A Treasury of Miracles for Friends

by Karen Kingsbury

  He also gave them the miracle of new friendship.

  In the Nick of Time

  As Taylor Evans climbed the damaged utility pole that cloudy afternoon in Oklahoma City, two thoughts occurred to him. First, he hadn’t heard from his best friend, Aaron, in six months. And second, he no longer expected to.

  Taylor stared at the light fixture some thirty feet above him and began to climb. He hadn’t pictured himself working for the electric company when he graduated from college, but the job had come up, and now he was close to being made foreman. The job paid well, tasks were usually simple to complete, and after twenty years he’d have a better pension than most.

  That afternoon, the problem was with the light itself. The bulb had been changed the week before, but now the new one had burned out. No doubt the wires were frayed, and it was Taylor’s job to determine where.

  He glanced at the increasing clouds overhead and whispered a familiar prayer. Get me down safely, God. Get me down safely.

  His climb continued five feet, ten, closer to the light fixture. As he moved, his mind wandered again and images of Aaron came once more. They’d been closer than brothers, able to read each other’s thoughts almost before they had time to think them. High school had been a blast, the two of them playing football and basketball for Central High School, and the same had been true for junior college.

  Back then, Aaron had been good enough to win a scholarship, if only he would have worked harder on his academics. His grade-point average was such that he talked Taylor into spending their first two years at the local community college, where they could both play football and Aaron could hope for a scholarship once his grades were up.

  The first season was going better than either of them had dreamed when the injury happened.

  Aaron was a tight end. One night a particular play had him cutting left and running ten yards for the catch. But a linebacker from the opposing team caught his pattern almost as soon as the ball was snapped. Aaron took a direct, full-force blow to his knee and collapsed to the ground. He had to be taken from the field on a stretcher to the hospital, where doctors delivered the devastating news.

  His knee was destroyed. Several operations would be necessary to give Aaron back mobility and range, and he would have to learn to walk again. But his days of playing football were over forever.

  That was the beginning of the end, Taylor thought, as he kept climbing the utility pole. He’d prayed for Aaron for months and years on end after that, rescuing him from parties where he was stone drunk, taking him to counseling centers where he could get help for the depression that plagued him, and most of all telling him about God.

  But Aaron didn’t want help, didn’t want to hear about answers.

  Instead he drew farther from Taylor every year. Finally, that past spring, Aaron told Taylor their friendship was over.

  “I don’t want your answers, Taylor.” Aaron’s voice was cold and bitter, without a trace of the warm humor that had been his trademark through high school. “Leave me alone, Taylor. We’re finished.”

  Three times since then Taylor had called. But always Aaron’s attitude was the same. And now . . . now that fall was here, Taylor was beginning to accept the idea. The guy he’d thought he’d stay friends with forever was finally and completely out of his life.

  Aaron Grant walked out of the church hall and smiled at the stormy sky above. How had he been so blind before, and how could he have let losing football nearly cost him his soul?

  Two months earlier, Aaron had been at a bar, too drunk to sit up straight, when his former coach walked in and spotted him. The man came up alongside Aaron, his face a mix of sorrow and surprise. “Aaron, how are you?”

  Aaron didn’t remember much about the conversation, only that his words were too slurred to understand. After a few more attempts, his old coach had shrugged and walked away.

  Even in his drunken stupor, Aaron realized what had just happened. The man he’d played ball for, the man who’d dreamed with him and believed in him, had just walked away from him in disgust.

  Suddenly every poor decision he’d made since his knee injury came flooding back, and there on the stool where he could barely manage to sit, Aaron hit rock bottom. The next day he was seized with remorse for the way he’d treated his best friend. Hadn’t Taylor always been there? Hadn’t he only wanted the best for Aaron?

  Memories flooded his heart all that morning, times when Taylor had forced him through his rehabilitation exercises, times when the two of them had run together, with Taylor always shouting at him to push harder, faster.

  Now that he’d made a decision to change, Aaron wanted to call Taylor more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t.

  Not yet.

  First he would get his act together, find out about this God that Taylor talked about so often, and walk away from alcohol altogether. Then, in a few months, he’d be ready. He could call Taylor and thank him for being the best friend anyone could ever have. And maybe, if God was willing, there would be some small way he could thank Taylor for never giving up. Even when Aaron asked him to do so.

  The next two months passed in a blur of intensity. The same effort Aaron had once given on the football field he now gave to getting his life together. He sought counseling for his depression and alcohol abuse and took a job working at the local supermarket. At night he started his college classes up again, and three times a week he attended a church near his house for services and Bible studies.

  That afternoon, with storm clouds building overhead, Aaron knew it was time. He’d known it from the moment they read the Bible verse for the day, the one that talked about encouraging each other daily. Encouragement had been Taylor’s ultimate gift to Aaron, even though that gift had been rejected. Now, though, Aaron could hardly wait to get home and call Taylor.

  It was time he and Taylor reconnected, time for Aaron to start repaying the favor and do some encouraging of his own. As he drove across town, rain began to fall and in the distance sharp bolts of lightning pierced the afternoon sky.

