An Unexpected Miracle
Providential Timing
The Mystery of the Tissue
Five Boxes of Christmas Cards

 

An Unexpected Miracle

by Twilah A. Fox, M.D.

On a Saturday afternoon at our lakeside property, the monthly retreat was going well. The session had just begun, when during praise and worship, my attention was drawn to a young woman previously unknown to me. It dawned on me that at no time had I seen her smile. At joyous or amusing moments when others were laughing or rejoicing, her lips remained closed or she covered her mouth with her hand. Otherwise her eyes sparkled as she participated in the activities.

As the Holy Spirit drew me to her, I asked, “What are you aware of about your lips and mouth.” Surprised by my question, after several moments of deep thought, tears welled up in her eyes.

She recalled a time when in the first or second grade her teacher commented before the whole class, "Peggy, you have the ugliest teeth I have ever seen." Peggy quickly put her hand up to cover her mouth, a habit that would last for years. The teacher went on, "I will personally pay for you to see a dentist."

Reliving the pain and embarrassment she bowed her head and wept. The Holy Spirit led me to gently lay my hand on her forehead and demand in the Name of Jesus, this shame and embarrassment to leave her.

The dental work, done years ago had provided her with beautiful teeth, but that word "ugly" had been as a curse branded on her soul. From that moment, now years ago, she has been free to smile, to shout and sing, expressing her deep love for Christ.

Her lovely singing voice has been heard in churches, auditoriums and on radio all over the country. God alone knew of this scar on her heart and in His great love miraculously freed her.
  

 

Providential Timing

by Jeanette Sharp

 
    Every day holds the potential for a God sized experience. Such was the case on a busy Friday at my salon in Tulsa. Late in the afternoon, Sandy, the receptionist approached my station, “Emily Childers is on the phone. She needs help.” I gave her the nod, and she rolled her eyes in disbelief. “You’re a glutton for punishment.” We both knew that meant an additional two and a half hours to my workday. Most hairdressers have clients for whom they extend themselves, and Emily was one of mine.

    My assistant escorted Emily to the dressing room, while I finished with my previous client. She gave me a quick hug as she walked past, and I could see the need as her grey roots with faded honey-blonde ends shouted for attention. Soon chattering voices, the ping of timers, whirring blow dryers all faded as the day’s busyness waned and the remaining clients filtered out, leaving Emily and me alone.

     I loved visiting with Emily. We always shared our faith and talked God-talk. About ten years my senior, her thoughts that late afternoon meandered down memory lane as she recounted the touching story of a dear friendship from past years.

     Emily’s and Pat’s lives intertwined in a number of ways: both were pregnant, Emily with her first child and Pat with her third. They attended First Baptist Church, sang in the choir, and belonged to the same women’s Bible study.

    After their Bible study ended that hot summer day in August, the two lingered to chat before heading home. Pat seemed to hold on to their parting moments as she gave Emily a farewell hug. Emily headed for home, but Pat had an errand to run.

    “I was standing at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes, when I heard the distant scream of an ambulance. An eerie feeling came over me,” Emily said. “Later, our pastor phoned -- it was Pat.”

     At the hospital, I found many friends and family gathered from the church. I learned Pat’s car had stalled on the railroad tracks and an oncoming train broadsided her.

    The first person on the scene was a man who witnessed the accident and ran over to help. When he searched for identification, he found her Bible and church bulletin in the wreckage. He phoned our Pastor immediately.”

    “We all sat in disbelief,” Emily said. “Yet the most amazing story came from the ambulance attendant who recalled what took place during the transport to the hospital.”

     He told us Pat faded in and out of consciousness, but he saw her lips moving as if she were trying to say something. Bending near, he heard her struggling whisper, ‘”Please God, send a Christian to raise my children and be a good wife to my husband.’”

    “Pat lost her life that day, and I lost my best friend,” Emily said.

    A glance at the large round clock on the wall over the front desk reminded me of the lateness of the hour. The cut hair on the floor, the used tint bowl and applicator brushes in the sink would have to wait. Retrieving my keys and purse from the office stuffed with the day’s receipts, I switched off the lights, and we left the salon. It had been a long day with a somber ending.

    The cluttered remains from last night's appointment with Emily greeted me the next morning when I opened the salon door. Time wasn't on my side, so I quickly moved to tidy up in preparation for the busy day ahead. As I did, the memory of the touching story seemed to engulf me like a shroud. The story replayed again and again in my mind like a broken record. 

    Olivia’s early arrival interrupted my efforts. As my first client of the day, her bedraggled appearance, crowned with straggling, dark brown hair begged for a perm and cut. I paused to check her in, and continued with the clean up. In making conversation, I related last night’s moving story with her.

    A shy, pleasant woman, she had shared only glimpses of her own life story in past appointments. Her world revolved around her husband and two children. When I neared the end of Emily’s story, I noticed a decided change in Olivia’s demeanor. Her smile had disappeared. Tears mingled with black mascara trickled down her rosy cheeks. I handed her a box of Kleenex and apologized for anything I may have said to distress her.

    She wiped her eyes and collected her emotions. “I’ve never heard the part about the prayer before. You see, I married her husband and raised her children.”

