Power and Protection!--Part 6 CLTP 8, DFO. [11/93]
True-Life Stories of God's Help in Crisis!
(Recommended reading for 9 years and up. Selected stories may be read with younger children at adults' discretion.)
Introduction
In this series on "Power and Protection" we have been reading of many wonderful and mighty miracles the Lord has performed for those calling upon Him in desperate situations. The answers and ways in which the Lord has rescued these people in their time of need have been quite supernatural and truly miraculous--even Angelic intervention in some instances to protect, provide for, and deliver His children.
If you're wondering why you don't get such miraculous answers to prayer, stop and think a moment: What does it take for God to do such a miracle? It takes a dangerous, life-threatening situation. So if in your daily life for the Lord you are not receiving answers to prayer like this, you're probably not in these kinds of situations yet, and you can be very thankful to the Lord for giving you more peaceful times. We can be glad we don't have to have these kinds of answers to prayer, at least not yet!
However, we have the wonderful knowledge and trust in His promises that when we do need such miraculous intervention as these stories attest to, the Lord will take care of us just as supernaturally to protect and preserve us for His Work! "Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver you!" (Psalm 50:15)
In the meantime, these true-life testimonies of God's help in times of crisis certainly can build and encourage our faith, and is wonderful proof of the Lord's miraculous protection and His saving hand!
God bless you! We love you!
* * *
The Fire Storm
By Joe Stevenson
It was a hot August morning when I got back from church. Thunderstorms growled & lightning flickered over the 25,000 acres of untouched rangeland behind our house, which sits back some 200 yards from the Mount Rose Highway near Reno, Nevada.
I'd had a busy morning. First I'd helped my wife, Janice, load the car for a trip to Las Vegas where she planned to visit her sister for a week. She was taking the children with her. This meant that I would be alone with our dog, B.J., & our two cats. I was sorry to see my family leave, but I was kind of looking forward to a week of peaceful bachelorhood [1].
After they were gone, I drove down the dirt road to the highway & on to my church where I taught a discussion group. The topic that morning, I remember, was First Corinthians.
I also remember the feeling of satisfaction I had when I came back & saw our house sitting there in the sea of bush, silhouetted against the blue Nevada sky. It had taken us 10 years of planning & two of building to get that house, & we all loved it. We considered it the last home we'd live in.
At about 2:30 that afternoon, lightning started a brush fire about two miles from our house. I was concerned. Any fire in August is extremely dangerous because the vegetation is so dry, but the wind was blowing out of the southwest, which meant that the fire would be moving away from us. My neighbour, Tony Brayton, came over to watch it with me. We both felt it would be contained before it could possibly reach us.
Still, just as a precaution, I loaded a few belongings into the car. Then I got out a hose & began wetting down our roof & the brand-new deck I had just added to the house. Other people in the area were watching the fire, too. Three times the phone rang with people calling to say that they were praying we would be all right. There was comfort & reassurance in that.
But abruptly, at about 4:45, the wind swung around 180 degrees. The southwester suddenly became a northeaster. The flames were heading straight for us!
Tony, who had left about 10 minutes earlier, came racing back. We stood there, dazed by what we saw. What had been a small brush fire was now a gigantic fire storm roaring toward us, comsuming everything before it in a wall of flame 15 to 30 feet high & half a mile wide. On it came at an incredible pace, sucking oxygen from the air at ground-level in front of it & creating tornadoes [2] of fire that shot 50 feet into the smoke-blackened sky. The crackling sounds it made were terrifying. It was as if some gigantic demon bent on our destruction had materialised from nowhere. It roared up the hillside, leaping across a canyon [3] 60 feet deep & 100 feet wide as if the canyon weren't there. Its speed was incredible. In seconds it would be upon us.
I snatched open the door & screamed for B.J., but there was no sign of her & no time to look for her. Tony & I dropped the hoses & ran for our lives. As we ran, I said the fastest wide-awake running prayer I ever said in all my 42 years of living. I said, "Lord, I put my house & everything in it into Your hands." And then, remembering what St. Paul had said about the importance of giving thanks for everything, good or bad, I managed to pray (although I didn't feel like it), "Lord, no matter what happens, I thank You for it & praise You."
I jumped into my little car. Tony flung himself into my other car. We tore down the road to Tony's house, picked up his wife, warned a family in a third house, & raced for the highway. Behind us, the fiery monster swept on, roaring, hissing, crackling, engulfing everything.
At the highway, I stepped out of my car & stared back at the wall of flame & smoke. How do you react when your house is about to be burned by searing [4] flames? Do you scream? Do you cry? Others were doing all those things, but I didn't, because the thought that was uppermost in my mind at that moment was, "You're a Christian, Joe, so act like one. Remember: `All things work together for good to those who love God.' Praise God." So I did praise Him, out loud, although I know some people thought I was crazy, or in shock, or both.
We stayed at the highway another 10 minutes or so, watching other houses become engulfed, too dazed to do or say anything. Then the flames were on us at the highway, & police told us we had to move farther up the mountain. Later I heard that 125 utility poles burned along the highway that day.
