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Angels, Miracles

In 1949, my father had just returned home from the war. On every American highway you could see soldiers in uniform hitchhiking home to their families, as was the custom at that time in America. Sadly, the thrill of his reunion with his family was soon overshadowed. My grandmother became very ill and had to be hospitalized. It was her kidneys, and the doctors told my father that she needed a blood transfusion immediately, or she would not live through the night.
The problem was that Grandmother's blood type was AB negative, a very rare type even today, but even harder to get then because there were no blood banks or air flights to ship blood. All the family members were "typed," but not one member was a match. So the doctors gave the family no hope; my grandmother was dying.
My father left the hospital in tears to gather up all the family members, so that everyone would get a chance to tell Grandmother good-bye. As my father was driving down the highway, he passed a soldier in uniform hitchhiking home to his family. Deep in grief, my father had no inclination at that moment to do a good deed. Yet it was almost as if something outside himself pulled him to a stop, and he waited as the
stranger climbed into the car. My father was too upset to even ask the soldier his name, but the soldier noticed my father's tears right away and inquired about them. Through his tears, my father told this total stranger that his mother was lying in a hospital dying because the doctors had been unable to locate her blood type, AB negative, and if they did not locate her blood type before nightfall, she would surely die. It got very quiet in the car. Then this unidentified soldier extended his hand out to my father, palm up. Resting in the palm of his hand were the dog tags from around his neck. The blood type on the tags was AB negative. The soldier told my father to turn the car around and get him to the hospital.
My grandmother lived until 1996, 47 years later, and to this day no one in our family knows the soldier's name. But my father has often wondered, was he a soldier or an angel in uniform? Sometimes, we never
know who God will bring into our lives to carry out a special mission nor do we know whose lives God will have us touch.

Angels, Miracles

The Lord's Baseball Game

Bob and the Lord stood by to observe a baseball game. The Lord's team was at bat, the score was tied zero to zero,
and it was the bottom of the 9th inning with two outs.

They continued to watch as a batter stepped up  to the plate whose name was Love. Love swung at the first pitch and hit a single, because Love never fails.

The next batter was named Faith, who also got a single because Faith works with Love. The next batter up was named Godly Wisdom. Satan wound up and threw the first pitch; Godly Wisdom looked it over and let it pass, because
Godly Wisdom does not swing at Satan's pitches. Ball one.  Three more pitches and Godly Wisdom walked because Godly Wisdom never swings at Satan's throws.

The bases were loaded.

The Lord then turned to Bob and told him He was now going to bring in His star player.  Up to the plate stepped Grace. Bob said he sure did not look like much!

Satan's whole team relaxed when they saw Grace.  Thinking he had won the game, Satan wound up and fired his first pitch.

To the shock of everyone, Grace hit the ball harder than anyone had ever seen. But Satan  was not worried; his center fielder, the Prince of the air, let very few  get by.

He went up for the ball, but it went right through his glove, hit him on the head and sent him crashing on the ground; then it continued over the fence for a home run! 

The Lord's team won. The Lord then asked Bob if he knew why Love, Faith, and Godly Wisdom could get on base but could not win the game. Bob answered that he did not know why.

The Lord explained, If your love,  faith and wisdom had won the game you would think you had done it by yourself. Love, faith and wisdom will get you on base,  but only My grace can get you home.

From Barbara Cleavenger

Angels, Miracles

  >>                       ( \          / )
  >>                       (   \   __   /  )
  >>                       (    \ (  ) /   )
  >>                        (     /<>\    )          TAKE THIS LITTLE ANGEL
  >>                         (   / \/ \  )          AND KEEP HER CLOSE TO
  >>                          (         )              YOU SHE IS YOUR
  >>                           (       )                 GUARDIAN
  >>                            (     )                   ANGEL
  >>                            (     )              SENT TO WATCH OVER YOU
  >>                            ~~~~~~
  >>   THIS IS A SPECIAL GUARDIAN ANGEL... YOU MUST PASS THIS
  >>   ON TO 5 PEOPLE WITHIN THE HOUR OF RECEIVING HER..AFTER YOU

Angels, Miracles

Sally was only eight years old when she heard Mommy and Daddy talking about her little brother, Georgi. He was very sick and they had done everything they could afford to save his life. Only a very expensive surgery could help him now and that was out of the financial question. She heard Daddy say it with a whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now."

