Hope & Miracles

by Amy Newmark

  Ten months went by and I did not meet anyone special but I continued to pray for a miracle. The little owl gave me a spark of hope.

  In January I received a phone call from a church camp in Maine, asking me to teach for a week in July. I agreed and looked forward to the experience with great anticipation. In March, I had a dream in which I heard a voice say, “You will meet someone at the camp.” I trusted that dream, so on my fourth day at the camp, when a man walked into the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee, I trembled all over. I heard the words: “That is him.”

  Ken joined me at the big table in the dining room where I was working on my computer. It turned out he was there as a volunteer to do some work on the chapel foundation. After introducing himself and finishing his coffee, he asked if I would like to go for a walk down to the ocean shore, just a few hundred feet away.

  “Sure!” I replied, and jumped to my feet.

  Walking down the hill beside him, trying to think of how to start an interesting conversation, I thought of the little white Pygmy owl back in Tucson and asked if he knew anything about birds. He replied that he had studied birds quite a bit.

  My story about the little white Pygmy owl at the pool in Tucson tumbled out of my mouth. Ken became very quiet. We had arrived at the gravel beach and I looked at his face and felt really uncomfortable. He looked pale. I asked him if he was all right and he told me his own white owl story.

  “About three days before my maternal grandmother, who raised me, passed away, she called and wanted my father and me to come and sit with her. She was one-quarter Micmac Indian, so when she explained that she was ready to go Home soon, we knew that meant that she was close to death. She said, ‘I am going Home soon, but I will return and give you a sign that I am okay. I will return as a white owl and you will know it is me.’

  “Two days later she died, and a few days later was her funeral. My father, who was 6’8” and close to 400 pounds, and I were still in our suits (we were pallbearers) on that hot August day. It was over 90 degrees and we were hot. After the funeral, Dad and I walked out into one of our 5,000-acre farm fields to sit on a log, where we kept coconut shells to drink water from a spring that poured out of the hill. We sat and drank the cool water in silence. Suddenly there was a silence so powerful that the hair stood up all over our bodies. Looking up, we saw a huge white snowy owl flying silently toward us, landing on a nearby tree branch where its yellow eyes looked first at me, then at Dad. It sat in silence for a few minutes, never breaking its gaze. Then it gently lifted off and flew away.

  “ ‘Did you see that?’ I asked my father. ‘Yep,’ he replied softly. ‘She came back to let us know. I wonder how she did that, since snowy owls are never here in the summer. They live way up north in the Arctic at this time of year.’ ”

  Three days later Ken and I knew that his grandmother had brought us together, even though we were 3,000 miles apart just a short time before. Honoring Ken’s paternal grandmother, his Native American heritage and my own Maliseet ancestry through my great-great grandmother was a wonderful way to begin our life together. We have now been married almost twenty years.

  ~Laura Lee Perkins

  The Voice

  The guardian angels of life fly so high as to be beyond our sight, but they are always looking down upon us.

  ~Jean Paul Richter

  My alarm rang at 8 a.m. I was tired. I had been up all night at the hospital delivering a baby. I got back to my student apartment at 5 a.m., exhausted. I was in my third year of medical school at the University of Washington, and I chose to do my six-week Obstetrics and Gynecology rotation in Boise, Idaho. At this smaller away-from-Seattle site, I would get lots of great experience. This was supposed to be a really exciting and fulfilling time, but it seemed most days I was just too tired to appreciate it.

  As I fell into bed at 5 a.m., I thought about shutting off the alarm so that I might get more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. But if I did that, I would miss my karate class. The karate group was the other main reason I chose to do obstetrics in Boise. I had the opportunity to train with Renshi Rick Boyes, one of my favorite karate teachers. So I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed my gi (the standard karate uniform). I jammed a piece of toast and a banana into my mouth and jumped in my little yellow Volkswagen Super Beetle. It was less than a ten-minute drive from the apartment by St. Luke’s Hospital to the dojo, which was on 13th Street.

  As I drove down Idaho Street, the heaviness of exhaustion coursed through my whole body and I wondered why I was doing this. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to get a few more hours of sleep? I pushed these thoughts out of my mind. Just stop that negative thinking right now, I told myself. The discipline and exercise is good for you. And you always feel better after a good workout.

  My little pep talk behind me, I focused on driving. I was going 25 mph. Every light turned green as I approached. I would make it to class on time and not have to endure the “look” from my karate teacher.

  A quiet voice in my head said, “Slow down.”

  Huh? Why? I checked my speed: 25 mph, the perfect speed for hitting each light just as it turned green. As I approached 8th Street the light turned green! I sailed through the intersection.

  The voice said again, “JOLENE, slow down.” Huh? I checked my speed again. “JOLENE, SLOW DOWN, SLOW DOWN!!!” The urgency and loudness in the voice really startled me this time, and I almost involuntarily stepped on the brake. I didn’t stop, but I slowed enough so that the light at 9th Street turned green several seconds before I got there. I was not yet to the crosswalk when a large green pickup barreled into the intersection from the right, traveling at least 50 mph.

