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Advent, Day 11: If Christ Had Never Been Born

On a July day last summer several of us were standing by the entrance to a cave in the shepherds’ fields less than a mile from Bethlehem where Jesus Christ was born. The cave’s blackened ceiling and flue bore witness to its use by shepherds over many centuries.

Those famous shepherds, who were tending their flocks that night, may have wonderingly heard the heavenly choir. Perhaps from this very spot they started for Bethlehem to see “this great thing that has come to pass.” (Luke 2:15)

Gazing reflectively across the fields to Bethlehem, a businessman named Fred said feelingly, “It sure would have been tough for me if Jesus had not been born.” Then he added with quite remarkable insight, “Obviously, birth is one of Christianity’s key words. He was born and I and thousands of others were reborn.”

As he spoke my mind went back to a May Sunday morning months ago in the Marble Collegiate Church on Fifth Avenue, New York. In my sermon that day I described the changed life that is possible when one truly surrenders himself to Christ. I told of John Sherrill, one of our Guideposts editors, whose spiritual experience brought him healing from illness and stimulated amazing new life.

This great thing happened to John through an act of surrender when he said simply, “I give my heart and life to Jesus.” John then experienced a deep and profound new birth.

At the close of the sermon, I felt moved to issue a spiritual invitation. “I shall be in a room off the main sanctuary after this service,” I said to the congregation. “Anyone who desires to surrender his problems, fears, hates, illnesses into the hands of Jesus is invited to meet me there.”

Some 30 people joined me in that little room, among them Fred. In unison the entire group took the step of personal surrender. We were just about to close the meeting when Fred asked if he might say something. He described himself as in a great crisis physically and spiritually.

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“The doctors have found something that looks very bad for me. I go to the hospital tomorrow. Please help me to give myself completely to Him.”

When I put my hand on his shoulder, I could feel him trembling inwardly all down through his body. A prayer was offered for his healing, but even more for a complete rebirth in heart and mind.

Through God’s grace Fred did receive a physical healing. Furthermore, the ever-generous Lord granted him a vital new life that now effervesces within him.

This past summer Fred joined a group of us who traveled to the Holy Land. It was soon after this visit to the fields outside of Bethlehem that we had a meeting one night during which everyone was given an opportunity to tell of Christ’s power in their lives.

Hardly ever have I heard a witness at once so sensible and yet so real and moving as Fred gave in his characteristically down to earth manner.

This man’s experience actually is a demonstration of what Christmas means. Christ was born to give rebirth to people who had lost the way, whose lives had gone stale.

How dull and hopeless life would have been had He never been born. No wonder we sing “Joy to the world, the Lord has come.

This applies also to the many unhappy, frustrated, defeated people who have found new life through Jesus Christ. Had He never been born or had they never discovered Him, they would have gone from defeat to defeat with life simply a burden and making no sense.

But since Christ was born into this world and since a personal relationship with Him releases within one hitherto unrealized powers, those who are really changed by Him become victorious individuals.

No one or nothing in all history has had the dynamic and revolutionary effect upon individuals as did Jesus. That is why millions every Christmas turn toward the little town of Bethlehem and give thanks that Jesus Christ was born.

This story first appeared in the January 1963 edition of Guideposts.

More inspiring Advent stories from Norman Vincent Peale

Advent, Day 10: To Be Alive at Christmas

One marvelous thing about Christmas—have you noticed?—is the way our senses come alive. As Christ’s birthday approaches, everything seems to become more vivid—sights, sounds, smells, even tastes.

Maybe that’s why Christmas memories stay so vivid.

Christmas in Ohio when I was a boy—ah, what a time! Snow always, fields blanketed with white. Sleighs pulled by horses, vapor jetting from their nostrils, bells jingling on their harness.

When we’d go to visit my grandmother in the little town of Lynchburg, my father would lift me up so that I could twirl the old-fashioned doorbell.

The chimes would go ringing through the house, and footsteps would come running to let us in to warmth and love and laughter.

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I remember the wonderful aroma of pine and tallow in the room where the Christmas tree stood with candles burning. No electric lights in those days.

They must have put scent in that tallow to make the candles smell so good. And the bubbling sound of candy cooking on the old wood stove. We didn’t buy candy; my mother made it.

She’d cook a wonderful base that she called fondant and cover it with all sorts of icing, pink or green or chocolate. I can see it now, piled on plates, all fresh and colorful.

Then there were those homemade cookies, cut out into stars and crescents and little animals and sprinkled with colored grains of sugar. Yum!

And the frosty kiss of snowflakes when they’d settle on my nose or eyelashes, and the soft touch of our mother’s hands as she tucked us into the comforting warmth of the patchwork quilts. And the flickering light on my grandmother’s face as she’d put a Christmas candle in the window…

Ah, the good Lord gave us such wonderful senses and such wonderful things to use them on—especially at Christmas! What a perfect time to use our God-given sensitivity, to be alive, to be aware…and to be happy because Christ the Savior is born!

