 911). In desperation and helplessness, I looked up and screamed, God, we need You now! On the third try he was successful, and minutes later the rescue squad arrived. Before moving her into the ambulance, the paramedics6 put a neck collar on her and placed her on a back board. They felt there was a strong possibility she might have suffered neck and spinal injuries.
Bud, needing a moment of prayer, slipped into a bedroom. There he discovered our daughter Mandy, 7, sobbing as she paced the room. He held her and reminded her how they would pray each night, believing God would hear them. Next to the bed, they pleaded with God to keep Katie safe. Then Bud reassured Mandy that Katie would be okay. Back outside, he joined me in the squad with Katie, and the paramedics rushed our baby to the hospital.
In the emergency room, Katie was examined thoroughly: blood pressure, heart beat, urine content: they took X-rays of her entire body and a CAT scan7 from the neck down.
In disbelief, the doctors announced their findings: Katie sustained no major injuries. Her left side definitely had been compressed, indicating something heavy had been on her. But she didnt have any cracked ribs, her spleen wasnt ruptured, the kidney was fine. The only visible marks were a few scrapes and bruises and marks made by the tread of the tire.
Its a miracle, one pediatrician8 said to Katie and me. I have no medical explanation. Katie, you must have a guardian angel. I told the doctor she was rightthat afternoon we had prayed together and asked God to protect her.
I knew God had cared for Katie, but that night in her hospital room, the horror of what had happened replayed over and over in my mind. It was so real, I began shaking as much as I had in the driveway.
To get my mind off the near-tragedy, I turned the television to a Christian channel. Listening to the soothing music and watching scenes of majestic snow-covered mountains, my anxiety turned to peace. The next song they played was one our family sings almost every week in church. With Katie sleeping peacefully beside me, this familiar song took on a new and deeper meaning as I hummed along:
I will tell of Your wonders,
Ill be glad and exalt in You.
I will sing praise to Your Name,
Most High,
I will sing praise to Your Name.
It was as if my heart had been shuttered and I flung those shutters open in praise. Out poured my gratitude for what God had done for us. Our little girl was alive! Not only alive, but virtually uninjured!
The next few days were filled with questions. How, Lord? Bud asked. I felt the car roll over her. I saw her arm and leg stretching out from under the tire. How did You protect her? As an answer, Bud saw a momentary image of an angel draped over Katie while she was under the car; at the time he was unaware of our special prayer at Katies naptime.
Why is she bruised and scraped? he wondered.
So no one can say it didnt happen, it seemed God was saying.
There were tread marks on Katies chest and stomach. Doctors, nurses, and technicians had all seen them. Each of them knew what had happened and saw the awesome power of a loving God.
To this day there are still some unanswered questions, but Bud and I are sure of this: We have received Gods unmerited favor, and have come to love Him more than ever. And we believe the Words of Jesus in Matthew 18:10: Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones: for I say unto you, That in Heaven their angels do always behold the face of My Father which is in Heaven.

A Cup of Cold Water
By Tom Douglas
Many people take water for granted. You turn on the tap and out it comes. But my wife, Robbie, and I remember the days when water was not so easy to come by.   
During the Depression, Robbie and I and our two young daughters lived in a two-room house close to Robbies fathers farm in Daysville, Tennessee. I worked doing construction on a new road, and I was glad to have the jobeven if it meant walking five miles each way.
We had a big wood stove to cook on and keep us warm. But we didnt have electricity or running water. We washed with water from a nearby creek. But we had to carry drinking water all the way from a spring in the pasture. That meant walking some 300 yards up a hill and through a gate, filling a couple of two-and-a-half-gallon buckets, and trudging back to the house again. It tired us all out, especially Robbie, who usually had the girls in tow. Still, we were thankful to God for what we had, and somehow sensed that He knew what we were going through and was in it with us.