  Aaron smiled and hummed a song about God’s grace. No storm could dim his excitement. He was ten minutes from home, ten minutes from calling Taylor and making everything right again. No matter what else the day might bring, Aaron could hardly wait.

  The storm was making Taylor nervous. Clouds shooting off lightning bolts were drawing nearer every few minutes.

  Taylor was at the top of the utility pole now, and he knew the protocol: Get down immediately in case of an electrical storm. But Taylor had worked the job for long enough to know how much time he had. Ten minutes at least, maybe fifteen. He was nervous, sure, but he wouldn’t be stupid.

  He opened the glass fixture and saw the problem—frayed wires at the back of the bulb, so damaged that one of them wasn’t connected at all. Taylor went right to work, all the while keeping one eye on the storm. Three minutes, God. Help me be safe for three minutes. Then I’ll be done and I’ll climb back down.

  At that instant his cell phone rang.

  Because he was a specialist for the company, his personal phone had two distinct rings. One for normal incoming calls and one with short staccato beeps for emergencies. This time the ring was short staccato beeps. Taylor let his head fall forward in frustration. An emergency? Now? When he was so close to completing the task and getting down the pole?

  For a single moment, he thought about ignoring the call, but that would never do. Someone could be trapped on a pole or injured on a job site. When the ring came in as an emergency, he had to take it. He flipped his phone from his pocket, holding onto the pole and his safety harness, and barked a short hello.

  A few words sounded on the other end, but nothing Taylor could make out. His frustration doubled. This happened once in a while when the utility pole would interfere with phone reception.

  “Fine.” He mumbled the word and began the arduous climb back down the pole. When he reached the bottom, rain began to fall, and he slipped inside his car to mak
e the call. At that exact moment, Taylor felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Before he could blink, a blinding bolt of lightning zapped the utility pole twenty feet away, slicing across the very spot where Taylor had been working a minute earlier.

  The place where he’d still be if it weren’t for the phone call.

  Seconds passed, and Taylor could do nothing but stare at the smoking tip of the utility pole. He would have been dead instantly from the jolt, no question about it. Finally, as the shock began to wear off, Taylor drew a steadying breath and closed his eyes. God, you saved me from certain death. Thank you . . . and thank you for whoever called me on the—

  His thoughts came to an abrupt stop. He hadn’t checked on the message. Somewhere someone was having an emergency, and they had been counting on him to answer his phone. He pressed a series of buttons to check the previous caller’s phone number and saw it was both familiar and local. But he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.

  He pressed the Send button and waited.

  On the third ring, Aaron Grant answered. “Hello?”

  “Aaron?” Taylor’s mind was reeling. Of course. The number was Aaron’s landline, a number Taylor had rarely called since Aaron took most of his messages through his cell phone.

  “Taylor, you won’t believe it.” The man sounded serious, more clear headed than he had in years. “I’ve changed, Taylor. I had to call you and tell you so myself. Can we meet for dinner sometime this week?”

  Could they meet for dinner? Taylor gave a light shake of his head and tried to clear the cobwebs. Something wasn’t making sense here. “Did you call me on my emergency line?”

  A pause filled the other end. “No. Just your normal cell phone number.”

  “That’s impossible.” Taylor glanced out the window at the black mark near the top of the utility pole. “I was working. I wouldn’t have come down if . . .”

  Suddenly the pieces fell into place.

  The ring had come through as an emergency by some divine mistake, some God-directed miracle. A chuckle sounded in his throat and he realized his palms were sweaty. How appropriate that God would use Aaron this way, just when it seemed that the two might never talk again. “You know something, Aaron?” His words were careful and filled with sincerity as he spoke to his long-lost friend. “I think you just saved my life.”

  “No man, that’s not it.” Aaron’s voice was troubled. “I’m calling to thank you for saving mine. Hoping you’ll . . . hoping you’ll forgive me.”

  “Tell you what.” Taylor slipped his keys into the ignition. “Let’s meet at the diner near the junior college. You aren’t going to believe what just happened.”

  Miracle of Love

  Sarah Johnson had one prayer for her son, Robbie: That one day soon he would find a friend. Sarah and her husband, Karl, had recently moved from Rhode Island to the Pacific Northwest, a transfer necessary for his work as a computer systems analyst.

  But in the process, Robbie lost every friend he’d ever had.

  Robbie wasn’t like other boys. He couldn’t run or talk or think like the rest of them because Robbie had Down’s Syndrome. Back in Rhode Island, he’d attended a regular public grade school where he took instruction in a special-education classroom. At that school, the other students were familiar with him, and as a group they’d taken a liking to him. He was invited to birthday parties, and at school functions he was always surrounded by other children.

  “I have lots of friends,” Robbie would tell Sarah. “Friends are God’s way of telling you he loves you.”

  “Yes,” Sarah would agree. “God definitely loves you, Robbie.”

  Robbie would beam and all would be right with the world.

  But ever since the move, Robbie had been quiet and sullen. After school, Sarah or Karl would ask him about his day, and he’d stare at the ground, lost in thought for a moment. Then he’d look up and say, “It was bad. No friends.”