More inspiring Advent stories from Norman Vincent Peale

A Divine Rescue In The Buffalo River Rapids

The view from our canoes on the Buffalo River was stunning. No wonder this was one of the Ozarks’ premier destinations. Massive bluffs towered over the water on either side—nothing but the calming blue heavens above. But soon into our float trip, the rapids whipped up unexpectedly. My gnawing unease returned with a vengeance.

At 28, I was plenty adventurous and a strong swimmer. Still, I felt there was danger waiting on the river. I’d been dreading this outing almost from the moment my husband, Larry, had made reservations for us and his Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Edna—a two-day, 10.6-mile float trip from St. Joe to Gilbert, Arkansas.

The outfitters had ferried us to the drop-off point with rental equipment and had taken our truck to the endpoint, where we’d return the gear before heading home. We’d brought tents and camping equipment, and would pick a location along the riverbank to put in for the night.

Ronnie and Edna paddled in the canoe ahead of Larry and me. The four of us were strong and capable outdoors people, but I’d had a premonition of sorts. Sitting in the yard one day, weeks earlier, while the kids cooled down with the hose, a powerful feeling about this trip had come over me. Not just nerves, more like a wordless message to be prepared. I went inside to get my Bible and was drawn to Psalm 121: “I will lift mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help…” Throughout the day I read the psalm over and over, until I’d memorized all eight verses.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about the float trip,” I told Larry when he got home from work. I told him about my premonition, but he wasn’t convinced it meant anything.

“You’re just nervous about leaving the kids with your mom,” he said. “You’ll feel better once we’re out on the river.”

Now, here we were, wearing life jackets that no longer seemed nearly protective enough. The relaxing pleasure trip we’d signed on for had turned into a challenge. The water level was up, the current faster than usual, the rapids active. Nothing like what we had expected.

When I noticed several other paddlers setting up camp along the riverbank in the late afternoon, I called out to Larry. “Let’s call it a day soon!” I turned my head to glance upstream. “I will lift mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” A bird swooped down to grab a snake from the rocks.

Dear God, please watch over us. The water roiled again just up ahead. I held my breath as Ronnie and Edna made it through unscathed. Our turn. The canoe entered the torrent. I paddled hard trying to keep the boat upright, but it was no use. The canoe spun and tossed us into the frothy water. My paddle flew from my hands. The canoe overturned and escaped our reach. Everything inside was lost in a flash.

The water pushed Larry and me onto a gravel bar, where Ronnie and Edna had landed safely in their canoe. Ours was trapped in some branches, partially submerged, across the roaring river. Edna and I waited while our husbands pushed through the rapids to reach it. Ronnie pulled at the canoe, and suddenly, propelled by the water, it shot straight up, hitting him hard in the face. He fell forward into the water, but Larry managed to get ahold of him. “He’s hurt,” Larry yelled over the current. “We have to get help.”

But how? We couldn’t get upstream. No one was in earshot. We didn’t even have a first aid kit. There was nothing I could do but put my trust in God. I’d claimed the psalmist’s verse for weeks, but now I had to put my faith into practice, and truly believe that we were being watched over, just as the psalmist had been. I gazed up at the sky above the cliffs.

“I will lift mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”

I kept praying the psalm, believing. For what seemed like forever I saw nothing but the gathering darkness. Then, in the distance, I saw a faint light. I imagined it came from campers on the riverbank, but the light grew brighter. Coming closer. Two men in a canoe with a lantern. We called out as loud as we could, waving our arms.

The men pulled smoothly up to Larry and Ronnie and took them into their canoe. They crossed the rapids without a hitch to reach Edna and me. At some point in all the hubbub the men introduced themselves as a doctor and a Marine. When God sends help he doesn’t mess around, I thought.

After the doctor tended to Ronnie’s injuries, he loaded Ronnie and Larry into the rescue canoe. The Marine took Edna and me in the one canoe we had left. The canoe Larry and I had rented was long gone.

We reached the endpoint on the river in a little more than an hour. Even if we’d gone much farther than we intended on the first day of our trip, it seemed a miracle we’d reached our destination so quickly. The men transferred Ronnie to our truck bed. Larry got in with him. While I helped Edna stow our remaining canoe and gear in the outfitter’s pickup area, the rescuers who’d arrived like angels disappeared as such. No sound of another truck leaving. No light from their lantern if they’d gotten back in their canoe.

There was no time to ponder our blessing. I climbed behind the wheel, with Edna in the passenger seat, and then drove as fast as I dared to the hospital. Ronnie needed many reconstructive surgeries, but he enjoyed a full recovery.

Our more adventurous days are behind us, but more than 40 years later, I hold the lesson of our Buffalo River angels close. Driving through the beautiful hills of the Ozarks, I lift my eyes to take in their grandeur and the reassurance that whatever help I need is never far away.