One warm Saturday, Robbie took the girls to visit her parents, and I stayed home working in the vegetable garden. I was hoeing away, trying to get over feeling tired and discouraged, when something made me stop and look up. A man was standing in the front yard. He was tall and wore black trousers and the whitest shirt I had ever seen. Our house was isolated, and I always knew if anyone was coming, so I was surprised. Good morning, the man said in a deep, pleasant voice. Im very thirsty. Could you give me a drink of water?
Any drinking water taken from the buckets in our house meant we would soon have to climb up to the spring again, and even the thought seemed exhausting. But then it occurred to me that this stranger might be pretty exhausted himself.
Sure can, I said, shoving aside my own weariness. Want something to eat too?
Just water, he said.
By now our water supply had been sitting for a while, and I suddenly thought of how much a tired and thirsty man would like a drink of fresh, cool water right from the spring. You sit down and rest, I said, taking a bucket. Im going to get some fresh water for you.
I climbed the hill, came back, and poured the stranger a tall, sparkling glass. He drank it right down. Wonderful water, he said. Too bad you have to go so far to get it.
It would be nice if the spring were closer, I said, but we have many other blessings.
The stranger smiled, said thanks, and walked off down the road into Daysville. I stood staring after him, feeling goodand a little peculiar. Where had the man come from? Where was he going? I had felt so peaceful in his presence I hadnt even asked.
But I couldnt get him out of my mind. I decided to go into town. Daysville was so small that a stranger would be noticed by everyone, and I would be able to learn more about him. But my friends on the porch at the general store said I was the only one who had come down the road. We couldnt have missed him, they said.
A few days later there was a downpour. About 30 feet from the house water began seeping out of the ground. When the rain was over and the earth dried, the trickle was still there. I took my shovel and dug in. Water bubbled out, fresh and fit to drink. It was a new springright at the spot where I had first seen the mysterious stranger.
We never had to make that climb up to the pasture again. Our new spring didnt go dry for the next two years we lived there. After we finally moved, there was another downpour, and the spring vanished.
Years have passed since then. Yet Ill never forget that long-ago source of refreshment and peace. The Bible says, If you have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, you have done it unto Me (Matthew 25:40). Well, I guess we did. And got a wellspring in return.

Covered with the Word
By Linda Shublak
I awoke early November 30 wrapped in romantic thoughts. David and I had been married less than two months, and it was thrilling to open my eyes and find my handsome 35-year-old husband doing his warm-up exercises beside the bed before his daily run. He leaned down, kissed me, and slipped one of his two dog-tag chains around my neck. Wear these till I come home, he whispered before he left.
David was a major in military intelligence at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, and as I fingered his tags around my neck, I thanked God for bringing us together. Our marriage was the second for both of us, one we had long prayed about. Each of us had asked God for a lifetime Christian mate, and at last our dream had come true.
I glanced at the clock, jumped up and showered. I had joined a Red Cross class, and was training to become a volunteer at the post dental clinic. Before leaving for class, I wrote David a love note. While I was taping it on the bathroom mirror, where he would see it when he came home to shower, I heard the wail of sirens. I paused to pray for whoever was injured, as I had done since I was a little girl. Then I went off to class, not realizing I had just prayed for my own husband.
I was in class when Davids commanding officer appeared at the doorway and motioned for me to come into the hall. One look at his face told me something was wrong. He gave me the news as calmly as he could: David was hit by a car while he was jogging.
As the colonel walked with me to the hospital adjacent to the dental clinic, I learned that David had been struck by a car traveling about 55 miles an hour. The driver had been temporarily blinded by the rising sun, and David had been thrown onto the hood, landing against the windshield. When the horrified driver hit his brakes, David had been catapulted some 64 feet and had landed headfirst on the pavement.
When we got to the hospital, medics were moving him onto a flight for the University Medical Center (UMC) in Tuscon, 75 miles away. I was in a state of shock as the colonels wife drove me there.
At UMCs emergency room I was told David would be taken to surgery to repair his broken legs and arm. But then the neurosurgeon appeared and canceled those plans. Davids head scans showed he had suffered multiple skull fractures, and little brain activity was going on. They would have to put in a shunt9 immediately to relieve pressure on his brain, and use a monitor to gauge the pressure moment by moment.
