by Amy Newmark
“Lord, from now on I will place my life in Your hands and never take any of my blessings for granted.” I got up from my knees and plugged the flash drive into my computer with a hopeful heart. Wait! Was the light on the flash drive on? I couldn’t believe it! Was it possible?
My hands were shaking as I opened the drive to view the files. They were all there! I quickly copied everything into my computer. Once the download completed, the light on the flash drive went out, and nothing I could do would make it come on again! Holding my breath, I checked my hard drive to see what transferred.
Remarkably, everything was there! All the data was perfectly useable! Tears ran down my face. God had extended me grace and a real miracle! I framed that little flash drive, and I keep it on my desk as a reminder to place my trust in God and His power to restore, to never give up hope, and to always believe in miracles.
~Judee Stapp
A Thousand-Dollar Miracle
Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.
~Matthew 7:7
“We’re short $1,000 for our school bills — I don’t know what we’re going to do!” I hated to hear the despair in my husband’s voice. Dale and I were both seminary students, newly married and living in a little two-room married-student apartment on campus. Money was very tight. Ever the optimist, I tried to encourage him, saying, “It will be all right, things will work out. Let’s pray about it. God will take care of us.” In my heart I had no idea how.
In addition to a full course load and a part-time church on the weekends, both Dale and I worked all the hours we could get at part-time jobs on campus. I had an office job; Dale worked for the grounds department. Even I couldn’t see how we could possibly make up the shortfall on our tuition bills for the semester. It got so Dale was lying awake nights, worrying about money. When he began carrying a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in his shirt pocket while riding around campus on the tractor mower, I knew we were in trouble. I persisted in trying to reassure him. “It will work out Dale, you’ll see. God will provide for us.” But inside I wondered what we were going to do if He didn’t.
The seminary grounds crew stopped work each day at 4:00 while my office hours went until 4:30—which was nice since Dale usually had supper started by the time I wandered in. But on that particular day I honestly wasn’t looking forward to another meal with the dark cloud of our unpaid tuition bill hanging over us. I dawdled on my way down the hill to our apartment building, missing the cheerful man I had married.
As I turned the key and opened the door, Dale greeted me with a huge smile on his face, holding an envelope in his hand. “You won’t believe what came in the mail today!” he announced. “What?” I suspiciously asked.
“A check for $500! With a note from my home state’s executive minister saying he was thinking about us being newly married and in seminary and all, and figured we could probably use some money from his discretionary fund. Can you believe it? $500!”
I couldn’t resist my retort, “See, I told you God would take care of us!”
“You were right—I shouldn’t have doubted,” he said. And I felt a guilty pang for my self-righteous comment.
Things were a lot more relaxed at our dinner table that evening. The next day I got home early from an afternoon class and was puttering around the kitchen when Dale rushed in all excited. He was waving another envelope in his hand. “You’re not going to believe this Laurie! There’s another check for $500!”
“Come on, Dale, you’re not even funny,” I replied.
“No, seriously, it is!” He held the envelope above his head, daring all 5’1” of me to get it out of his hand and see for myself. I had to stand on a kitchen chair, but eventually I got it. Sure enough, there was another check for $500—this one from the widow of Dale’s hometown pastor, with a note that said she had received an unexpected bequest and wanted to share a tithe of the money with the newlywed seminarians. This time, even I couldn’t believe it. We read and re-read the check and the letter, breathless at the sheer grace of God.
On Day 3, I think Dale was a little nervous about opening the mailbox. It was back to the normal pile of junk mail and bills. But why should there be more? God had met our needs in a truly miraculous way—our tuition bill was paid, and we both learned a lesson in trusting Him to provide our every need.
~Laurie Carnright Edwards
A Message of Hope from the Dragon Lady
The wings of hope carry us, soaring high above the driving winds of life.
~Ana Jacob
My wife, Susan, was three thousand miles away in San Francisco with our daughter, Amy, who was in the hospital recovering from a medical emergency. Amy was recovering, but the whole experience had left me drained and discouraged about the future because of Amy’s recurring health issues.
It didn’t help my emotional state that Susan’s rental car was broken into the first night she was at the hospital. The thief took her GPS and Kindle, and scattered her clothes along the sidewalk.
When Amy left the hospital, Susan decided to stay with her to help in her recovery. Although necessary, Susan’s absence increased my discouragement because she was the keystone of my support system.
When my mother had passed away many years before, I had gone on a day trip to the seashore resort of Point Pleasant, New Jersey and found it to be a helpful, soothing experience. I decided to return there, hoping that it would help me feel better during the current crisis.
On the morning I was going to leave, I started to have second thoughts about going. My energy was so low from all that had happened; I just didn’t feel like taking a long drive. However, I started thinking about a particular spot I had gone to on a man-made breaker in Point Pleasant when my mother had passed. I remembered being there for a long time looking out at the ocean and being comforted. There was a pull inside me to go back to that exact spot.