Sally went to her bedroom and pulled her piggy bank from its hiding place in the closet. She shook all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Tying the coins up in a kerchief, she slipped out of the apartment and made her way to the corner drug store. She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her attention but he was too busy talking to another man to be bothered by an eight year old. Sally twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. She cleared her throat. No good. Finally she took a quarter from its hiding place and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!

"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice.

"I'm talking to my brother."

"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Sally answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's sick ... and I want to buy a miracle."

"I beg your pardon," said the pharmacist. "My Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?"

"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I can't help you."

"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. Just tell me how much it costs."
The well dressed man stooped down and asked, "What kind of a miracle does you brother need?"

"I don't know," Sally answered. A tear started down her cheek. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my folks can't pay for it, so I have my money. "How much do you have?" asked the well dressed man. "A dollar and eleven cents," Sally answered proudly."And it's all the money I have in the world." "Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. A dollar and eleven cents-the exact price of a miracle to save a little brother. He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents."

Angels, Miracles

The angel girl

There was this little girl sitting by herself in the park. Everyone passed by her and never stopped to see why she looked so sad. Dressed in a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the people go by. She never tried to speak, she never said a word. Many people passed but no one would stop.

The next day I decided to go back to the park in curiosity to see if the little girl would still be there. Yes, she was there, right in the very spot as she was yesterday, and still with the sad look in her eyes. Today I was to make my own move and walk over to the little girl. For as we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young children to play alone. As I got closer I could see the back of the little girl's dress was obscenely shaped. I figured that was the reason people just passed by and made no effort to help. Deformities are a low blow to our society and, heaven forbid if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different. As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my intent stare.

As I approached her, I could see the obscene shape of her back more clearly. She was grotesquely shaped in a humped-over form. I smiled to let her know it was OK, I was there to help, to talk. I sat down beside her and opened with a simple hello. The little girl acted shocked, and stammered a "hi," after a long stare into my eyes. I smiled and she shyly smiled back. We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty. I asked the girl why she was so sad. The little girl looked at me and with a sad face said, "Because I'm different."

I immediately said, "That you are!" and smiled. The little girl acted even sadder and said, "I know." "Little girl," I said, "you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent. She looked at me and smiled. Slowly she got to her feet and said, "Really?" "Yes, you're like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch over all those people walking by."

She shook her head yes, and smiled. With that she spread her wings and said, "I am. I'm your Guardian Angel," with a twinkle in her eye. I was speechless, sure I was seeing things. She said, "For once you thought of someone other than yourself. My job here is done."

Angels, Miracles

Angels, Miracles

After completing an evangelistic campaign in Nashville, TN, I was driving along a country road on my way to Chattanooga.  Hearing singing coming from a small frame building, I realized that I was passing a church where a mid-week prayer service was being conducted.  I decided to turn into the churchyard and listen to the service from my car.

When the singing was over the pastor began to pray.  He gave a humble but heartfelt plea for divine help in obtaining pews or seats for his congregation.  “If it is too much to ask for seats for the younger members, giving us at least seats for the older folk,” he prayed.

 It so happened that in Nashville I had enough extra folding chairs to just about fill this small building, so when the service was over I stepped into the doorway.  “Sir”, I announced, “you shall have your seats.”
The standing congregation turned and looked at me in amazed silence.  Then a woman who was apparently more practical than the rest hurried up to me and handed me a pencil and paper.  “Excuse me, whoever you are”, she said, “but would you mind giving me your earthly name and address?”

