She was comfortable around him now, seemingly unaware of his past social limitations, and accepted him as one of Rob’s peers. She leaned her arms on the table and tilted her head to one side. “Okay, ask.”
Peter could hardly believe what he was about to say, but he said it anyway. “Would you go to the winter dance with me?”
A giggle as soft as windchimes played on her lips, but without hesitation she nodded. “Sure, Peter. I’d love to.”
Fourteen years later, Peter and Maryanne were happier than ever. But at least once a week he wondered about Rob Garrett. Wasn’t there something he could do to thank the guy for setting him up with Maryanne? Where was he, anyway, and what was he doing? Had he found as much happiness in life as Peter had? Many times, Peter tried to find his old friend. Rob had attended Rutgers University, but the school was no help in shedding light on where Rob had gone after that.
Peter was working at his computer late one night when a thought hit him. The Internet had several sites where people could connect with old classmates. Inspired by the sudden possibility, Peter did a search and found an extensive listing of names and schools. He typed in the correct information, and in a matter of minutes he found Rob’s name. The information listed was general, but it included his old friend’s e-mail address. Peter jotted a quick note, asking if the recipient was indeed the Rob Garrett from St. Thomas High School and stating that he’d like to talk to him, if possible.
The next day, in his online mailbox, Peter found a response from the address. He opened the mail and found a letter from Rob’s wife. Yes, Peter had reached the right person, but Rob was very busy. He rarely spent time on the computer. She included their phone number and address, located in Thousand Oaks, California.
At that last bit of information, Peter nearly jumped from his seat. “Maryanne!” he called out across the house and waited until she came down the hall and poked her head into his office.
“Yes?”
“How would you like to take a trip to California this weekend?”
Rob was just about at the end of his rope.
He and his wife and their oldest daughter, Tara, had all been tested to see if their blood types matched Alicia’s, but none of them did. Next the doctors checked the national donor bank, but that news was also bad. The chances of a match outside the family was one in ten thousand. The donor bank had nothing for their daughter, and Alicia’s cancer was advancing at an alarming rate.
That day as they drove home from the doctor’s office, Alicia fell asleep in the backseat of the car, and Rob and his wife prayed in whispered tones.
“We need a miracle, God. Find us a match for our little girl.” Rob’s voice cracked and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Please.”
When they pulled up in front of their house, a sedan was parked outside, and from what Rob could make out, a man was sitting in the driver’s seat. “Who’s that?” He narrowed his eyes and tried to make out the shape through his car’s tinted windows.
His wife knit her eyebrows together. “No one I recognize.”
As they parked their car and climbed out, the door of the sedan opened and a man stood up and waved at him. “Rob Garrett?”
Rob studied the man and found him vaguely familiar, but from thirty yards away he couldn’t place him. “Yes, how can I help you?”
“Rob, it’s me! Peter Hickman!”
“Peter Hickman?” Rob’s voice sounded tired, and his tone was only mildly surprised. Peter Hickman? The guy he’d befriended back at St. Thomas? The two hadn’t spoken since graduation. “What are you doing in these parts?”
The man walked closer until finally Rob saw that he was indeed Peter Hickman. He was more filled out now and a smile stretched from one side of his face to the other. When he was closer, he reached out and shook Rob’s hand. “I’ve wanted to find you for the past fourteen years, Rob. I can’t believe I’m really here.”
Rob wished he could appear more lively, more upbeat. But as his wife carried Alicia into the house, he felt like crying. How could he concentrate on this chance meeting with Peter Hickman when his little girl was dying?
Peter gushed on about how he and Maryanne had gotten married and how they had two children and how they couldn’t be happier. “So you see,” Peter slapped Rob on the back as the two headed for the house. “All these years I wanted to thank you. I kept wishing there was some way I could pay you back for what you did for me that year.”
Rob brushed off the notion with a partial smile. “Don’t worry about it, Peter.” He took a seat in the living room and watched as Peter took the chair opposite him. “I’m glad it worked out so well.”
Peter leaned back, his smile still full, eyes glowing. “How about you, Rob? How’re things with you?”
At first, Rob didn’t want to tell him. This was a chance meeting, after all, and the sooner Peter was gone, the sooner Rob could get back to worrying about Alicia. But in that moment, a Bible verse from a sermon earlier that week came to mind.
Where two or more are gathered, there I am also.
Rob made casual conversation as the Scripture played through his soul a few more times. Then finally, as though God himself were urging him to spill his heart, he froze midsentence. His hand came up to his face and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
“Rob? You okay?”
“No.” The word was lost in a stifled sob. “Not really.”
Peter slid to the edge of his chair and put his arm on Rob’s shoulder. “What is it, buddy? Tell me.”
And Rob told him everything.
When he was finished explaining about Alicia’s dire situation, Peter stood and reached for his car keys. “I’m going to the hospital right now to have them draw blood. You never know, Rob. I could be a match. I’d hate to never find out.”
The idea seemed almost ludicrous; no reason existed to believe Peter Hickman would be a blood match to his daughter. But it couldn’t hurt. And Rob didn’t have the energy to talk his old friend out of it.