At this point something happened that was very strange, although it didn't seem strange at the time. As I walked toward my car, a young man with dark hair, dressed in a T-shirt & blue jeans, called to me, "Hey, you in the white shirt!" I didn't know the young man, & actually I was wearing a light-yellow shirt, but I pointed to myself questioningly. He looked directly at me & said, "I got on your roof & watered it down for you." Tony also heard him say this.
I was sure he had mistaken me for someone else, since no one could possibly have gone near my house after I had left. I thanked him anyway, & thought no more about it.
Later, at a friend's house in Lake Tahoe, I was able to reach Janice at her sister's. Having to tell her that our house had burned to the ground was harder than watching the fire. All she said was, "Thank God you're all right."
The threat of fire along the roads made it impossible to get back to Reno that night. I called the fire department repeatedly, but could get no information. At one point I called a church couple, Chauncey & Betty Fairchild, who I knew could see my house from across the valley. "Joe," Chauncey said, "we watched the whole thing through our binoculars. When we saw the flames change direction & head for you, our entire family formed a prayer circle & prayed for your safety & the safety of your home. And, Joe, it's still standing."
I thanked him, but I didn't believe him. Maybe, I thought, he could still see the shell of my house, but I knew nothing could have survived the fire storm. My house was surrounded by dry bush & wood that my wife had asked me repeatedly to clear away.
When I got back to the house soon after dawn the next morning, I couldn't believe my eyes. This is what I found:
The fire had burned to within 10 feet of the house, & all around it, but no farther. House & contents were untouched.
The power line coming into my house had melted, 30 feet in the air, & had fallen to the ground 30 feet from the house.
The telephone lines above the power lines had melted together.
My chicken coop, just 40 feet from the house, was scorched & smoldering...but all 10 chickens were alive.
The dog & two cats were unharmed. The cats were outside, one in the garage & one on the back steps. The dog was inside, very glad to see me.
My bridge, which is 200 yards from the house & not even on my property, was untouched, while my neighbour's bridge, just 15 feet away, was completely destroyed. Only dry brush was between them.
Of the seven houses in my area, three were completely destroyed. All the others were damaged, two seriously.
How do I account for all this? How do I explain the fact that absolutely nothing I owned was touched by the fire, whether it was on my property or not? All I can do is tell you what I think.
I've been a Christian almost all my life, but I know that my faith isn't as strong as it might be. And this may be true of a lot of church-going people; we know we're Christians & we think that's good enough. But I believe there are times when God wants to test our faith--&
reinforce it. I also believe--although I can't pretend to understand it fully--that sometimes when we are able to thank God in the face of seeming disaster, & place ourselves unreservedly in His hands, & get out of His way, He can & will do astounding things for us.
The intensity of that fire on the morning of August 9, 1981, cannot be exaggerated. At the time I was working for the Nevada Bell Telephone System, & so I know something about cables. It would have taken at least 1800 degrees of heat to melt those power lines that were 30 feet above the ground. Maybe 2000 degrees. And yet my house, 30 feet away, wasn't even marked. To me, that was God speaking clearly to me, & He was saying, "I'm here, I'm real, I care." He did reinforce my faith, because He knew it needed reinforcing. I'll never be quite so smug [5] or so casual about it again.
Then there's the enigma [6] of the young man, whom I've never seen again. How did he know who I was? How did he know it was my house? When I finally got back to the house, the hose I had dropped on the deck was now on the roof. At least three witnesses have told me that they saw somebody on the roof. But Tony & I left by the only route that was not in flames. How could anyone get there without our seeing him? And if someone did get there, how did he get up on the roof? There is no ladder. You can't just climb up because of the overhang. And, since my power line must have been the first thing to be destroyed, how could water flow through a hose from a well pumped by electricity?
I can't answer these questions. But maybe--just maybe--there's an answer in the Bible. Turn to Hebrews 13 & read the second verse. For the word "entertained", substitute the phrase "been rescued by." Then you may have a clue as to what really happened that August day on the Mount Rose Highway. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained Angels unawares" (Hebrews 13:2).
For me, it's more than a clue. I think it's the truth.
* * *
Call Roy Stanley
By Christine Skillern
It was almost dark when I went into the kitchen to fix some supper.
So I shook some oatmeal into a pan of water, & set it to cooking on a front element of my electric stove. I started across the kitchen to get milk from the refrigerator, but I never made it. My feet slipped out from under me & I fell hard, flat on my back, on the floor.
Oh, you've done it now, old girl! I thought to myself.
I pushed & stretched & made every effort to get up, but I couldn't even sit up. Nothing I could do was going to get this overweight 70-year-old body off the floor. I needed help. I thought about screaming, but who would hear me? I was a widow who lived alone & had already closed & locked all the windows & doors.
The telephone! I could call my sister, Martha. The telephone hung high on the wall, over near my bedroom door. Next to it was my broom, propped against the wall.