The neurosurgeon looked directly into my face. Your husband is dying, he said. He has two to forty-eight hours, at most.
I wanted to scream at him or ask if he could be wrong. But I had always been too polite to question people in authority. Thats what Holleigh, my 21-year-old daughter from my previous marriage said anyway. She always tried to get me to stand up for myself. But the doctor was towering over me now. You should call your family and get them here fast, the neurosurgeon was saying. And I see your husband marked donor on his drivers license, so youll need to think about donating his organs.
Suddenly the room seemed to be closing in. I had to get outside. Thank you, I said. Excuse me. I have to go pray now. I stumbled to an outside patio and sank down onto a bench. How can this be happening? How can David be dying?
My mind escaped to the previous June, to the tranquil front porch of my lakefront house in Sackets Harbor, N.Y., where David and I had met. I was living a quiet life with Holleigh, and David was on a one-month assignment in the area. I sat reading my Bible on the front porch as David ran by each morning. One day he stopped and started a conversation about the Bible, which led to dating and a proposal soon afterward. We both recognized each other as Gods answer to our prayers for lifetime mates.
By the time Davids father, mother and brother, Mark, arrived at the hospital, I was fasting and prayingsometimes silently, sometimes whispering softly into Davids ear while I held his handhour by hour. A kind neurosurgeon, Dr. William D. Smith, was now on Davids case, but the prognosis10 was still bleak. When doctors shone a light in Davids eyes, there was no response. Soon David sank into coma11.
The pressure on Davids brain shot up to five times above normal the next day. Dr. Smith explained that since the brain was swelling and pushing against the skull, circulation was being cut off; my husbands brain was being damaged to such an extent that, if he lived, he would be a vegetable.
Forty-eight hours passed. Dr. Smith told us the monitor showed pressure on the brain that was incompatible with life. Clinically, your husband is brain dead, he explained gently.
On the fifth day after the accident, when Davids condition did not change, well-meaning friends drew up a list of how many of his organs could be used to help those in dire condition. Arrangements were made for David to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery. I understood the others motivation. I had put my husband in Gods hands and would accept whatever happened. But I couldnt shake the feeling that neither God nor I was ready to give him up.
That evening, December 4, Dr. Smith called the family together. Gently but firmly he explained the decision we needed to make as to whether to continue to keep David on life-support indefinitely. Holleigh joined us as the family talked it over into the night, our hearts breaking.
When I went to my room, I felt lower than ever. Tears streaming down my face, I took my Bible to bed. God, if David is truly dead and its Your will that he be with You, I understand. But if theres something more I should do, please let me know.
I opened my Bible to the Book of John. And there was the story of Lazarus. I had read it many times before, but suddenly the words took on new meaning. Marthas brother, Lazarus, had been dead for four days when Jesus went to the tomb with Martha. As I read, my tears stopped abruptly. I am the resurrection and the life, Jesus said, he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live (John 11:25).
I sat up in bed. Yes, I believe! I said aloud. I believe that if its Your will, You can save David now just as You saved Lazarus then!
The next morning I dressed in the brightest color clothes I had, as a symbol of life. Carrying my Bible as if it were a sword, I went into Davids room to battle for his life. As usual, he was lying spread-eagle on that strangely shaped bed, which moved constantly to stimulate his circulation.
Maneuvering carefully around all the tubes and medical apparatuses, I started reading the 11th chapter of John, standing over Davids head, then on one side of him, then on the other side of him, and at his feet, even kneeling and leaning under his bed. I was not trying to perform some magical ritual. Rather, I was trying to cover Davids body with the Word of God. Doctors and nurses in the room gave me sidelong glancesa few openly disdainful, a few embarrassed and a few understanding. But I wasnt timid. I read aloud confidently.