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A Conversation with a Near-Death Experience Expert

Dr. Jeffrey Long, a practicing radiation oncologist, founded the Near-Death Experience Research Foundation and is among the leading researchers of near-death experiences (NDEs), which he defines as conscious, lucid experiences at the time of an imminent life-threatening event while the person is unconscious. Dr. Long has collected more than 4,000 accounts from around the world. With his wife, Jody, serving as webmaster, the Longs share these experiences at NDERF.org. Dr. Long sat down with Mysterious Ways to tell what he has learned.

How did you become interested in NDEs?
When I was doing my residency training for radiation oncology, I read a short piece in The Journal of the American Medical Association about something they were calling near-death experiences. I was fascinated because there was no medical explanation for the reason these events should happen.

You can’t be clinically dead and yet retain consciousness. My cancer patients were confronting death, but it wasn’t a subject I felt comfortable talking to them about, certainly not
the possibility of life after death. So the article stuck with me, but I didn’t see any application to my medical practice.

A few years later, I was having dinner with a friend and his wife. She told me how she’d had an allergic reaction while under anesthesia during surgery and then coded. I had an odd feeling that there was more to her story. So I asked her: “Were you aware of anything after your heart stopped?”

“Well yes,” she said, surprised at my question. She described being completely aware of the panic in the operating room. “I left my body and was transported through a tunnel to a place that felt like heaven. I saw a review of my entire life and met with these beings who gave me a choice of staying or going back to earth. I didn’t want to leave, but I ultimately made a choice to return. It was the strangest thing.”

“I think you had a near-death experience,” I said and told her of the article I’d read. Neither of us really knew what to make of it, but it made me want to study these events from a medical perspective. I was curious but highly skeptical. I wanted to understand these events by hearing from the people who had experienced them. That was my reason for starting the NDERF website in 1998.

What was your biggest finding from your research?
After analyzing thousands of experiences, I can say conclusively that NDEs are real and, more important, are evidence that there is life after death.

What highlights this for me is the overwhelming consistency we’ve seen in these accounts regardless of where in the world they’ve occurred. We have received accounts of
NDEs translated from over 30 languages, and they are strikingly similar, whether the person is Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Jewish or atheist. There’s no pattern of prior beliefs or
life experience that would explain what is happening—which tells me these are indeed real and otherworldly experiences.

Can you explain the process you use to analyze near-death experience accounts for NDERF?
Back in 1998, I created the NDERF website, which features a scientifically valid survey of more than 60 questions, asking people to share their NDEs. The questions ask things like whether they went through a tunnel or saw a bright light, whether they were met by deceased loved ones, if they interacted with a godlike figure, and the emotions they experienced. I ask about their religious beliefs before and after the experience, etc. In addition, I ask them to write about the experience in their own words. I was looking to see if there were similarities to the experiences that would be further evidence for their validity. I wanted to know if what occurred during NDEs was perhaps shaped by prior beliefs. I also wanted to see if there was a medical explanation for the experience, or something else that might discredit it.

According to the accounts you’ve gathered, what are the hallmarks of a typical NDE?
For nearly everyone, they are overwhelmingly positive experiences. Many report seeing a bright light they might identify as a divine presence, as well as being surrounded by an all-encompassing feeling of love, beyond anything they’ve experienced on earth. Upwards of 75 percent want to stay in the afterlife because of the love and joy they feel. As a result, nearly 100 percent no longer fear death. That’s one of the most significant outcomes, an assurance that there is life after death.

Do people ever experience negative NDEs?
The number of people who have reported negative NDEs is so small that some researchers question whether they are actually NDEs. But even in these cases, while the experience is not pleasant in the moment, it often inspires positive change once they return to life and still leaves them with a belief that death was not the end.

Do people experience being in an actual physical place that feels like heaven?
Experiences vary. More than half report seeing an actual realm that could be described as heavenly. Perhaps a quarter are surrounded by light or mist and never see a clearly defined realm. Others never enter what could be called a heavenly realm.

When people do see a heavenly realm, many understand it to be a kind of preview, not the actual heaven. The feeling is often that much of the reality of the afterlife is beyond our ability to comprehend, so what they do experience is something they can more easily relate to.

How common is it to interact directly with God or Jesus?
This is a relatively uncommon experience. Only about 12 to 14 percent report seeing or speaking with a being they know to be God, and about 7 percent interact with Jesus, but it happens often enough to be statistically significant.

One of my favorite Jesus encounters was this person who was a dyed-in-the-wool atheist. Then he had an NDE and actually talked with Jesus. Jesus was wearing a business
suit, and the man asked him, “Why are you dressed like this?” And Jesus said, “You wouldn’t have believed it was me if I was wearing a robe.” They both had a good laugh about this. I should add that the man is no longer an atheist.

How often do people report seeing deceased loved ones during an NDE?
The percentage of people who encounter deceased loved ones during their NDE is about 20 percent. They may be aware of the presence of a deceased loved one, see them or actively communicate with them.