My nephew, a NYC subway attendant, tells this story:  A girl from the South was having her first experience with the late-afternoon jam at a station in the Bronx.  After trying unsuccessfully to board several trains, she approached a guard.  “Suh,” she said, “Ah’ve been trying for 15 minutes to get on a train, and it’s almost six o’clock and we’ve got company coming for dinner, and Ah’ve got to bake biscuits – and they will be there at 6:30.  So, honest, ya’ll’ve got to DO something!”

The guard paused in astonishment.  Then he turned and addressed the mob. “Now listen here folks,” he said, “This young woman’s got company coming at 6:30, and she’s gotta cook biscuits, so she gotta get on this next train, see?”

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first
ministry to reopen a church in urban Brooklyn, arrived in early October  excited about   their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and   needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have   their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec. 18th were ahead of schedule  and  just about finished. On Dec. 19th a terrible tempest -- a driving rainstorm hit the area and  lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church.
 
  His heart sunk when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 6 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary  just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.
 
  The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. 
 
  On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items  was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crochet table cloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. By this time it had started to snow.
  
  An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it.  The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
 
   Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was as white as a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "Where did you get that tablecloth?" 

  The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner  to see if the initials, EBG were crochet into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made  this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.
 
   The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured,
sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.
 
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
 
 What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve.  The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor
wondered why he wasn't leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
 
  He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a concentration camp. He never saw his wife or his home again for all the 35 years in between. The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little
ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the
greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
 
   A True Story -- Submitted by Pastor Rob Reid
 
   Everything happens for a reason....

03/11/01

Miracles they do happen

One afternoon, a couple was traveling on the road when all of a sudden at a far distance they saw a woman in the middle of the road asking them to stop. The wife told her husband to keep on driving because it might be too dangerous, but the husband decided to pass by slowly so he wouldn't stay with the doubt on his mind of what might have happened and the chances of anyone being hurt. As they got closer, they noticed a woman with cuts and bruises on her face as well as on her arms. They then decide to stop and see if they could be of any help. The cut and bruised woman was begging for help telling them that she had been in a car accident and that her husband and son, a new born baby, were still inside the car which was in a deep ditch. She told them that the husband was already dead but that her baby seemed to still be alive. 

03/11/01

The Power of Prayer

A pastor read this story to his church written by one of his members....

Last school year, in an elementary classroom that was made up of little
third graders, every one of which either came from a single parent family,
or a dysfunctional family, or was under nourished and or uncared for, lived
in an abusive home and were either beaten, bruised or raped by other members
of their family, one little girl's dad died of AIDS, and the list goes on
and on. Her heart bled for these kids.

Before the 1999-2000 school year started, she and her husband went to
her classroom and prayed over each desk in the room. They prayed that
God would place an angel behind each and every child throughout the
coming year to watch over them and protect them.

A month or so after the year had started; she gave the kids an assignment to write about what they would like to be when they grow up. Everybody was busy with his or her assignment, when Andrew raised his hand. When she asked him what he needed,
he asked how do you spell "mighty." After telling him how to spell mighty,
she asked him why he needed to know. Andrew said it was because when he grew
up he wanted to be a "mighty man of God." When he said this, little Mark
sitting next to him asked, "So what's a mighty man of God?" The teacher,
swallowing back her tears, and knowing she could not say anything in the
classroom, told Andrew to go ahead and tell Mark what it was.

So Andrew says, "It's a man who puts on the armor of God and is a
soldier for God." After observing some conversation between Andrew and
Mark, the teacher with the lump in her throat started to walk away when
Andrew motioned with his little forefinger for her to come closer. He
whispered to her, asking if she believed in angels. After telling him yes,
she did. He asked her if she thought people could see angels, and she said
she thought some people probably could. Andrew said that he did, and he
could see an angel standing behind each kid in the room...

I don't think there was a dry eye in the church that night!

05/13/01

05/13/01

10/25/01