  OMG! Disbelief and shock flowed through me. I pulled over to the side of the road, my whole body shaking. I sat there for a few minutes breathing as the realization sank in.

  That pickup ran a red light! I would have been smack in the middle of that intersection! My little Volkswagen Bug and I would have been smashed if I had not listened to that voice. If I had not slowed down. I had narrowly escaped death!

  While I waited for my heart to stop pounding before I proceeded to karate class, I thought about the voice that had warned me to slow down. Until that day, I had never thought much about guardian angels. Now, I was convinced that I had one.

  ~Jolene Starr

  Conduit for a Dragonfly

  The union of heaven and earth is the origin of the whole of nature.

  ~I Ching

  My job advising medical providers gave me the opportunity to drive through twenty-three sleepy, cozy, friendly counties in southeast Georgia for over ten years. My territory included towns with everything from blueberry festivals to rattlesnake roundups. Over time, many of the people I called on for business became friends.

  One day, I found the office manager at one office having a quiet day because the doctor was on vacation. Leslie and I sat on two soft leather chairs in the doctor’s inner office in front of a grunting antique fax machine. She asked me if I would do my presentation while she worked on a fax. As she fed the paper in one sheet at a time, we talked.

  After my presentation, we had time to talk about our families, and I shared with Leslie how my married daughter had suffered an injury that resulted in a rare nerve condition that left her in constant pain. Leslie listened patiently. She was sympathetic and understanding, as no person had ever been to me before. When she spoke, I was surprised when she revealed that her own daughter also had a terrible disease, and it was my turn to listen, understanding better the reason for our connection. We were bound by our despair and our helplessness to do anything about our daughters’ medical problems.

  I was preparing to say soothing things to Leslie about how we needed to have hope and the courage to endure, when I heard the end of her last sentence, “. . .and we lost her four years ago.” All I could do was blurt out, “Oh no!”

  I had no soothing words f
or her. I felt the painful distinction between our common ground; my daughter was alive, still able to wait for someone to find a cure . . . Leslie’s daughter didn’t have that chance. I remember very little about the rest of the visit, except that for the first time at the end of a visit, we hugged.

  Several months later, my route took me once again to the office that Leslie managed. This day, I found a gaggle of medical students in the vestibule, student nurses at the window, a waiting room full of patients, and the inner office lined with people on chairs in various stages of having their vitals taken. Today would be the short and sweet version of my visit. I hit my target without preamble, gave Leslie the handout, and turned to leave.

  The office was very busy. I wished I could reach out to Leslie and acknowledge that I remembered our previous meeting but I knew clearly wasn’t the time or the place. Still, I couldn’t dispel the feeling that I needed to do something more. I thought, “Give her a pin.” My mother had given me some leftover dragonfly pins she made for a local craft fair and I still had them in my car. My mom had said to me, “Just give them away to anyone as you see fit.” In addition to the pins, she had fashioned out of gift paper tiny shopping bags to hold the sparkly creations. She placed each dragonfly made of crystal beads and silver wire in the center and covered it with a tuft of tissue paper.

  I continued to feel what could only be called a compulsion to give a dragonfly pin to Leslie. I didn’t want to, because I planned to give the pins to people in my immediate circle who would relate more to something made by my mother. Even so, I couldn’t ignore the nagging thought, “Give her a pin. Give her a pin.”

  I thanked Leslie for her time and walked out to the parking lot. As I got into my car, the idea became a command: “GIVE HER A DRAGONFLY PIN!” I looked over at the perky points of tissue paper and picked one bag at random, relocked the car, and feeling silly, walked back into the office. I hit the buzzer at the window, and they let me in again. Leslie turned her head and looked at me inquisitively. I handed her the tiny bag. Almost apologetically, I explained that it was just a little homemade craft my mom had made and I wanted her to have one.

  Leslie looked at the little bag made from wrapping paper and looked at me. I could see that she didn’t want or need this in the middle of the swirling action that was the office that day. Yet, she unwrapped the pin and held up the dragonfly. The staff around her suddenly stopped what they were doing. I felt the energy in the room change as everyone stared at Leslie. For a brief moment, I noticed her eyes had opened wider when she saw the pin. Then her face seemed to show no emotion at all. She seemed to look at the pin for an extra moment, then fastened it to her starched white collar.

  The staff was still frozen in place. I started to feel I had made a bad decision. Everyone was staring at her and now at me! I couldn’t understand what was happening. Leslie saw my confusion, turned to me and said, “I never told you this, but my daughter loved dragonflies. She studied them. She photographed them. She documented all she observed. Before she died, she told me that she would communicate to me through the dragonflies; that whenever I would receive one unbidden, it would be her signaling me that she was nearby. Thank you.”

  ~Kathleen Pellicano

  An Angel for Becki

  Pay attention to your dreams—God’s angels often speak directly to our hearts when we are asleep.

  ~The Angels’ Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman

  The darkness was oppressive as she wobbled in heels along the side of the highway. The car had choked to an unexpected halt, and like a normal teenager she did the only thing she could think of . . . get out and walk.