Another interesting thing to note is, while not common, people also report seeing beloved pets that have passed on before them at a rate of about 2 percent.

Do you have any examples of pets appearing in NDEs?
The story that stands out to me is from a woman named Rebecca. She was a horse trainer, and one day while riding, she was thrown. She landed on her head and was knocked unconscious. Before she was revived, she had an NDE. She saw below her the horse she had been riding running back to the stable (an event she later confirmed).

Then she was met by a beloved horse that had died at a previous date. What’s remarkable here is that she had a very detailed conversation with her horse. The horse had died
traumatically, and Rebecca had felt a huge amount of guilt over the death. The horse was able to reassure her that she had nothing to feel guilty about. This experience was
profoundly comforting for her.

How are people’s lives changed by having a near-death experience?
Many people feel led to do something different with their lives. They may work or volunteer in hospice, or do something where they comfort people grieving the loss of loved ones.

Has your research changed your approach in your everyday work as a radiation oncologist?
Yes, definitely! Before I did this research, I was reluctant to talk with my patients about death and the possibility of an afterlife. Now, if I see that my patients want to talk about it, I have no hesitation. I tell them that based on my research, I’m very confident that there’s a wonderful afterlife for all of us and that we will be reunited with our deceased loved ones. And that’s profoundly reassuring to them. To me it’s a blessing to be able to share that with them.

Why do you think people experience NDEs?
This continues to be a major mystery in the NDE researcher community. We have to keep in mind that only about 10 percent of people who code and are brought back to life report NDEs. And yet there’s nothing that differentiates them from other patients who code and don’t have NDEs.

One of our experiencers, in the midst of her NDE, feeling overwhelmed by love and a sense of peace, asked this question of God directly.

“What made me so special that I was allowed to have this happen to me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” God told her. “Love falls on everyone equally. Everyone is special. This was just something you needed to accomplish your chosen life mission.”

The answer, ultimately, is that only God really knows why some individuals have these experiences and others don’t. But NDEs give every one of us the assurance that God is real and that he’s watching over us, so there’s value even to those of us who don’t have these experiences.

A Christmas Miracle: A Lost Cat Makes it Home for the Holidays

It was Christmas Eve morning, and I awoke with a mission: to find my lost cat, Baby-Girl. As I got ready, I could hear icy rain pelting the windows. Baby-Girl was out there somewhere in the storm; I could just feel it. Sure, it had been six months since she’d gone missing, but I still had faith. This was the season for miracles, after all.

During the previous summer, my sweet kitty had disappeared from my parents’ house in Indiana. Baby-Girl had been staying with them while I was between apartments. At the time, I lived and worked in Washington, D.C. I was staying with friends until I signed my lease on a new place. Baby-Girl had gotten out of my parents’ house three days before I was set to fly back home to pick her up.

My dad and I had spent that entire visit searching for her. Dad was the family’s resident “realist,” which meant he spent a whole lot of time trying to prepare me for the worst. “She’s either been hit by a car or been taken in by someone who found her,” he said. I rolled my eyes. Dad always supported me, but he could be so skeptical. He could do with a little more faith!

Besides, though I couldn’t explain it, I knew I’d see Baby-Girl again. She’d been a stray when I found her. A scrappy little tabby who had survived all on her own. If any cat could do the impossible, it was my Baby-Girl. Even after I returned to D.C. without her and the weeks stretched into months, deep down I had this undeniable feeling that we would be reunited one day.

Now, home again in Indiana for the holidays, I was determined to pick up my search right where I’d left off. I grabbed Baby-Girl’s cat carrier and loaded it into the car, then asked my dad to drive me to the shelter.

“Sharon, you have to be realistic,” Dad said as we headed to the garage. “She’s been gone too long. You’re not going to find her.”

“Well, I disagree,” I said.

Dad raised an eyebrow as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t you believe in Christmas miracles?” I asked.

“Bah humbug,” he said. It was his favorite Christmas saying and an inside joke in our family. He even had a shirt with the phrase emblazoned across the front, which he wore every Christmas morning just to get a rise out of us.

At the shelter, the woman at the front desk greeted my dad warmly. “Good to see you again, Mr. Dillon! Still looking for your cat?”

Ah, I thought, maybe he’s not such a pessimist after all.

A staff member took us to see the cats. “When did she go missing?” the woman asked.

“Six months ago.”

“And was she chipped?” No, I had to admit, Baby-Girl was not. The staffer winced. “When we get unchipped cats, they’re put up for adoption after three days,” she explained. “If your cat was brought in, she’s surely gone by now.”

We walked through rows of cages. My eyes scanned cats of all colors and sizes. None of them was my Baby-Girl. Then I noticed a room farther back. I pushed ahead. “Sweetheart, that’s where they keep the cats that just came in,” Dad said. “Your cat wouldn’t be in there.”

“It doesn’t hurt to look,” I said.