I dug my elbows into the rough texture of the floor covering & managed to slide on my back a couple of inches. Six or seven more shoves & a lot of panting put me near the phone. Using the broom, I gave it a whack that sent the handset banging to the floor. But to my dismay, I couldn't make a call. The dial was on the phone, up on the wall.
Fear was beginning to eat at me. The burner under my oatmeal was glowing brightly. What would happen if the water boiled out? Would the metal pan melt & ruin my stove? Would it set my house on fire?
Finally I whispered, "Lord Jesus, I'm so alone & I'm afraid. Please come & be here with me. Quiet me, Jesus, & protect me & please take care of my pan of oatmeal."
The air began to chill as the evening grew longer. I hugged my arms about me & wished for a blanket. I dragged myself into the bedroom & looked longingly at the heavy spread on the bed. I could never pull that down. But there were some clothes lying on the cedar chest. Again I dug my elbows into the rug, & I pulled down a sweater & skirt to cover myself.
As the night grew blacker, I wondered what condition I would be in by morning. Was I going to die? My back was beginning to ache. I had no idea what damage I had done to myself. Panic began to smother me.
"Lord," I prayed, "don't leave me. Please stay with me & comfort me." Then I began to recite Scripture verses, mostly those I'd learned in Sunday school, one verse after another, until I slipped into a restless sleep.
When the light of morning roused me, I thanked God that the long night was over & my house was not burned.
I said my morning prayers & made another attempt to get up from the floor. I was hungry.
Surely a neighbour would telephone. Oh, no! The phone was off the hook. But then, maybe someone would come & knock on the door.
All morning I listened carefully, but no knock came. I kept praying, "Jesus, please help me."
Around noon a thought flashed through my mind: Call someone.
"But the phone..." I said aloud.
Another thought: Call your friends.
I began to call out names. I started with my sister; I knew she'd be at work. Then I called my neighbours, one by one, pausing after each, listening for a knock.
I had run out of names when another sudden thought invaded my tired mind: Call Roy Stanley. Roy had stopped by two days earlier to pray with me, but he lived so far away.
Still the thought persisted: Call Roy.
So I began calling, "Roy, please come to me. I need you." I said it aloud, over & over without stopping.
It was about two o'clock when I heard a loud knock on the back door. I yelled, "Come & help me. I need you."
Then I heard a series of heavy blows & a splintering of wood. Footsteps...& Roy was standing over me.
"Christine!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing on the floor?"
I told him.
Roy went to the kitchen to get some water for my parched throat. He phoned my sister & called for an ambulance. Then as we waited there he told me how he happened to be there.
Roy & his wife were at home when he felt a strong urge to check on me. He told his wife, "I have to go to Christine. Something has happened to her."
When he knocked on my door, he got no answer, but something seemed to urge him, Don't leave. Go to the back & knock again. So he went around to the back door, knocked harder & finally heard me calling, "Come & help me. I need you."
As the ambulance arrived, I felt a strange sense of elation [7]. Jesus had been with me through the night. He'd brought Roy to rescue me. He'd answered every single one of my prayers. Even the one about the oatmeal. For when I finally thought about the stove, I said to Roy, "Will you please check on a pan of oatmeal I put on to cook last night? It must be burned black by now!"
A strange expression crossed Roy's face. "I turned that element off when I got the water for you," he said. "Did you say you put it on last night? Christine, that oatmeal is not burned. In fact, it's just ready to eat now!"
* * *
Thou Art My Deliverer...
It is from Pastor John that we learn the thrilling story of a local district pastor in an area overrun by primitive tribes. There was fighting back and forth between the tribes, and it was a terrible situation. Pastor John had tried to get into the area to visit the local district pastor, for he knew that things were going rough. Once he got as far as the river that bordered the district--and he got that far only by travelling in the company of armed soldiers. But as they came up to the river, they saw that the bridge had been blown up in the tribal fighting and there was no way to get across. It was only a few weeks later that this amazing story came out.
This dedicated local pastor and his wife and four children were living in a little village. Many of his church members had fled into the jungle, for at that time the witch doctors had taken control of the area. And the witch doctors had decreed [8] that anyone who refused to bow down to the native idols and sacrifice a chicken, anyone who retained any respect for a religion brought by a white man, anyone who dared to call himself a Christian, must be killed. Orders had gone out that the people must return to their old pagan worship [9] with its ceremonies.
The pastor knew all this. It was because of this order that many of his people had taken refuge deep in the jungle and built little shelters there.
Once again he was advised to leave the village and join a little group of thirty-five or forty of his members in the jungle. But he still had seventy or eighty members in the village and felt he could not go.
Then one evening the report came that the witch doctors and their mobs were in a neighbouring village four or five kilometres away. The pastor called his members together and told them to feel free to leave, but he felt that he must stay. They said, "Oh, but your house will be destroyed! Our church will be burned!"
They knew, and he knew, how easily those thatched-roof buildings would burn.
