A Treasury of Miracles for Women (4 page)

Kathy wrinkled her nose and stared at the sky. “I hope it clears up. Yesterday was so nice, I was looking forward to getting back to the lake.”

The weather seemed to darken even Jason's mood, but the children remained happy and upbeat, playing hide-and-seek amidst the dripping trees and finding special pine cones. Despite the cold clouds and light drizzling rain, after breakfast the Hesters pulled their fishing gear together and headed for a nearby stream. As they fished the thunder and lightning returned and rain fell harder than before.

“Aren't the monsoons supposed to be a nighttime thing?” Kathy slipped her hood on and grimaced at the sky.

“Yeah, they usually pass in an hour or so.” Jason began packing up his fishing gear. “This one seems like it's going to be around awhile.”

They headed back to the campground in their van and asked the ranger about the weather.

“Report just in says steady rain all day today and through the night,” the ranger said. Then he grinned. “One good thing about a storm is it keeps the bears away.”

“Yeah,” Kathy mumbled. “Great. I think I'd take bears and a little sunshine over this.”

The Hesters sat in their van as the rain pounded their windshield. When forty minutes passed and still the rain continued, they made a dash for the tent, which had two separate rooms.

“Why don't we have lunch in here and then play card games?” Jason said. The kids shouted their approval and Kathy began making sandwiches on damp paper plates.

“Fun vacation.” Kathy mumbled her complaint, noticing the muddy tent floor and the way the two youngest children were shivering.

The rain fell for three hours while they stayed in the tent playing cards, telling stories, and trying to stay warm. Finally, Jason looked at Kathy and stuck his hand outside the tent.

“The rain's let up a little. Why don't we see about getting a fire started? We'll need one if we're ever going to dry out.”

Despite their wet clothes, the children continued to play while Kathy and Jason worked on the fire.

“We really need to get the fire going,” Kathy said. “Tonight's hot dogs over the pit. I'm not much for cold hot dogs on an afternoon like this.”

Jason nodded. “I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever be warm again. Everything I brought is wet and it's getting colder all the time.”

They weren't in danger, but the thrill of the trip had worn off for both of them and they worked feverishly trying to ignite the wood.

“It isn't wet, just damp.” Jason clenched his teeth and lit another piece of kindling. “If only we could get it to catch.”

Kathy had been wadding up newspapers and stuffing them alongside the logs, then using the lighter to ignite the newspaper and hoping that the burst of flames would set the wood on fire. But after an hour of working side by side, the couple had created only a great deal of smoke and even more frustration.

Since the rain was still falling lightly onto the fire pit, there seemed to be no way to get the wood dry enough for the kindling to do any good.

“I'll get an umbrella,” Jason said. “Maybe that'll help.”

He found one in the van and brought it to the fire pit. There, he opened it and held it over the wood. “Now try and light it,” he said.

Kathy continued to pack dry newspaper pieces in around the wood while she directed their ten-year-old son to hunt for dry pine needles to add to the kindling. Kathy lit every visible piece of newspaper, blowing as she worked. From his vantage point above her, the umbrella in one hand, Jason also blew on the smoking newspapers.

The two of them, sometimes stumbling over one an other, worked frantically on the fire while another hour passed. During that time, Megan and their seven-year-old son, Luke, slipped out of the tent and began watching. They wore rain jackets and had pulled the hoods over their heads to stay dry.

“If we don't get this fire ignited, we can forget dinner,” Kathy said. She wiped the sweat from her brow. Jason still stood awkwardly over the fire holding the open umbrella and advising her where to ignite the newspaper while their oldest son continued his search for kindling.

Luke and Megan glanced at each other and then at the gray skies above. Then Luke motioned for her to follow him and headed toward the woods.

“Where are you guys going?” Kathy stood up and stretched her back.

“We have to do something,” Luke said. “We'll be right back.”

Kathy watched them for a moment longer and nodded. “All right. Don't go too far.”

“We won't.” Megan smiled and then the two contin ued walking. Five minutes later they returned and took seats near the fire pit. They grinned at each other and glanced upward.