I stepped in the room and heard a familiar meow. My eyes zeroed in on a little tabby cat with big green eyes. She was skinnier than I remembered, but it was Baby-Girl, all right! My eyes welled up with tears. I opened the cage door. Baby-Girl practically jumped into my arms. I held her close as Dad looked on. “There’s just no way….” he mumbled.

The shelter staff was skeptical too. I pointed out that this cat matched Baby-Girl’s description perfectly—right down to her white hind-left paw. Still, everyone looked uncertain. This cat had just been brought in during the morning storm.

“Wait here! I can prove she’s my cat,” I said, excusing myself to grab the carrier. I’d trained Baby-Girl to walk inside the carrier when I opened its door. Sure enough, when she was let down in the middle of the room, she made a dash for the carrier and scooted right inside.

“That’s definitely your cat,” a staffer laughed. “I’ve never seen any cat do that willingly.”

Back home, the rest of the family welcomed Baby-Girl to our Christmas Eve. She purred like a motorboat, rubbing up against everyone’s legs. She seemed completely at home. Dad remained stubbornly skeptical.

“It just cannot be her,” he said. “Not after all this time.”

Eventually, Baby-Girl made her way down to the basement, where her litter box was kept. “See? How would she know that the box was there if she has never been here before?” I said to Dad.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m 40 percent convinced it’s her.”

“What would it take to change your mind?” I asked.

He considered for a moment. “If she sits in her favorite spot in the hearth, I’ll believe it’s her.”

Baby-Girl loved to sit curled up inside my parents’ decorative fireplace. And that’s exactly what she did as soon as dinner was done.

“Okay, maybe it’s her,” Dad admitted. “I’m about 60 percent sure.”

We all groaned. Dad took to his armchair to read his novel as we wound down for the evening. All of a sudden, he burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny, Bill?” Mom asked him.

“My book,” he said. “It says: ‘Baby-Girl, I have lost you. Now I have found you. I will never lose you again!’”

We all roared with laughter. “Is that enough, Dad?” I asked. “Or does the Holy Spirit himself have to appear and tell you it’s true?”

“Okay, I’m 90 percent sure,” Dad said. “But only because the Baby-Girl in the story is a lost dog, not a cat.”

We were all almost in tears from laughing so hard. My heart was filled with gratitude—I was surrounded by family and, against all odds, my cat was home again, six months after going missing.

It turned out Baby-Girl’s return wasn’t the only Christmas miracle that year. The next day, when Dad came downstairs for Christmas morning, he was wearing a new holiday shirt. It read: I Believe!

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A Busy Mom’s Story

The light changed from green to yellow.

I glanced at the dashboard clock, 5:58 p.m., and stepped on the gas. If I can get to Mom’s by six, I won’t be too late.

The light flashed red. I slammed on the brakes. The 67 tests I needed to grade flew from the seat to the floor. Ugh! I rested my head on the steering wheel. Every day there was so much to do. More than I could get done. My life—like those tests—was in disarray.

And my poor mom! When I decided to go back to work as a teacher, she’d agreed to watch my daughters, Grace and Genevieve—then two and six months—two days a week. My girls loved their Nana and playing with my parents’ yellow Lab, Riley. Mom took incredible care of them.

But after a year and a half, the demands on my time were only growing. I constantly felt guilty about the hours Mom had to put in. Here I was—late again, picking the girls up in the dark!

A loud honk behind me jolted me. The light was green. I pulled forward, waving sorry to the driver behind me. Sorry, sorry, sorry. That was my motto lately. Sorry, I can’t stay for this meeting. Sorry, students, I haven’t gotten to your tests. Sorry, Mom, I’m running late. Sorry, girls, I’ll be back soon.

Ten minutes later I arrived at my parents’ house. I cracked the front door and squeezed in to keep Riley from getting out. He was a practiced escape artist; rounding him up could take hours. I nearly tripped over him, dozing in the hallway.

I remembered when my parents had brought him home 10 years ago, how he’d bounded around nonstop. “Hey, boy,” I said, leaning down to scratch his ears. He didn’t even lift his head, his tail thumping a tired beat.

I know how you feel. Ten years ago I’d been full of puppy energy too, ready to graduate college and bound into adulthood. Where had the years gone? I had a wonderful husband, two healthy kids and a good teaching job. But there was something missing. Sorry, God, I added quietly to my list of apologies. Sorry I can’t enjoy this great life I’ve been given.

Where were the girls? I headed toward the family room. “Hello!” I called out. A scene of chaos greeted me. The girls had thrown cushions off both couches. They were jumping from the couches to the cushions, wild looks on their faces. Genevieve glanced up. I reached for her. She screamed, “No!” Grace ignored me and kept jumping.

It took me a second to find Mom, slumped in a chair, hair sticking up, glasses askew. “It’s been a looong day,” she sighed. “The girls are really tired.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing a smile. That word again! “Thanks for watching them tonight. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

Usually, Mom would say it was no bother. Instead, she just nodded.