Later that evening two friends who were not Christians came and told him, "They are going to destroy the church and this house sometime tonight! Please, please leave! Flee into the jungle!"
He said he would pray about it and that if he felt impressed to leave he would leave. If not, he would remain.
He called his wife and four children together, and they prayed. They prayed often that night. About midnight there was hammering at the door and a vicious, barking order, "Open the door, or we will burn down your house!"
Again he gathered his little family, and there in the middle of the living room floor they quoted some of the Bible promises that meant so much to them.
The shouts increased outside. "Come out here! We'll give you one more chance--or we'll destroy you and your house!" But as he prayed, he felt he should remain where he was.
They heard the order outside, "Set it alight!" And soon they could hear the crackling of the dry thatched roof. Choking smoke and flames surrounded them. Then at the side window there was a hammering sound as the window was chopped open with axes. Two of the soldiers were standing there. They could see the pastor on his knees with his wife and children, praying. They sneered and threw one of the axes at the pastor, wounding his leg slightly. But he continued to pray.
The roof was now totally ignited.
It was four weeks later that Pastor John was finally able to get into the area. He followed the little footpath eight miles out into the jungle, where a little Christian village had been established. As he entered the little settlement, the pastor came running and threw his arms around him. Pastor John knew him well. They had grown up together. But he could hardly recognise him now as the neatly dressed man he knew him to be. Here he was, in tattered clothes that he had not been able to replace because of the fighting. But as he threw his arms around his old friend, he told him the rest of the story.
He said, "That night, as my home was being burned, with the witch doctors and their fierce killers surrounding it, while everything we had was going up in smoke, we were praying. And as we prayed, we saw two figures much brighter than the flames come in that window. And they lifted us out of that room and brought us out here to the jungle!"
Ministering Angels! And everything was all right!
But there was more. After the house had burned down, with only smoldering ashes and charred timbers left, the witch doctor ordered his men to bring out the bodies--the six bodies of that little family that had dared to boldly resist his order. His men went in--the two who had stood at the window and seen them on their knees, who testified that they were right there in the middle of the room. But now there was only a smoldering mass of half-burned grass and jungle poles. They pulled the poles out and dug away the ashes. But they could find no bodies to prove that they had been able to destroy this family who so boldly trusted in an unseen God!
Three years after that experience one of the witch doctors became a humble follower of the Lord Jesus Christ because of what he had seen that night--the amazing manifestation of the Love of God for His people and His power to deliver them by means of Angels who excel in strength!
*
A mother & daughter, with two Saint Bernards, were travelling through Arkansas when a news bulletin came over the radio: "Due to extensive flooding in southern Tennessee & Missouri, the bridge in Crithersville, Missouri, has been washed out. We suggest you take the Brown's Ferry crossing instead."
But where was Brown's Ferry? A gas station attendant gave them directions, & they drove off into the approaching darkness. Were the directions accurate? And were they following them correctly? Again & again they had reason to wonder. In the wind & the rain & the mud they seemed to be driving straight into the isolation of nowhere.
The daughter, Debbie, was crying. What if they were lost? Even the Saint Bernards seemed to know that something was wrong. "Deb," said mother, "I'm not very religious, but maybe we ought to pray. At least we'll be ready if something does happen."
"OK" replied Debbie. "You pray."
"I can't. I'm driving. Do you want me to drive off the levee [10]?"
The car slowed as Debbie prayed, & somehow they felt better. And there was another consolation. Their car, a Volkswagen, was supposed to be able to float for half an hour.
Finally they came to a place where the road ahead was flooded. Mother stepped out of the car to see how deep the water was. She could see a strong current on ahead. She had gone about forty feet, turned back, & was almost to the car when another set of headlights appeared from nowhere. The car had stopped. There seemed to be a man inside. "We're trying to get to Brown's Ferry," she told him.
"Well," he drawled, with a long pause, "I can get you all across this flooded area here, & the ferry is just up the road a piece." And he added, "You be sure & follow closely now."
And of course she did. Slowly & cautiously she followed the cream-coloured car, with the current tugging demandingly. Once across the troubled waters, she pulled up beside the man. "Thank you so much," she said gratefully.
"That's quite all right. Just keep on going 'bout two or three more miles, & you'll come to the ferry."
Thanking him again, she pulled away slowly. But looking into the rearview mirror she could see no headlights, no car, no houses, nothing. "Look back there! There's no one there!" she nearly shouted at Debbie.
Debbie looked back into the blackness. "You're right!" Their helper had suddenly vanished!
* * *
Sometimes a Voice
It happened in the early sixties in a time of war in Africa. Tribes were fighting each other, & there were refugees everywhere. Pastor Paul was asked by a government official to supervise the distribution of emergency supplies.
A ton of medicines was ready to be delivered. The cases had been loaded into a brand-new Dove De Havilland airplane & everything was in order. But as he put his foot onto the little step that led up to the aircraft, he heard the voice of his Guardian Angel--heard it just as distinctly as you hear any voice. And that voice said, "No! Do not fly in that airplane!"