On the drive down, I started thinking about my mother. She was the head waitress at a busy restaurant and because of her rather prickly manner she was called the “Dragon Lady” by her fellow waitresses. They loved her anyway. I know this because a number of them would periodically come over to our house to drink, play cards, and laugh hysterically at life, at themselves, and at a few “not for polite company” jokes.
I got off at my usual exit from the Garden State Parkway for Point Pleasant, but although I had taken this route a number of times before, I somehow got lost. I pulled into a parking lot and asked a man who was carrying a fishing pole for directions. He rolled his eyes and told me I was going exactly the opposite way I was supposed to be going. His directions were somewhat garbled and I got lost again. By this time I felt exhausted and decided to forget the whole thing and just go home. When I saw a sign to get me back to the Garden State Parkway, I went in that direction.
But that spot on the breaker in Point Pleasant kept intruding into my thoughts. As I was approaching a traffic circle, I suddenly recognized the road I was on and realized that if I just went the opposite way it would take me to Point Pleasant. I hesitated, but finally took the traffic circle to turn around.
The parking lot near the boardwalk where I usually parked for free now cost $10, and I almost backed out to look for a free spot somewhere else, but I was tired and decided to just hand over the money.
It was about a mile walk on the boardwalk to the breaker. It was a warm day and I started asking myself, “Why am I doing this?” I kept thinking I should just go home but something made me keep walking.
I finally got to the breaker, but to get to the exact spot where I had gone when my mother passed was tricky because I had to carefully walk out on cement blocks. I balanced carefully as I shuffled toward a cement column. When I got there I grabbed the column for support and looked at the water. At that exact moment a leisure craft was coming into port. On the side of the boat, in large script letters, was its name: Dragon Lady.
The hair on the back of my head stood at attention. For
a few seconds I just stared at the spot where the boat had passed, my arms still hugging the cement column. Slowly what had just happened sunk in. With all my delays, my wrong turns, my thoughts of turning back, somehow this boat was there at the exact moment that I could see it. I knew in my heart that things would be okay. The “Dragon Lady,” my beloved mother, would make sure of that.
~Edward A. Joseph
Glitter and Glue
Trust in the LORD, and do good; dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness.
~Psalm 37:3
A warm breeze wafted through the open doors and windows of the classroom in the small coastal fishing village in Ghana, West Africa. I picked up my scissors and started cutting the first stack of paper for the crowns.
Behind me, ninety children worked with their Vacation Bible School teacher to memorize Psalm 1 and listened to the Bible lesson. I worked with a team of three native teens to cut crowns, apply glue and glitter, and distribute them to each of the children. The only time these children saw glitter (or “shine-shine” as they call it) was when we came for the annual VBS, and each year they looked forward to being crowned sons and daughters of the Most High King.
As the teacher finished the lesson, I began handing out the crowns. I soon realized we hadn’t made enough for even half the students. No problem. We had plenty of supplies for more. I turned back to my team and got to work. After we had five or so crowns made, I passed them out while the teens continued to cut and glue. When I had a large stack of crowns, the children were content to wait at their desks, but now that I was only distributing a few at a time, I encountered cries of “Madam, Madam. Me. Me.” each time I turned around. The glue was running low and I was starting to get frustrated with all the pushing and shoving. But there were only about twenty children left, so I wasn’t worried. I turned back to make more crowns.
The next time I turned around, the number of children without crowns had more than doubled. I sighed but figured we could handle it. But when I looked up again, there must have been at least seventy children crowding around me begging for a crown—and the glue bottles were on empty. I could tell the new children were older, so I asked the teacher why they weren’t in their own class. He told me they had run out of supplies so they came to us to get their crowns.
I had reached my limit. Here were these ten- and eleven-year-olds bowling over the tiny tots for a piece of paper with glitter. Then God revealed something to me. These children were used to never having enough. Someone always had to go without. And they were pressing in to make sure they didn’t get left out this time. My next thought was, I wonder if this is how Jesus felt with the crowds pressing around Him?
I started praying. “God, this is about more than glitter and glue. This is about your ability to provide. This is about no one being left out. Loaves and fishes, God. Loaves and fishes.”
As I prayed, I remembered the words of my pastor: “Jesus does not provide us with everything we need. He IS everything we need. Jesus does not give us sufficient to our need. He IS our sufficiency.” I silently started praising God for meeting the needs of these children and proving Himself faithful.
A short time later, I noticed a peculiar thing happening. Whenever I put down a bottle of glue, there would be a mad dash as my helpers dropped their bottles and grabbed for the one I just set down. No problem, next time I picked up one of the others and used it. But when I set it down, everyone dropped theirs and grabbed for the one I just finished with. Then I realized, it didn’t matter which glue bottle I picked up, the only one with any amount of glue in it was the one in my hand.
I knew it was time to share my faith, but I was apprehensive. What if there wasn’t enough? Then, not only would there be children without crowns, but there would be teens with crushed faith. I decided to have faith, and I handed each teen a glue bottle (we had three—all quite empty by this time) and said, “Jesus will provide. Every child will get a crown.” There were still at least fifty children who needed crowns. The teens took the glue bottles and they took the faith I offered them and each time they squeezed a glue bottle I heard, “Jesus will provide.” A whole new attitude permeated the room. Not just the workers, but the children themselves, became less desperate as we passed out the completed crowns.