When I finished reading, I opened my Bible and laid it on Davids chestthe same Bible that had attracted David to me in Sackets Harbor. With my hands on his head, I prayed aloud for a miracle, heedless of the medical people looking on. While I sang Amazing Grace, Davids favorite hymn, his father stood by the window, his hands clasped in prayer, and his brother, Mark, prayed in the chapel. Medical teams came and went.
A neurosurgeon stopped me in the hall afterward. Get a grip on reality, she told me. Stop talking about miracles!
For someone usually so awed by authority, I wasnt the slightest bit intimidated. Our God is a mighty healer, I replied simply. All that day when anyone referred to David as brain dead, I was surprised at the authority in my voice when I gave them the same response. Reports of others praying for David bolstered me even more. When I went to the hotel room that night I slept peacefully.
The next day as I walked into Davids room, his father met me at the door. Dont get your hopes up, he said. But when they examined Davids eyes today they saw a flicker of response.
We sat watching and praying at Davids bedside. As the hours passed, his arms moved, then later his legs. On December 7, I wrote in my diary while sitting at Davids side: Buzzers and beeps resound in my husbands roomsigns of life to all who hear that Jesus Christ is the healer!
Gradually David responded more and more to what was going on around him.
He couldnt talk because he had a tube in his throat, so he wrote notes to his family clustered around his bed. With a shaky hand, he scrawled out to me: I love you.
The neurosurgeons were all astounded at the reversal of Davids condition. The said they had never seen anyone so badly injured return to normal. Dr. Smith said he had never seen a miracle, but he thought he was seeing one now. When the tube was removed from Davids throat, he murmured that I was beautiful and asked me to marry him. We are married, I said, laughing for the first time in days. On December 8, doctors repaired the breaks in Davids legs and then his arm. Shortly after, David was moved to the Tucson Veterans Administration Medical Center.
Day by day, little by little, his memory returnedstarting with his earliest behavior and progressing onward. David fast-forwarded in a matter of days from childhood (where he used crayons and played with little cars), through high school and into college (where he sang the Indiana University anthem) to adulthood, where he regained most of his intellectual capacity.
As Holleigh and I helped David get ready to go home on February 2, a new nurse inadvertantly placed his legs in an awkward position in the wheechair. I politely but firmly corrected her, and my daughter smiled. Im proud of you, Mom, Holleigh said later. You stand up for yourself these days.
I fingered the dog tags around my neck, the ones I had never removed. Yes, I had stood up for what I believed in. And now my husband was coming home, thanks to Him.

Discussion Questions
Following are a number of questions, many 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 please choose those which apply and are helpful.
Is there anything that could have been done to avoid the difficult situation the people in this story found themselves in?
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?
Does this story show you anything about the benefits of the training, education and instruction you have received? Please discuss.
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?
Did you feel that the people in these stories could have been more of a witness? If so, how?
What lessons could you learn from a situation like this?
Why do you think God allowed this situation for these people?
Is there anything in these stories that you dont understand?
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?
What specific answers to prayer are there in this story?
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 elses? 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 is for the use of the word in the story and does not cover every meaning of the word.)

1 Texas Panhandle: the northern part of Texas that projects into Oklahoma
2 dehydration: physical condition where the body has lost water and is drying out
3 trestle: a framework consisting of vertical, slanted supports and horizontal crosspieces supporting a bridge
4 Palm Sunday: the Sunday before Easter, observed by Christians in commemoration of Jesus entry into Jerusalem, when palm fronds were strewn before Him
5 ornery: ill-tempered; difficult to handle
6 paramedics: emergency medical workers trained to give emergency care or assist doctors
7 CAT scan: an image of the brain produced using a CAT scanner, a device that produces cross-sectional, x-ray-like views of the brain
8 pediatrician: a childrens doctor
9 shunt: A passage created surgically to divert or permit flow from one pathway or region to another; a bypass
10 prognosis: prediction of probable course and outcome of injury or sickness
11 coma: prolonged unconsciousness caused by injury or disease