  It was cold and late, and the young girl shivered as the reality of her situation became clear. Home was far away. This could be a long night. If only someone would stop and offer her a ride—anyone—and preferably soon. She offered up a prayer for help and plodded on.

  The lights of a truck shone from behind her as it approached. “Maybe he will stop,” she hoped. The brake lights flashed on as it halted. “He’s stopping!” Her words were lost in the night.

  The transport ground to a screeching halt and the cab door opened. A wordless invitation was extended and she understood. Without hesitation the girl climbed up into the seat and closed the door. Slowly the truck pulled back onto the road and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again.

  I bolted upright in my bed, lathered in sweat. Was that a dream or was it a vision? It was unbelievably real, and the girl was my daughter! I jumped from my bed and ran to her room, positive I would see her sleeping soundly under the covers.

  Her bed was empty. I stood in horror trying to think why she had not come home. As the mental fog began to lift, I remembered she was visiting with friends that evening. Perhaps she stayed there for the night. It was 1:30 a.m. but I raced to the phone and dialed a number.

  “Hello?” The voice was heavy with sleep.

  “Hey. Sorry to wake you. Becki didn’t come home tonight and I was wondering if she stayed at your place?”

  “No, she left here a few hours ago. She should have been home at least by midnight!” The voice on the other end began to reflect my own panic.

  I told her about the vision that woke me. She promised to pray, and we hung up.

  Instantly I felt a force upon me, a spiritual presence driving me to prayer. Over the next forty-five minutes I alternated between lying prostrate in petition and pacing the floor in praise.

  At 2:15 a.m. lights appeared as a car turned up our long driveway. I could tell immediately that it was not my daughter’s. Was it a patrol car?

  My face pressed against the window. I could not breathe.

  A small vehicle pulled in front of the house, and tears stung as I watched my precious daughter emerge from the car and make her way up the steps.

  Throwing open the door, I pulled her inside, hugging her tightly while plying her with questions.

  “My car stopped on the highway and I decided to walk home.” She began to explain. “I knew I was never going to make it in my dress shoes so I prayed that someone would give me a ride. A truck slowed down and was about to stop, then suddenly picked up speed again and carried on. Right after he drove away, a car with a mother and daughter stopped and offered me a ride. They saw the truck begin to stop as they passed me and were concerned, so they turned around and came back.”

  There were no words to describe the emotions that screamed through me. Her story was an exact parallel to the vision that woke me from deep sleep. God had provided an intercessor for His child in an hour of grave danger.

  I don’t know why that truck driver decided not to stop, but something tells me it was because of an angel walking beside Becki. All I know is that I am eternally grateful to the mother who stopped to save her, and for the dream that caused me to pray for her.

  ~Heather Rae Rodin

  Hold Fast to Your Dreams

  Dreams are today’s answers to tomorrow’s questions.

  ~Edgar Cayce

  I should have known I was having a dream, but somehow you never do when you’re in the middle of it. You never just stop in the middle of a dream and say, “Wait. Really? Circus clowns in my classroom, and I’m walking on a tightrope? This must be a dream!”

  So I didn’t jolt myself awake that night in May of 2003 when I found myself standing at the doorway of an old mountain cabin, asking the wizened caretaker if it was safe for me to venture out to my car, since I’d heard there were bobcats in the woods.

  “Oh, go ahead, you’ll be fine,” he assured me. “There aren’t any bobcats around here.” But immediately a terrifying bobcat lunged out of the woods and began furiously circling around me. I opened the door to the cabin and let him in, but soon he was pushing out of the door I was struggling to keep closed. I braced against the door with all my weight, but he was too strong for me, and he pushed the door open, dragging out a large, whimpering dog in his jaws.

  End of dream.

  The next ni
ght, the bobcat appeared in the doorway of my husband’s parents’ house, circling around me. On the third night, it clawed on the outside of the tent I was sleeping in with a little baby. It burst in and dragged the baby away. I awoke and knew that something was very wrong. But what?

  I knew to be attentive to dreams like this — dreams that come in twos or threes, or dreams that have a recurring theme—because, decades ago, my friend Gloria had had a troubling dream about riding on a horse that, in the middle of a jump, lay down and died. Get to the doctor today, advised her friend, the Jungian dream analyst. And sure enough, she had a large ovarian mass.

  My own mother died of ovarian cancer, and I had been faithful about my own surveillance for the disease. For over a decade I’d had the CA-125 blood test and an ultrasound every six months. Even though they are notoriously unreliable, they are still the only tests available for this deadly disease, and I was not going to be caught off-guard. So I knew that if I ever had a dream about horses stopping a jump mid-air and lying down and dying, I should get in to see the gynecologist.

  But what could my dream mean? For several weeks I tried to pay attention. I had two friends who had studied dreams, and both Jeannie and Patty said that cats are often an indication of female energy. I couldn’t relate to that. For my money, the dream was more about the dog that was being dragged out of the cabin, or the baby dragged out of the tent. I was going through a hard time that spring, and wondered if the dream was about my fears of being dragged away from the work I love. “Most dreams don’t work that way,” they told me. “Pay attention to the cat.”