     I could scarcely take it all in…      

    Later that evening, I reflected on the many intricacies of this surprising revelation. The timing, my recent move into the city, that neither client knew each other. It was like God gently tapped me on the shoulder and said, “See what I just did.”      

    “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:8-9 KJV
 

The Mystery of the Tissue

by Twilah A. Fox, M.D.    

    Dark had fallen. Concern furrowed my brow and dread crept into my heart. My aging husband, yet active, had gone out on one of his “long drives” over seventy-five miles away that Friday afternoon and had not returned home yet. My last call to his cell brought no response. Dementia is a devilish thing, affecting the judgment, actions and very character of a soul once solid as a rock, now unpredictable. What will he buy next? What unsound idea will pop into his mind leading to possible danger?

    I prayed…

    My overworked imagination ran the gamut; an auto accident or had he been run off the road by a hijacker, then robbed and left in some ditch in the cold dark to die, or was he confused, lost and alone somewhere? Should I notify authorities? If so, when… how long should I wait?

   To distract my mind from such thoughts, I busied myself with doing our laundry. I removed a “dryer-full” of clothes, folding some and hanging others. The last pair of trousers removed, I glimpsed something in the bottom of the tub. There to my surprise lay an intact Kleenex tissue, spread out, neither waded nor folded, but flat.

   How could this possibly be? Before placing the clothes in the washer, I had checked all the pockets for coins, keys, toothpicks, tissues or whatever. This tissue should not be lying there intact. It should have melted and been spread all over the clothes even in the washer, not to mention the dryer. But there was not a shred on any garment. Suddenly I realized this was impossible.

   Surely invisible Hands had placed it there… not clinging to a sock or shirt, but separate, spread out with only slight fraying around the edges. Its message came to my soul loud and clear. “If I can bring this lifeless tissue through the turbulence of a washing machine and then the heat of the dryer, I will bring you through anything and everything that lies ahead of you.”

    With melting heart and tears flowing down my cheeks mingled with praise to God, I picked it up and reverently folded it clean as a whistle, a bit thinner but all in one piece and placed it in my Bible. What tangible Blessed Assurance!

   Within minutes, the kitchen door opened. He stuck his head in as usual with that big smile and, “Hi Mimi.” Totally oblivious to the deep concern and suffering his family members and I had just come through.   

“And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world” __ Jesus
Mt. 28:20 KJV

Five Boxes of Christmas Cards

by Jeanette Sharp

Five Boxes of Christmas Cards is featured in A Scrapbook of Christmas Firsts

     I bolted for the door. The last bell in Mrs. Mitchell’s fifth grade class rang that afternoon in November 1954. Outside, the overcast sky and the chill in the air sent shivers up my skinny bare legs. Mother called it typical fall weather for northeastern Oklahoma. I hurried home to get a snack and pick up my cardboard carrying case with boxed Christmas cards—my first try at door-to-door selling.

     I headed out with high hopes, and knocked on every door for blocks, but found no buyers. The North wind turned cold and my teeth chattered as it blew a gale through the thin hand-me-down coat. My chapped lips burned and my hands froze, numb to the handles of the case. With a runny nose and nothing to wipe it on but my coat sleeve, the urge to give up and just go home mounted. My once high hopes sunk.

      In the past, my twin sister, Annette, and our little brother, Stuart, would go with Grandma Hudson to Uncle Glen’s pecan groves where we picked up pecans to earn money for Christmas. That used to be enough, but this year I needed to earn way more money. Times had changed at our house.

     Daddy had died in May that year. It happened on a Friday. When Annette and I walked home for lunch, we spotted his huge dump truck parked in front of our house and ran the rest of the way. Mother met us at the door. “Shush, your daddy’s asleep and doesn’t feel good.” Daddy never got sick. We peeked into the bedroom and watched him sleep for a minute, before heading back to school. At 4:30, we ran home from school and followed close on mother’s heels when she went in to check on him. She couldn’t make him wake up, “Oh, goodness,” she said. With a scared look in her eyes she phoned Dr. Daily. He came right away, dressed in a brown suit, a striped tie with a brown hat. His kind voice, full of assurance gave us hope, but he couldn’t wake up daddy either. He told mother a heart attack took him.

      I worried about our money and could tell mother did too. I often saw her fight back tears. She wrote down everything she spent in a little black book and let me see how she kept a record of our expenses. Christmas would be bleak without daddy. Oh, how we needed him.

     Darkness hovered around me, and I still had all five boxes in my carrying case. I decided to try one more door. I walked up the driveway, knocked on the door, and whispered, “Oh God, please help me sell all five boxes.” The bigness of my prayer seemed almost unreasonable.

     The lady of the house answered the door right away, and I showed her my wares. Interested, she knelt down to see them. After a careful look, she asked the price. As she stood, she said, “I’ll take all five boxes.” I could hardly believe my ears!

     All of a sudden, nothing mattered—not what mother’s little black book said, the cold North wind, or my hand-me-down coat. Clutching the money, I ran home to tell everyone what had happened. We had always gone to church, and I believed in God. But, this was the first time I knew through and through in my heart God heard me, saw me, and cared for me.