Rob went with Peter to the hospital. Once his blood was drawn, Peter asked the nurse to reference his type to Alicia’s case.
“I live out of town,” he explained. “I’ll need the results as soon as possible.”
The nurse promised to phone the results in an hour, and Rob and Peter left the hospital. On the way home, they picked up a bucket of chicken, and they were just finishing dinner when the phone rang.
Telemarketers, Rob thought. He answered it on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Mr. Garrett?” The voice belonged to a woman, and it was brimming with excitement. “I have the results from Mr. Hickman’s blood test.”
“Yes?” Confusion welled up in Rob’s chest. What was her enthusiasm about?
“He’s a match, Mr. Garrett. A perfect match.”
Rob fell in slow motion to his knees and hung his head. Peter Hickman was a perfect match for Alicia? How was it possible?
“What is it, Rob?” Peter was on his feet, standing behind him and touching the side of his arm. “What’s the news?”
Rob wanted to talk but he couldn’t. He was on holy ground, after all. Completely holy. Hours after he and his wife had prayed for a miracle, a man he hadn’t seen in fourteen years walked up to him and a few hours later they had their daughter’s match?
It was like something from a dream.
Rob stayed there, unmoving, trying to convince himself it was real. The phone fell to the floor, and he vaguely noticed his wife picking it up and learning the news for herself. In a matter of seconds, she relayed the information to Peter, and the three of them hugged and shouted and thanked God.
The surgery took place later that week, and no one was surprised when the transplant was a complete success. The miracle that had begun when Rob stepped into Peter’s life and helped him meet Maryanne was finally complete. Peter had done the thing he’d always wanted to do—repay Rob for his kindness.
But only God could have broug
ht the two together at that time, when Peter might repay his friend by giving away a part of himself and in the process saving Rob’s little girl.
Angel in a Pickup
The two doctors had been friends and partners for twenty years. Their mannerisms and mindsets were so similar, they often joked that even their wives could barely tell them apart.
“Kindred spirits,” William Sutter sometimes said.
And his best friend, Harry Bateman, would laugh and nod his head. “Kindred spirits.”
Ten years after starting their practice, the two men found land in a remote canyon outside Cottonwood, Arizona. The drive was long and winding, and during monsoon season it could get treacherous, but the friends found the extra effort worth every minute.
They bought properties a few miles from each other and moved their families out into the desert.
One night in late August, Harry and his wife were watching a movie at a theater in Sedona when Harry was seized by a strange and sudden thought. Will was in trouble; he was sure of it.
About that time, a clap of thunder sounded above the movie and he jerked in his seat.
“It’s just a storm, Harry.” His wife took his hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Why so jumpy?”
“Will’s in trouble. I have a feeling.”
Both doctors had been Christians forever. Therefore, though their region was given to New Age philosophies, neither of them paid heed to the energies or feelings their patients sometimes talked about.
But this . . . this was something Harry simply couldn’t deny. He grabbed hold of his seat’s armrests and leaned close to his wife. “Let’s go. I have to find him.”
Twenty-one miles away, Will Sutter was in a world of trouble.
His wife and daughter were out of town visiting family on the east coast, so he’d gone out by himself for bread and milk. On the way home, just as he turned onto the canyon road that led to his house, a monsoon unlike any Will had ever seen before let loose.
Signs bordered the canyon warning of landslides and flash floods, but in the ten years the families had lived off the road, neither had happened. Now, though, Will began to worry. Rain was coming down in sheets, and he couldn’t be sure but it looked as if the earth along parts of the hillside had given way.
He moved slowly along, determined to make it home before the roads grew any worse. At that exact moment a car came from the opposite direction. As it neared, it halted and flashed its lights. Will stopped and rolled his window down just enough to see the driver, a white-haired man with light eyes that almost glowed in the dark of the stormy night.
“Can’t get through,” the man shouted at him. “Part of the road’s gone.”
Will had a sinking feeling in his gut. He had to get through; where would he spend the night if he didn’t get home? Besides, the road couldn’t be that bad. Whatever was wrong with it would be fixed the next morning, and everything would be fine.
As long as he managed to get home.
Will stuck his hand out the window and waved at the man. “Thanks,” he yelled. “I’ll take my chances.”
The man looked hard at him and showed no signs of leaving. Will pulled himself from the man’s stare and hit the gas pedal. Strange guy, he thought. And what was he doing on the remote canyon road, anyway? Will had never seen him before.
Will kept driving, going slower with each turn. After a few minutes, the strange man in the pickup truck was forgotten. Suddenly, without warning, a wall of water and mud crashed against his Suburban and pushed it toward the edge of the canyon. The drop was more than two hundred feet in that area and Will could do nothing to stop his vehicle from heading there.
“God! Help me!” Will shouted the words, glancing quickly at his surroundings. He had a few seconds at best before the flash flood and flowing hillside pushed him into the canyon. “Please, God . . . help!”
Then, suddenly, his Suburban jolted to a stop.