I sent someone to go check the house where we were staying to see if we could get more glue. The door to the supply room was locked and the key was in another village, as I expected. I kept watching the road for the rest of the team to return, hopefully with more supplies. They didn’t come, which was what I expected. Someone did go scouring in the other rooms and found two bottles of glitter and a mostly empty bottle of glue. We rejoiced and kept making crowns.
About the time the lids came off the glue bottles and we were sticking our fingers in the bottles to scrape them clean, I asked the teacher to begin praising Jesus with the children.
To the rhythmic beat of African praise, we scraped the bottom of the glue bottles with a stick to get every last drop. But even in that I saw something amazing. One time I’d grab a bottle and there would be nothing left. The next time I scraped it, the stick would come out dripping with glue.
Then it started drying up. We had been using empty glue bottles for over an hour. Finally I had to squeeze the stick to get the last of the glue off it. One of the teens scraped the glue off my fingers to finish that crown. There was nothing left. My heart sank as I looked around the room and saw another dozen empty heads. I took a deep breath, and in faith, picked up the scissors and another piece of paper. Everyone WOULD get a crown.
My helper said, “We are finished.”
I pointed to a bareheaded boy standing near me.
“He has one.”
“What about them?” I motioned to the group praising in the middle of the room.
“They have theirs.”
“And the children outside?”
“Everyone has one. We are finished.”
I sank down at the desk and cried.
~Deborah Gatchel
Miraculous Reunions
He’s Waiting
If you knew that hope and despair were paths to the same destination, which would you choose?
~Robert Brault, rbrault.blogspot.com
My mother stood on the waterfront by New York’s Hudson River, searching for a familiar face. It was a warm September evening in 1946 and she was just off the boat, literally, from The Old Country. After a journey that included a six-hour drive to Belgrade, a twelve-hour bus ride to Trieste, and fourteen days on a cargo ship across the Atlantic, a tugboat had finally deposited her, her three sisters, and their mother onto the dock on Manhattan’s West Side.
It had only taken them sixteen days—well, eight years and sixteen days, and they’d finally made it to America. And now, they waited on the wharf in the new world with one solitary trunk and no one to greet them.
“Where is he?” my grandmother, Tsena, asked aloud, panicked.
The three younger children — Milka, thirteen, Jovanka, eleven, and Nevena, eight—were mesmerized by the twinkling lights of Manhattan. My mother, Maria, the eldest at fifteen, soothed her mother.
“Don’t worry, Mom. He’ll be here. We’ll find him.”
She’d been comforting her mother for eight years — that’s how long my grandfather, Elia Christoff, had been separated from the family and living in America. He’d left their hometown of Prilep, Macedonia, in 1938 when the extortion racket, The Black Hand, tried to steal his American dollars. Elia had been granted American citizenship when he was twenty, after he joined the U.S. Army during World War I (that time, he was fleeing the Turks).
Then, as each daughter and one son, Dimche (who died at two from scarlet fever) was born, Elia registered them as U.S. citizens at the Embassy. One day, he dreamed, they could make America their home.
With her sweet disposition, Maria was her father’s favorite. He would take the eight-year-old along with him on daily errands and they’d walk and talk and laugh together.
By 1939, Elia had everything ready for his family to join him in the United States. He’d bought a house in Steelton, Pennsylvania and found a job as an electrician in the Air Force. Just as he was about to arrange passage for them, Germany invaded Poland and World War II had begun.
Elia sent Tsena a telegram:
War. Leave immediately for Trieste for last ship to America. Passage is arranged.
But by the time they got it, it was too late. The ship had left with another family in their place.
For the next six years, as war exploded across Europe, communication was cut off. Without letters, Elia had no idea if his wife and children were alive or dead. He bombarded local politicians with letters, begging for help to get his family out of Europe. He saved every penny and bought U.S. Savings Bonds — so many, that the Air Force awarded him a propeller for his patriotism.
Meanwhile, back in Prilep, the beautiful girls were learning how to dive to the ground at the sound of sirens. One bright afternoon, as German tanks rolled into town, they stood at the side of the road and watched one of their friends dart into the street and get crushed.
Yes, the German soldiers had arrived. And they decided that my mother’s home, a two-floor converted schoolhouse, was ideal for their headquarters. They took over the house, leaving the family one bedroom and use of the kitchen.
In the giant atrium on the main level, fifty to sixty soldiers slept lined up in rows on the wooden floor. They were boys, really—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old.
As the years and the war raged on, despite lack of food or pretty clothes, Maria blossomed into a beauty by fourteen—she had a heart-shaped face, honey-colored hair, and chestnut eyes. My poor grandmother, I’m sure, didn’t sleep a wink. She covered Maria up with scarves and coats, but what about those sultry eyes?