  They’d lived in their new location for three months, and they were four weeks into the school year, when Sarah and Karl had a meeting with Robbie’s teacher.

  “I’d like to find out more about Robbie.” The teacher had a stack of Robbie’s papers on the desk, but she kept her hands folded on top of them. “He seems very lonely, but he isn’t trying to connect with the kids in class.”

  Sarah and Karl were quiet for a moment. Finally Karl spoke up. “I think he’s missing his friends back in Rhode Island.” Karl managed a smile. “He was quite popular back there.”

  The teacher nodded, a look of empathy on her face. “Then perhaps it’s time to get Robbie involved in something extracurricular. Music lessons, maybe. Or a drawing class. Children with Down’s Syndrome typically enjoy exploring their artistic side.”

  Sarah tried to picture Robbie finding interest in piano or drawing. Robbie was an active child, one who but for a single chromosome would’ve been the fastest runner in class, the one most likely to star on the football field one day. Sports ran innately through him, but so far life had offered him no way to express that desire.

  “Robbie’s an active boy.” Karl spoke for both of them. “Art classes are fine, but he needs to connect with kids on a physical level.”

  The teacher gave another thoughtful nod and promised to look for such opportunities. “In the meantime, let’s keep hoping he’ll open up with his classmates. That would give him a wonderful support structure.”

  That night, Robbie came home from school and found Sarah in the living room. “I wanna run track. Please, can I, Mom?”

  Sarah’s heart sank. Robbie couldn’t possibly run with the school’s track team. Even if they were only fifth graders and not very fast, Robbie wouldn’t have a chance at keeping up. Even more, the school would most likely not let him. She reached her hand out for Robbie’s and bit her lip. God, give me the words here. When her voice felt steady enough to speak, she narrowed her eyes at Robbie. “Son, I’m not sure that track is the best thing for you.”

  “But I could make friends running.” He turned and took four hurried, cloddish steps. “See, Mom. I can run. Really, I can.”

  Sarah sighed. “We’ll see, Robbie. I’ll talk to your dad tonight.”

  After Robbie was in bed, Sarah told Karl about their son’s intentions. “He wants to be on the school team, Karl. We can’t have that; he’ll be the laughingstock of the school. Not only that, the other runners at the meet will have a problem running against someone with a disability.”

  Karl anchored his elbow on top of the table and rested his head against his open hand. “I don’t know; might be worth looking into.” He shrugged. “Could be good for him.”

  Sarah didn’t see how. The boy needed friends, not critics. A group of track-star kids wasn’t bound to have any need for someone slow and lumbering like Robbie. Still, the next morning Sarah called the office to check out the track program, and she learned that Robbie would be welcome.

  “We would place him in his own category, for disabled kids,” the school secretary explained. “Unless other kids with similar disabilities join track, he’d take first place every time.”

  First place every time? Running races by himself? Sarah wasn’t sure Robbie would appreciate that, but at least he’d be on the team. She talked it over with Robbie and Karl that night.

  “You might be the only special boy on the team.” Karl tried to convey the picture to Robbie. “Would you care if you’re the only one running your race?”

  Robbie angled his head and looked at the ceiling, as if the decision required extra thought. He shifted his gaze back to Karl. “Would I be on the team?”

  “Yes.” Karl gave him a crooked smile. “You’d be on the team.”

  “Okay, then.” Robbie raised up his hand and flashed a victory sign. “Let’s do it.”

  The first week of practice was Robbie’s best at the new school. Every day he came home a bit more excited about the chance to run in a race, the opportunity to be part of a team. Sarah and Karl wante
d to watch practice, to see how the other kids were accepting Robbie, but they resisted. He would have to survive without their support if he was going to survive at all.

  Track season opened with its first meet the following Friday. Sarah and Karl took seats in the stands and waited for Robbie’s race. His coach had explained that his event would be among the first set, so he wouldn’t have too long to wait before feeling like he was part of the action.

  Still, Sarah was nervous. She found her son in a crowd of kids stretching with one of the coaches and tried to determine if the other athletes were including him. After a few minutes she saw one of the girls slide closer to him. Robbie had been stretching over the wrong leg, and she corrected him.

  “Karl, watch.” Sarah pointed at the scene, her voice a whisper.

  “I see it.” He grinned.

  At that moment, Robbie nodded and flashed the girl a smile that was visible across the field. Sarah felt her heart soar. It was working; Robbie really was making friends on the team. Still, it would be impossible to tell if the track team was a good place for Robbie until after his race.

  Twenty minutes later, the announcer called for runners to report for the Special-100. Again, a nervous fluttering rose up in Sarah’s stomach. Please, God. Let him feel good about this. Help him look past the fact that he’s the only one in the race.

  “What’s that?” Karl leaned closer and pointed to the starting line. A race was getting ready to start, and Robbie’s event would be immediately afterward. He was stretching some fifteen yards beyond the starting line, the way he should. But four other runners were stretching, too.

  “Strange.” Sarah squinted at the students and saw they were in conversation with Robbie. The race in progress finished up, and Sarah watched Robbie take his place at the starting line.

  On either side of him, the four other runners lined up, too.