He didn't understand. But he obeyed. Instead of the new plane, an old aircraft that was in pitiful condition was used to deliver the medicines. The brand-new Dove De Havilland was used by someone else, and crashed on takeoff, killing everyone aboard!
Pastor Paul never forgot the sound of his Angel's warning words!
*
Peter Marshall (Chaplain [11] to the U.S. Senate for a number of years), in his youth, spent a Summer working in the English village of Bamburgh, sixteen miles southeast of the Scottish border. One very dark night as he was walking back to Bamburgh from a nearby village, he decided to take a shortcut. He knew that there was a deep, deserted limestone quarry in the area, but he thought he could avoid the danger spot. So he struck out across the moors [12]. The night was starless & inky black, & the sound of the wind seemed to give it an eerie quality.
Suddenly he heard someone call, "Peter!" The voice was urgent.
He stopped. "Yes, who is it? What do you want?"
For a second he listened, but there was only the sound of the wind. Thinking he must have been mistaken, he walked on a few paces. Then he heard it again, even more urgent: "Peter!"
This time he stopped dead still & tried to peer into the impenetrable [13] blackness, & suddenly he stumbled, falling to his knees. He put out his hand to catch himself, but there was nothing there. Cautiously he felt around in a semicircle & found that he was on the very brink of the abandoned stone quarry. Just one more step would have sent him plummeting [14] to his death!
Peter Marshall never forgot that voice. And there was never any doubt in his mind about the source of it. He felt that God's intervention must mean that God had a special purpose for his life.
* * *
Supernatural Supply!
Jack Circle, then an assistant chaplain at a hospital, was approached late one day by a businessman, a member of the church, who said he was in trouble. Jack said, "Let's go to my office and pray about it."
The businessman explained that he desperately needed money to meet his payroll [15]. He would have the money in a week, but the payroll was coming up the next day. "How much do you need?" Jack asked. And he said, "I need $24,700." That was a lot of money to pray about. Jack gave him the telephone number of someone who might be able to help with a much smaller amount. But that didn't solve the problem.
Jack opened his Bible and read, "My God shall supply all your need" (Philippians 4:19).
The two men knelt together and in faith claimed that promise. Then Jack had to leave for a prayer meeting, and the businessman went home. He tried the number Jack had given him, but received no answer. It seemed there was no way out of his dilemma [16]. Then the telephone rang.
The call was from a friend in the northern part of the state. He said, "Thirty minutes ago I was impressed that you needed some money." And the astonished man said, "Thirty minutes ago Jack Circle and I were praying in his office, claiming the promise, `My God shall supply all your need.'"
The friend said he had sold some equipment for $21,700 and had $3,000 in his safe. He would send the full amount immediately. Needless to say, the parties on both ends of that call were deeply impressed. The friend who called was a doctor. He was also an atheist! He said later, "Any God who uses me to answer a prayer, I want to know."
*
Pine Springs Ranch, a Christian Summer Camp, was running out of water. Two hundred young campers had used a lot of water. The tanks, supplied by a nearby mountain well, were not filling up. They were almost empty. If it did not rain very, very soon, the camp would have to close after a season of only two weeks.
Those present at family camp prayed earnestly for rain. The next day clouds gathered and a few drops fell--but not enough to change the situation at all.
Friday evening after campfire the campers gathered for prayer again. Why had not God answered their prayers? Should they be more specific? Should they set a time limit? Should they ask God to send rain by Monday morning? Would that be faith or presumption [17]? They decided they should not tell God how to answer their prayers, but simply leave the matter in His hands. In that spirit they prayed.
As soon as they rose from their knees, some ran to check the tanks, as they had been doing every few hours. The others were saying good night to each other. Suddenly a shout rang out over the camp, "Water! There is water in the tanks!"
Now those last to leave the prayer circle raced to the tanks. Even as they ran, they could hear the sound of flowing water. Someone shouted, "The tanks are full and running over!"
Five hours earlier those tanks were empty. Now they were full and running over.
Evidently rain is not the only way God can fill water tanks!
*
The Christian elementary school in Vacaville, California, had just been remodelled. That is, it had been remodelled except for shingles [18]. Funds had run just that much short. And the need was serious, for the rainy season was approaching.
The smaller children, in Kay Buzelli's room, had memorized the Words of Jesus, "With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible" (Mat.19:26). And they believed those Words were true. For days they had prayed for shingles. And earlier that September morning, in Bible class, Karen had prayed, "Dear Jesus, please be with us today. Help us to do something to show we love others. And please, dear God, don't forget to take care of our school."
And then it happened. The freeway was only a stone's throw away. And suddenly there was a great "boom" as a giant truck tire blew out. Seventeen frightened children looked up to see the big truck swerve into the path of oncoming traffic. But those little people, believe it or not, did not race outside, or even to the window, to see what was happening. One of them said, "Let's pray that no one will get hurt." And seventeen children gathered in one circle with their teacher and prayed--while the screeching, thumping, bumping, crashing sounds of a serious accident continued.