At about that time, the rain stopped. Jason took down the umbrella and stared at the sky. “Doesn't look like it's getting any clearer, but as long as it's stopped raining I think we can get the fire going.”

Not long afterward, the fire pit was blazing and the Hesters gathered around to warm their hands and bodies. Suddenly Kathy remembered the children's brief disappear ance.

“Megan,” she asked, taking a seat next to her daughter, “why did you and Luke go off into the woods?”

The girl smiled sweetly. “Well, we saw how the grown ups couldn't get the fire started and we knew we needed a fire in order to have dinner.” She smiled peacefully. “We didn't want to starve to death.”

“No.” Kathy shook her head and waited for Megan to continue.

“So Luke said we should go into the woods and pray about the rain.”

A sinking feeling settled over Kathy's stomach. “Pray about it?”

“Yes, Mommy. We went off and asked God to please stop the rain so we could build the fire. Then we could have dinner and everything would be fine.”

It had happened again.

First last night during the storm and now with the rain. Tw o adults, both strong in their faith, both firm believers in God and the power of prayer, had worked for three hours trying to build a fire in the rain. They had used kindling and pine needles, newspaper and tree bark. They had held an umbrella over the wood and blown on dying sparks until they were completely winded.

They'd done everything except pray—the one thing that their young children had chosen to do.

“He heard us, Mommy,” Megan said matter-of-factly. “We asked God to stop the rain and when we got back here the rain stopped.”

“Whatever made you think about praying, Megan, honey?” Kathy asked gently, brushing her nose against Megan's smaller one.

“You and Daddy always say if you have a problem, take it to God in prayer,” Megan said and shrugged. “Isn't that right?” Kathy grinned and brushed aside her daughter's blonde bangs.

Kathy thought of the gloomy way she'd been feeling and how she'd considered her problems too insignificant for God. “It sure is, Megan. Thanks for helping me remem ber.”

Despite the gray sky, no rain fell on the campsite until after nine o'clock that evening, when the fire was out and the family was climbing into their tents for the night.

The rain continued again through the night and let up only long enough for them to pack their camping gear and prepare for the trip back home. On the way out, they asked the ranger about the rain.

“Never let up all day yesterday,” the ranger said. “Made for a dismal camping trip, I guess.”

“At least it stopped at dinnertime and stayed dry through most of the evening,” Kathy said as she handed the ranger their fees.

The ranger knit his forehead into a mass of wrinkles. “It never let up at all. Least not 'round these parts.”

Kathy glanced at Jason. “We had about five hours without rain.”

The ranger scratched his head and placed his hands on his hips. “Why that's the darndest thing I've ever heard. I was only a few hundred yards away and I didn't get a bit of relief all evening. Shoulda come over and had dinner with you all, I guess.”

They finished their business and drove away, but Kathy and Jason remained silent. When they had driven ten miles, Kathy turned to her husband and sighed.

“How could he have had rain and we didn't?”

Jason shrugged again. “That happens, honey. The rain has to have a starting point.”

Then she told him every detail about Megan and Luke and their prayer that the rain would stop.

Jason laughed and shook his head, thinking about how silly they must have looked as the two of them worked over the fire pit. “There we were trying everything in our own power when our kids had the right answer all along.” He grinned at Kathy. “See … no prayer is too small for God.”

“So you think he heard their little prayers and stopped the rain just over our campsite?”

“I guess we'll never know,” Jason smiled. “But they saw a problem and took it to God. After that it wasn't a prob lem anymore. I think we can all learn from that.”

“I guess you're right.” Kathy grinned. Suddenly it was more than the miracle of the dry night that made her heart feel light. It was the fact that God did care about the small details after all. She reached for Jason's hand and squeezed it gently. “Like the Bible says, a child shall lead them!”

The Gift of Dance

I
sabelle Sims had never felt more discouraged in her life. She was twenty-five years old with a noticeable weakness on her left side, the effects of being born with cerebral palsy. And that afternoon she had attempted the impossible. She had joined more than seventy applicants for the position as dance instructor at a prestigious New York arts school.