Will blinked, his fingers in a death grip around the steering wheel. What had happened? He looked out his driver-side window and saw that the water and mud were still flowing against his car, but not as strongly as before. Every few seconds he could feel his front tires slip a little toward the edge of the canyon, but still his vehicle held.
When it looked as if the flow had stopped, he tried to open his door and escape. But the movement of his body caused his Suburban to lurch a few feet closer to the edge. Okay, God. His heart pounded and he forced himself to stay as still as possible. Give me a miracle, please. Get me out of this.
Back at the theater, Harry and his wife had just climbed into their Explorer when a pickup truck pulled up next to the driver’s door. Harry was trembling now, desperately worried about Will without any reason for feeling that way. He rolled down his window and looked at the man. Something about him seemed strange, otherworldly. His hair was bright white, and his eyes held an unnatural light.
Harry frowned at the man. “Can I help you?”
“Do you have a winch?” The man motioned back down the road. “There’s a guy off Old Canyon Highway stuck in the mud. He’s gonna need a winch.”
Old Canyon Highway? That was the road he and Will lived on. Harry struggled to find his words. “I’m headed that way; I’ll see what I can do.”
The entire drive back toward Cottonwood, the feeling that Will was in danger only grew stronger for Harry. But as he turned onto the highway, he looked for a car stuck in the mud, since he’d promised the guy in the pickup he’d help.
“Do you think maybe this is a little crazy?” Harry’s wife took his hand and gave him a curious look. “Will is home tonight, remember? His family’s out of town.”
“I don’t care.” He met his wife’s gaze and hoped she’d see how serious he was. “I’ve never felt like this in my life. He’s in trouble, and God wants me to help him. That has to be it.”
They kept driving, and Harry noticed sections of the road that were nearly buried in mud. The rain had stopped by then, but the damage it had caused was evident everywhere. “Flash floods,” he told his wife. “That must be what that guy in the pickup was talking about.”
One more turn and another straightaway and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. There, ahead of them, was Will’s car, the headlights flashing. It had slid sideways off the road toward the canyon’s edge, and though a bank of mud remained wedged against the driver’s door, a tree stump on the passenger side kept the Suburban from going over.
“Dear God, let me help him.” Harry pulled over but stopped short of wading through the mud toward Will’s car. “Will! It’s me. Are you in there?”
“Yes!” Will’s voice was higher than usual, tense and worried. “Stay there. I’m not stable. One wrong move and—”
At that instant, Will’s car slid another few inches away from the stump, closer to the canyon’s edge.
“I’ve got a winch. Hold on!” As Harry said the words, a chill ran down his spine. Suddenly he could picture the man in the pickup asking him if he had a winch, telling him that a man was stuck on Old Canyon Highway. How had the man driven from the remote canyon spot where Will was stuck to the theater parking lot in search of someone with a winch?
He had no time to analyze the situation. Cell phones didn’t work on that stretch of the road, so a rescue would be up to him. If he left for help, it could be too late. Moving as fast as possible, he found his winch and, using a nearby tree for support, braced the Suburban in six places. Just as he attached the last rope, the Suburban pulled away from the tree stump and slid freely toward the edge of the canyon.
But Harry’s ropes held, and the vehicle stopped a few feet short of going over.
“Praise God!” Will shouted from inside his car. “I’m getting out.” He climbed through the back door, and using the ropes for support he made his way to Harry’s car.
There the two men compared notes and realized something strange. They’d both had an encounter with the man in the pickup—a strange man with white hair and glowing
eyes, whom neither of them had seen before that night.
“Do you think maybe . . .” Harry’s wife was the first one to make the suggestion. “Could he have been an angel?”
The more the three talked about the possibility, the more it seemed the only answer. How else would Harry have felt driven to find his best friend at the very moment of his greatest need? And who else would have known where to find Harry at the theater, and in which direction to send him?
For a long moment no one said anything. They didn’t have to, really. God in his miraculous wonder had said enough for all of them.
Back Together Again
Scott Miller was forever second-guessing himself as a single father. His wife had left him and their two children fifteen years ago, and now little Laura was a full-fledged teenager. For the most part, Scott figured he had a good relationship with Laura, but sometimes—nights like that one—he wasn’t sure.
The evening had started out like any other, except it was Friday. For years, Fridays had been the nights Scott and Laura and her brother, Ben, settled down with a bag of microwave popcorn and watched a family movie. But three months earlier, when Laura turned sixteen, everything had begun to change. The occasional phone calls Laura once received became half a dozen every night.
Her friends seemed to have something fun going on every night, but Scott laid down the law early on. “Only once a week, Laura. No more. You need family time and study time. You’re too young to be out every few days.”
Most of the time Laura agreed.
But that night she’d gotten a call from two of her favorite girlfriends. They were all planning to attend the same slumber party the next night, so they wanted to know if Laura could go shopping with them. Just for a few hours.
“Please, Dad? Come on, everyone’s going.”
Scott leaned against the living-room wall and leveled his gaze at his daughter. “You know the rule, Laura. Once a week.”
“Yeah, but Dad, this isn’t a night thing, it’s shopping. Really. We’ll be back before nine.”
A Treasury of Miracles for Friends Page 4