Their prayer was answered even as they prayed. The big truck had turned over and dumped its contents on the edge of the freeway. A smaller truck, in which a two-year-old boy was riding with his father had turned over and landed in the creek beside the school. But there were no serious injuries. Even the newspaper called it a miracle.
But wait! What had the big truck dumped on the edge of the freeway? Shingles! Shingles just the right colour needed for the school! Shingles strewn everywhere, it seemed! And nobody wanted to pick them up!
A school board member was at the school at the time, and he negotiated [19] with the insurance adjuster [20] to buy them all for a very small sum. The children picked them up and stacked them neatly. The roof was cared for before the rains, and the shingles left over were sold for a profit of $300!
Could anyone tell those Vacaville children that God doesn't answer prayer?
* * *
Guard Dog
Bob Sherman tells an experience from his days in colporteuring [21]. He felt he should make about twenty calls a day, but on one occasion he found himself in an area known for its mean dogs. At almost every house there was at least one. And they were not on leash. He could just look down the street & see the ferocious [22] creatures he would have to encounter.
Bob did, of course, what all good colporteurs do about their problems. He prayed--prayed for both guidance & protection. And then he started out. At the first house there was no problem, nor did the dogs bother him at the second house. At the third house, as he stood talking with the lady at the door, she said to him, "Is that your dog sitting out there?"
He turned to look. There was this very large dog, a sort of English-bulldog type. He was just sitting there, not barking. But his appearance was such that a person would think twice before encountering him needlessly. And apparently the neighbourhood dogs shared that feeling, for they did not approach him.
He told the woman he had never seen the dog before. Neither had she.
At the next house it was the same. "Is that your dog sitting out there?" And so on down the street. The dog followed him from house to house, quietly waiting, as if he were on guard. The neighbourhood dogs didn't come near. No one knew where the strange dog came from. And when Bob had finished at the last house, the dog disappeared.--As if he were on guard? Maybe he was.
* * *
The Clock that Struck Thirteen
It was midnight in the town of Plymouth, England, many years ago. Two men stood by the town's great clock. As it finished striking the hour, both men, strangers, remarked that it had struck thirteen times instead of twelve. One of these men was a gentleman by the name of Captain Jarvis.
It was not long after this that Captain Jarvis awoke early one morning, got up, dressed, & went down to the front door of his home. As he opened it, he saw, to his surprise, that his groom [23] was standing there, with his horse saddled & bridled, ready for him to mount.
The groom explained, "I had a feeling that you would be wanting your horse, Sir." He said the feeling had been so strong that he couldn't stay in bed, but had to get up & get the horse ready.
This was strange. It had never happened before. But since the horse was ready, he mounted & rode off. Not having to go anywhere in particular, he let the horse choose where he would take him. Soon they were down by the river, close to the spot where a ferry took passengers across.
Imagine his surprise, at this early hour, to see the ferryman there with his boat, waiting to take him across. What was going on?
"How are you here so early, my man?" he inquired.
"I couldn't rest in my bed, Sir, for I had a feeling I was wanted to ferry someone across."
The captain & the horse got on the boat, & soon they were on the other side. Now what? Again he let the horse direct the course he would take. After some time they came to a large country town. And seeing a passerby, the captain inquired if anything of interest was going on in the town.
"No, Sir. Nothing but the trial of a man for murder."
So, with no other destination in mind for this strange trip, he thought he would see what was going on. He rode to the place of the trial, dismounted, & entered the building.
As he walked in, he heard the judge saying to the prisoner, "Have you anything to say for yourself--anything at all?"
And the prisoner said, "I have nothing to say, Sir, except that I am an innocent man. There is only one man in all the World who could prove my innocence, but I do not know his name nor where he lives. Some weeks ago we stood together in the town of Plymouth when it was midnight. We both heard the great town clock strike thirteen instead of twelve, & we remarked about it to each other--how strange it was that the clock should strike thirteen at the midnight hour."
"I am here! I am here!" The captain shouted from the rear of the room. "I was the man who stood at midnight beside the great Plymouth clock & heard it strike thirteen instead of twelve. What the prisoner says is absolutely true. I identify him as the man. On the night of the murder, at the very time it was committed, that man was with me at Plymouth, & we remarked to each other how strange it was that the clock should strike thirteen at the midnight hour!"
The condemned man, proved innocent by the captain's testimony, was immediately set free!
Think of it! Only one man in the World could prove that prisoner's innocence. And Angels, by awakening a groom & a ferryman & impressing upon them with an urgency they could not understand--and by leading the horse--had brought that one man into the courtroom at the precise moment he was needed!
* * *
Heading Home
By Tommy Smith
My mind was churning as I maneuvered [24] my 18-wheeler [25] through freeway traffic & headed east on Interstate 80 outside of Youngstown, Ohio. I was sure I was the most miserable trucker on the road that hot day in August, 1988. Just minutes earlier I'd left a pay phone at a truck stop. My wife, Ladoris, had told me that the divorce papers would be ready for my signature when I returned home on Saturday.