Part of the interview had included a solo dance rou tine. Isabelle had the credentials and experience but there was no way her dance held up to those of the other young women—women who were free from the handicap she'd lived with since she was born.

She left the building in tears and made the hour-long ride to her mother's house in the country.
She'll be so disap pointed.
Isabelle thought of how badly she wanted the job, how it'd been the single dream she'd nurtured since she was a young girl. Dance instructor. Helping other children find the wings to fly across the stage the way she would have done if not for her handicap.

The moment her mother answered the door, Isabelle's heart broke. Tears filled her eyes and she fell into her mother's arms.

“Honey, what happened?” Isabelle's mother, Lucy, held her tight, finally helping her inside where they sat in the living room side by side.

“They'll never hire me.” Isabelle covered her face with her hands. “The other applicants were graceful and smooth. Who wants a dance instructor who can't walk without limping?”

Lucy looked gently at Isabelle for a moment. Then without saying a word she stood, searched through her video cabinet, and slipped a tape into the VCR. When she returned to her spot next to Isabelle, she hit the play but ton.

The screen came alive with the image of Isabelle as a beautiful nine-year-old, twirling and leaping in the air, her ballet costume floating gracefully about her knees.

“My first dance recital.” Isabelle stared at the image of herself and wondered how she'd lost touch with that young girl, the girl she'd once been. “I had so much confidence back then.”

Her mother stopped the film and reached for Isabelle's hand. “You were such a little fighter back then, sweetheart. Nothing was going to stop you. Especially not a bother some case of cerebral palsy.”

Isabelle sniffed. “That was a long time ago.” She ran her fingertips beneath her eyes and shook her head. “That little girl doesn't exist anymore.”

Lucy drew a slow breath. A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Darling, I think you need to hear the mira cle story one more time.”

Isabelle shrugged. She'd heard the story of her birth a dozen times, and it always brought her comfort. Hope. Maybe her mother was right. She sat back in the sofa and focused her attention on her mother. “Tell me.”

Lucy's smile grew. Isabelle could see in her eyes that she was drifting back in time, back to a day when no one thought Isabelle would survive the first year of her life. Back to a time when doctors thought she'd never walk, let alone dance.

“It was 1984,” Lucy began, “and I was expecting a child. Pregnancy had never been easy for me. Especially after Charlie and Chase.”

Tears moistened Lucy's eyes as she reminded Isabelle of her small sisters who had died before they were big enough to be born. The miscarriages meant that when Isabelle's mother got pregnant with her, the doctor was very con cerned.

“Your father told me that since the boys had been fine, there was every reason to believe God would grant us a healthy baby, even after the miscarriages.” Lucy's chin quivered. “But I was worried anyway. I wanted you so badly, Isabelle.”

At the time, the Sims had lived twenty minutes north of Beloit, Wisconsin, and Isabelle's mother planned to de liver her without pain medication. As long as she could carry the baby to term, the doctor did not expect any problems.

“I prayed daily that you would survive the pregnancy and that God would give me the wisdom and peace to cope if problems developed.”

Lucy drew a deep breath and continued the story. As the pregnancy progressed, she had developed a constant low backache. But she told herself this was normal, since most pregnant women had back pain. One morning, though, when she was twenty-four weeks pregnant, she had been at work when she realized she was having regular mus cle contractions across her abdomen.

“False labor, I told myself. Don't worry about it.”

But when the contractions continued throughout the morning, steadily increasing in intensity, Isabelle's mother telephoned the doctor.

“ ‘Sounds like a false alarm,' he told me. ‘Rest a bit and they should stop.' ”

Instead the pains got worse. This time the doctor told her to go straight to the hospital. An hour later tests con firmed that Lucy was indeed in labor.

“They told me you couldn't survive if you were born then.” Quiet tears ran down Lucy's cheeks. “While the nurses set up an IV with drugs to try and stop the contractions, your father took my hand and prayed out loud with me. We prayed for a miracle.”

Isabelle imagined how her mother must have felt. “Were you scared?”