I gathered the girls’ things then opened the door to the garage to get car seats from Mom’s van. I was just unbuckling one when—whoosh—Riley streaked past, out the open garage door, a rocket in fur. “Nooo!” I wailed. My body wilted as I watched him fade into the darkness.

I wanted so badly to collapse into bed. Not that rest was coming anytime soon. Once I’d corralled Riley, cooked dinner, put the girls to bed and graded those tests, it’d be long after midnight—if I was lucky.

“I accidentally let Riley out,” I told Mom. I picked up Genevieve. “I’ll take her with me to find him.” My daughter cried and reached for Nana. I pulled her tight and headed out, my jaw set.

I spotted the dog across the street in a neighbor’s backyard. “Riley, come home!” I yelled. “Come get a biscuit.” He ignored me. I crept toward him, my heels sinking into the mud of the neighbor’s yard. Genevieve was heavy in my arms. I was a few feet away when Riley looked up and darted away.

“Bad dog!” I yelled.

“Bad!” Genevieve echoed.

My feet ached. I pulled off my heels, preferring cold to pain. At the end of the block, Riley ran from tree to tree. I chased after him, nearly falling as I lunged for his collar. “That’s it,” I yelled. “You can stay out here all night.”

Riley trotted away, indifferent.

I started back to my parents’. The wind blew, rustling the branches of the maples above me. I held Genevieve closer and took a deep breath. The brisk air felt exhilarating. I stood there for a moment. All around me lights shone from windows, their glow warming me.

I saw families inside around dinner tables, sharing stories from their days, days probably as hectic as mine. I looked down the street, through the windows of Mom’s house, the setting for so many wonderful times. The other homes faded from view.

Suddenly, I was picturing my life, seeing it more clearly than I had in years. There was my husband, the girls, my parents, even that rascal Riley. They came steadily into view until they were all I could see. I thought of the laughter, the happiness, the hectic love we shared. What God had given me was incalculable.

My stresses? They were there, but now they seemed insignificant. Love makes everything else insignificant. Focus on what matters, I heard a voice inside me say, and all will be well. All is well.

I walked leisurely, feeling Genevieve’s small arms hugging me. I was almost at Mom’s when I heard a neighbor call from across the street. “Looking for a dog?”

“Uh, yes, I am,” I said.

“He’s in our backyard in the trash,” she said. Great! So much for my sense of calm. I went to the neighbor’s, where Riley, seeing me, promptly dashed off. Finally I cornered him in another garage.

Back at my parents’, Riley scampered to his corner and curled up, as if we’d just had a great game. Grace was in the kitchen, playing Memory with Mom.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Mom said. “You didn’t have to go after him. He always comes back now.” She pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you rest and have a cup of tea while we finish this game?”

My stockings were ripped. My arms ached from holding Genevieve. But God had lifted a much heavier burden from me. “I’d love some tea,” I said.

The girls were laughing. Mom had found a second wind. The kitchen felt so warm and inviting.

Sometimes we all need a little escape from the confines of daily routine, to realize how good we’ve really got it back home, a moment to rest and even revel in the hectic blessings of life.

A Box of Memories Brought Him Closer to His Late Wife

I sat alone on the back porch swing, my mind filled with thoughts of my wife, Jeannie. This was one of our favorite places to spend time, listening to the birds sing, reliving the highlights from nearly 53 years of marriage, with three grown children and too many blessings to count. I looked over at the empty space next to me, sort of half-expecting to see Jeannie there. My wife had died a little over a week earlier from sepsis, her death sudden, unexpected. The reality of it all was still sinking in.

Jeannie had wanted us to add on this porch nearly from the day we’d moved into the house nine years earlier. Finally, we’d made the investment. If I’d known we’d only have a year to enjoy it together, I wouldn’t have waited so long. The porch seemed to draw out our most playful conversations.

“I wonder when exactly we had our first date?” Jeannie would ask. “And when did we kiss for the very first time?” Such questions had become a kind of private joke between us in our golden years. Who could remember the specific details of happenings so long ago? There was a time I could have surprised her with precise answers, however. I’d kept careful track of our young love. Ticket stubs. Letters Jeannie and I had written to each other. Silly mementos. I wished I’d been more organized or foreseen a day when a milestone date scribbled on a scrap of paper would mean the world to me. A connection that kept us close.

Once Jeannie was by my side “till death do us part,” being together forever was all that mattered. Forever was now, I thought, as a bird flew across the yard. What I wouldn’t give to have all those answers.

Thank goodness I’d finally relented and agreed to add on this porch where she teased me. But there was something else I’d put off despite Jeannie’s frequent requests to see it through. We still had boxes stacked up against a wall in the garage, stuff we’d brought with us in our move. Boxes still unopened. We didn’t find ourselves needing anything that might be hidden in the mystery boxes, so clearing out the garage was never exactly a pressing chore. And I couldn’t imagine sorting through nine-year-old boxes now.

I resettled myself on the swing. Maybe I couldn’t pinpoint the “when” for Jeannie, but my memories were crystal clear.