"I just can't reach you any more, Tom," Ladoris had said, her voice trembling as she hung up.
In the side mirror, I noticed a two-door, silver Oldsmobile Cutlass [26] begin to ease around me. The driver, a slight, grey-haired woman, was leaning forward, gripping the steering wheel as she peered over on top of it at the winding road. Something about her tense posture worried me. I slowed to let her pass, & watched the Cutlass inch ahead.
My thoughts, however, kept going back to the various problems that had slowly created the trouble between Ladoris & me. It had always been hard for me to go home late on Friday night after a long stretch on the road & be ready to jump instantly into the active pace of normal family life. For years I'd tried because I loved my family. But when I felt my wife was expecting too much of me, I began to clam up.
Something about that old Cutlass caught my attention again. I watched as its right turn-signal began to blink. The woman was ahead of me now & edging back into my lane. The Youngstown city limits had faded behind us, & traffic was thinning. Broiling sunlight poured into my cab & glinted off the back window of the Cutlass.
I checked the side mirror again; no one was behind me. Then I reached to flip the air-conditioner up a notch.
But my hand stopped in midair. My eyes were on the Cutlass again. Instead of straightening, the car veered right, off the edge of this road.
"No, lady, straighten up!" I yelled. I began applying my brakes & my tires squealed. The car struck a barricade, shot into the air, dropped down a closed freeway ramp, flipped over & landed upright in a ditch.
"She's got a ruptured gasline!" I shouted to myself as flames appeared underneath the car. "That car's going to blow! I've got to get that woman out of there!"
I skidded to a stop on the shoulder of the road, tumbled out of the truck, leaped over the guardrail & scrambled down the embankment.
Hurry! Hurry! I raced across the parched grass in the ditch to the car. Already it was beginning to fill with thick, black smoke.
The woman was leaning against the front side window, unconscious, still securely fastened with her seat belt.
"Come on, lady, we've got to get you out of here!" I could hear a crackling sound underneath the car & smelled gasoline. I knew I had only three or four minutes at the most to free her.
I tugged at the seat belt. It was jammed. Frantically I fiddled with the clasp, then pulled out my pocketknife.
"Come on. Come on!" I could only mutter the words. My mouth was so dry that my tongue was sticking to the roof of it. I hacked away at the seat belt as the heat increased on my face & hands. Please. Please. Why doesn't somebody stop & help us?
Finally the belt gave way in my hands. I pulled the woman out, & the car door snapped shut. I scooped her up in my arms & ran toward the truck. At last! Now I can call for help on the CB.
As I reached the truck, I set the woman down on the grass at the top part of the embankment. I was relieved to see that even though she was hurt, she was breathing well. Just then her swollen eyelids began to flutter. For a moment she stared at me with a dazed expression. Suddenly her eyes widened in fear as full consciousness returned.
"Did you get Philip?"
"Don't worry, Ma'am, I'll call for your family as soon as I get you some help."
"No, no, you don't understand. My husband! Philip was lying down in the back seat of the car!"
And that car can't have more than two minutes left....
"I'll get him," I gasped, hoping it was the truth.
This time my feet felt like lead as I stumbled down the embankment & ran across the ditch to the car.
The door handle on the driver's side felt hot as I yanked the door open. The front passenger's seat was blazing. Once again, fresh air chased billows of black smoke around me.
"Philip!" I yelled. I heard a faint moan. He's alive! I yanked the top of the driver's seat forward & leaned over into the back. The smoke had cleared enough for me to see.
The man was upside down, behind the seat, his head under the driver's seat. The rest of his body jutted upward on the back seat, his right foot pressed against the back window, his left leg at a sickening angle halfway underneath him. His arms hung like broken tree limbs. He looked like a large, discarded rag doll.
I'm a fairly big man. He was bigger. How am I going to get him out of here by myself? Please, somebody, help me!
Still leaning in from outside the car, I began pulling on Philip's shoulders. I grunted & tugged, but his head was wedged so tightly it just wouldn't move. Smoke was building up again. My lungs ached. My ears buzzed.
I straightened up from my leaning position & took another gulp of fresh air. It's no use; I can't get him out this way. I've got to get in the car. If I can just loosen up the seat enough to free his head.... It was a desperate plan, but I knew I only had seconds left.
I crawled in to the cramped back seat area & braced myself. I awkwardly grabbed the bottom of the seat & pulled upward. Nothing.
I pulled again. I could feel the heat from the burning passenger seat.
It's no use. I just can't do it. And this car's going to go up in flames any time....
"God!" My scream tore from the innermost part of my being. "Please! I don't want to get out of this car without this poor man!"
Before the words cleared my lips, I knew--I knew He was there. I could feel His Divine Presence filling me, giving me strength.