Jeannie and I had first met in church, while we were still in elementary school. I fondly remembered being invited to her thirteenth birthday party, how we’d sung “I Dream of Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair.” How smitten I was with her. We never dated anyone else, and our love grew deeper with each year of our marriage.

We shared a lively sense of humor, and often took long drives to nowhere in particular, exploring the Indiana countryside, savoring the beauty of God’s creation. For many years Jeannie worked as a teaching assistant at an elementary school, nurturing children with special needs. I was a pastor, and we’d committed our lives to service, family and each other.

In my mind I heard her voice. The pleasure of hearing her say my name. I got up from the swing and walked through the house in a kind of fog, my steps leading me to the garage.

I opened the door. There against the wall was the tall stack of boxes. Just where they’d stay, untouched for the time being. One box had toppled over onto the floor, and the least I could do was set it back in place. I bent over to pick it up. Across the top, sometime long ago, I’d written: Ted’s Memorabilia. It was sealed with strips of old packing tape, yellowed and curled at the edges. Covered in dust.

I pulled off the tape and opened the box. It proved to be a treasure chest of notes, envelopes, receipts, ticket stubs. A faded flier announced the weeklong church camp Jeannie and I attended when we were in junior high. She was 12 and I was 14. On the closing evening, I’d nervously invited her to sit with me at the celebratory banquet. She’d worn a beautiful pink dress, and I felt like the luckiest guy at camp. I didn’t want the evening to come to an end. At the bottom of the flier I saw printed “June 1959.” Our first date.

Underneath the flier was a piece of notepaper, a few sentences recorded in my youthful handwriting. “Took Jeannie to the junior dance,” it read. “I kissed her on the forehead. End of last song. March 4, 1961.” A first kiss.

Stapled to that message was another piece of paper, another memory preserved, this one 13 days after the dance. “Took Jeannie to a movie. When I drove her home, we said goodbye at her front door. Kissed goodnight!” Our first kiss on the lips.

All I wanted was to run to Jeannie and surprise her with the answers to her questions. She would have laughed with delight. I sat quietly with the old box that had held my memories in safekeeping all these years. This one box that had toppled to the floor on this day, as if guided by some angelic hand. Someone else had been listening to my porch conversations with Jeannie and my prayers to feel close to her now. I didn’t need to tell Jeannie the answers. God had let her tell me so that we could laugh together again.

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8 Stories of Fathers’ Comfort from Beyond

There’s nothing quite like a father’s love. And it doesn’t end when they leave this world. Here are several examples of the power of fatherly love with a collection of stories about fathers reaching out from beyond to offer their children heavenly comfort, guidance and reassurance.

A Heaven-Sent Encounter Became Comfort from Beyond

Susan didn’t often eat fast food, but here she was, in line at a fast food restaurant. She was tired and hungry. Her father’s death had drained her. It had only been a week, but she already missed him. Maybe a burger would help, though she doubted it. But as she stood in line to order, she heard a strangely familiar voice: “Excuse me, sweetie.”

Read the rest of Susan’s story here.

In Her Dream, Heaven Looked Like a Beautiful Golf Course

“I wish you could have known him,” Alison whispered as laid her newborn son, Stone, in his crib. Her father had died just a couple of years before Stone was born, but she was determined he would know him, if only from her stories. Still, the wish weighed on her. Until she had a vivid dream…

Read about Alison’s dream here.

How Her Father’s Hammer Became a Spiritual Symbol

Linda and Brenda’s father had been quite the handyman. He taught his daughters everything he knew. Still, Linda wished he was here today, as they rebuilt her back deck. “I wish I could be more help,” Brenda said. But, little did they know, they had help from above.

Read Linda’s story here.

Mysterious Ways: The Music Box

Everyone in town knew Barbara’s father. Each Sunday he rang the steeple bell, inviting the congregation into church. He also led the song selection. “Amazing Grace” was his favorite. He had a deep, distinctive voice, and it soared above all others when he sang. It was that voice Barbara missed the most after his death. It was on her mind when the deliveryman knocked on her door…

Find out what happens next here.

The Gift that Restored Her Connection to the Father She Barely Knew

Sharon and her husband, Mike, and had lost everything in the flood, but some losses hurt more than others. Like Sharon’s collection of books. She knew some of them could be replaced, but not the ones her father had owned. Sharon’s father had died suddenly when she was a toddler. She had few memories of him, but he’d left behind a massive library. Reading his books was how she got to know him. And now it they were gone.

Read Sharon’s story here.

This Beautiful Butterfly Was a Heaven-Sent Sign of Comfort

After her father’s death, Janel’s mother starting seeing butterflies. They were signs from her late husband, she was sure of it. And while Janel was happy for her, she was also a little jealous. Where was her sign? She hadn’t asked God for one, but, still, it would be nice to see something…

Read Janel’s story here.