Once again, I pulled. I heard a click. The seat loosened! I pulled it forward as far as I could, then reached down & grabbed Philip under his armpits. As I pulled him up, I felt myself falling out of the car, with Philip on top of me. I stood up, picked him up in my arms, & carried him bodily along the grassy ditch & up the embankment. Exhausted, I eased him down beside his wife.
Just then the car exploded! The force of it knocked me down beside Philip. I pulled myself up to my knees & leaned over him. He's not breathing!
I'd never had training in resuscitation [27], but I knew I had to try to help him breathe. I'd seen it done in the movies. I placed my mouth on Philip's & began to blow. Then I gently pressed his chest. Blow & press. Blow & press.
Philip began to sputter. Then stopped. "No! Philip! You can't die on me, man, not after all this! God, don't let him die!"
Blow. Press. He began to breathe again. This time, he kept breathing. And by then another trucker had arrived & was calling the police & paramedics [28].
Soon there were sirens & flashing lights. A paramedic checked me. Half of my beard was gone, singed from the heat. I had minor burns on my left arm, but I was fine. Hoses spewed foam on the blazing car.
As one ambulance took off for the hospital with Philip, a paramedic called me over to the side of the second ambulance. "She won't let me leave until she talks to you."
I leaned over the woman. "For as long as I live", she said, "a day won't go by that I won't say a prayer for you."
Then the ambulance was screaming away, & I turned & looked at the charred car. There on the back bumper, I saw a bright yellow sticker untouched by the fire. It proclaimed, I love God.
An hour before, I had believed in God, but now I had experienced Him. I silently mouthed the words, "I love God." And the speaking of the words released a strong surge of joy. "I do love You, God!"
Ladoris & I didn't sign divorce papers when I got home Saturday. We talked. And talked. We made a pledge to work things out--with the help of the same powerful God Who had become so real to me.
And we've done it. Nowadays when I get home after a long trip, I'm still tired, but I don't clam up the way I used to. Whenever I'm pressed or feel like backing off, I recall my experience out there on Interstate 80, & I picture that yellow bumper sticker with three words: I love God. I tell God I love Him & I ask Him to help me. And just as He did out there on the interstate, He gives me strength.
One night several weeks after all of this happened, I got a phone call from the woman I'd rescued, Agnes Studer. She & Philip, a retired couple from Maryland, were slowly recovering.
Ladoris got on the phone & told her about our changed lives. And about what the bumper sticker had meant to me. When she hung up, Ladoris had a strange expression on her face.
"What is it, Honey?" I asked.
"Tom, she says there never was a bumper sticker on her car. And there never has been."
But it was there. I'm sure of it. For a few brief, shining moments, that bumper sticker was there. Just for me.
Discussion Questions
Following are a number of questions 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 you may choose those which apply and are helpful.
1. Is there anything that could have been done to avoid the difficult situation the people in this story found themselves in?
2. 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?
3. Does this story show you anything about the benefits of the training, education and instruction you have received? Please discuss.
4. 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?
5. Did you feel that the people in these stories could have been more of a witness? If so, how?
6. What lessons could you learn from a situation like this?
7. Why do you think God allowed this situation for these people?
8. Is there anything in these stories that you don't understand?
9. 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?
10. What specific answers to prayer are there in this story?
11. 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 else's? If so, what was it? Did it change your outlook on life or your relationship with the Lord or others?
Definitions:
(The meaning given is for the use of the word in the story & does not cover every meaning of the word.)
[1] bachelorhood: being an unmarried man
[2] tornadoes: violent, whirling winds which can cause great damage
[3] canyon: a deep, steep-sided valley, often containing a river or stream
[4] searing: scorching, extremely hot
[5] smug: too obviously pleased or satisfied with oneself
[6] enigma: a mystery
[7] elation: very high spirits
[8] decreed: ordered
[9] pagan worship: idol worship
[10] levee: a retaining wall to hold back water, usually on banks of rivers
[11] chaplain: a clergyman, priest connected with an institution
[12] moor: large stretch of open ground, often covered with heather, a plant with small purple or white flowers
[13] impenetrable: cannot be seen into
[14] plummeting: falling, plunging
[15] payroll: a list of persons to be paid & the amount that each one is to receive
[16] dilemma: a position or situation giving a choice of two or more possibilities, none of which are pleasant
[17] presumption: unsuitably bold
[18] shingles: thin, oblong pieces of material, such as wood or slate, that are laid in overlapping rows to cover the roof or sides of a house or other building
[19] negotiated: bargained, discussed with
[20] insurance adjuster: an insurance person who decides whether to pay money for damages to something insured, & if so, how much
[21] colporteuring: travelling around & distributing Bibles & religious tracts
[22] ferocious: very fierce, savage
[23] groom: a man whose work is taking care of horses
[24] maneuvered: skilfully moved
[25] 18-wheeler: a very large truck having 18 wheels, with two long cargo trailers behind it
[26] Oldsmobile Cutlass: a certain make & model of car
[27] resuscitation: restoring to life or consciousness by using breathing techniques
[28] paramedics: emergency medical workers trained to give emergency care or assist doctors