One Last Blessing from Dad

Buddy’s oldest son, Josh, was getting married! And as the father of the groom, he was given an important task: to pick up Josh’s dress shoes from the repair shop. But a mistake at the shop had Buddy wishing his own father, who had passed away years ago, was there to offer help and advice. Buddy should have known, his father would be there in his own way.

Read the rest of the story here.

A Staircase from Heaven Lifted Her Spirits

Kathy’s relationship with her father had been complicated. A veteran and an alcoholic who could never seem to land on his feet, he was in and out of her life. Until the day Kathy got the call she’d been dreading: her father was gone. Her grief was all-consuming. She didn’t know how she could carry on. She couldn’t. Then she had the dream that changed everything…

Read Kathy’s story here.

7 Soldier Stories About Miraculous Protection

Soldier stories abound with acts of courage and camaraderie. Men and women stand together and protect each other through unimaginable trials. Yet sometimes even the bravest soldier needs a helping hand from above. Whether it is a near-death experience or a prophetic dream, these stories show us how miracles can happen on the battlefield and after. Here are 7 soldier stories about brave men and women who received heavenly protection.

A Soldier’s Near-Death Experience

When veteran Glenn Brymer was stationed in West Germany, he was nearly killed in an accident during a military drill. On the clock to save his life, Glenn describes how he reached out to God during the moment he needed Him most. See what Glenn saw in this illustrated story which captures the unforgettable near-death experience that transformed his life.

Two Words That Saved a Solider

Two little words changed LethaJoy Martin’s family forever. It happened in 1944 when her dad was just 20 years old, stationed in the South Pacific. Meanwhile, back in Baltimore, her grandpop was sitting by her grandmom’s hospital bed. She had breast cancer and was recovering from surgery, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her grandpop was flipping through the newspaper that day, skimming the war headlines, when her grandmom suddenly sat up in bed, her eyes wild. Learn about the two words that LethaJoy’s grandmom shouted from her bed, and the effect it had thousands of miles away.

A Strange Dream About His POW Friend

Joe O’Brien’s friend, Sammy, was a lieutenant colonel and fighter pilot with the Kuwait Air Force. After an airstrike, Sammy’s plane was shot down. He was alive, but he was being held prisoner. Joe didn’t know what would happen to Sammy next or whether he’d even make it out. Joe switched on the news to try to get some more information. There weren’t any further updates, so Joe decided to go to bed. He tossed and turned for a while. Eventually, he fell asleep—and had the strangest, most realistic dream. Read about the strange dream Joe had and how it connected him with Sammy.

Christmas Angels Watched Over Her in Iraq

Archangels. That was the “handle” for the Army company of Delace Canada’s daughter, Ember. She and her fellow soldiers were combat medics; that is, they were charged with treating their brothers- and sisters-in-arms on the front lines. In 2008, the Archangels deployed to Camp Echo, Iraq. A few months in, Delace got a newsletter from the family readiness group. Would any of them like to contribute to the Christmas box they were sending the 70 company members for Christmas? Delace knew exactly what to do. See what Delace added to the Christmas box and the comfort it brought to the Archangels during a dangerous mission.

An Answered Prayer for a Military Chaplain

Larry Toney was a chaplain in the U.S. Army Reserve and living a quiet if busy life as a pastor at a church in Pennsylvania when he was called into service after 9/11. He was assigned to the Green Berets, among the most elite soldiers in the world, the kind that completed the most dangerous missions on the front lines. He remembered the words of one of his seminary professors: “Your job as future pastors is to keep your heads when everyone else around you is losing theirs.” It was Larry’s duty to be a voice of reassurance. But how could he reassure anyone when he was terrified? Read about Larry’s prayer for courage and the angelic being that soothed his fears.

A Special Animal Saves an Army Veteran

Josh Marino sat on cold cement steps behind the Army barracks one night, staring out into the darkness. Rain soaked through his pants, but he didn’t care. The only light came from the glow of his cigarette—his last. Back in his room there was a knife on the bedside table and a suicide note on his computer screen. He hoped that whoever read it first would understand why he had done what he planned to do. As he took the last drag of his cigarette, he heard a sound. Learn about the sweet animal that saved Josh’s life and the miraculous way they found each other.

A Soldier Tale from WWII

Jim Matis was a natural storyteller. He loved regaling his friends with tales, drawing them in with quick jokes and easy conversation. His favorite stories were about his time in World War II. Like so many young men of his generation, he’d enlisted in the Army after the attack on Pearl Harbor and shipped out to Europe. Then, on his 80th birthday, Jim told his family a story he’d never told before—about a strange injury he sustained during a battle. Read about Jim’s soldier story and how it changed his faith.

15 Irish Quotes and Proverbs for St. Patrick’s Day

St. Patrick’s Day is a time to celebrate Ireland and the Irish heritage—through music, food, Irish quotes and poetry, and more. Enjoy these ten inspiring proverbs and quotes from acclaimed Irish writers.

READ MORE: St. Patrick’s Day Activities for Families

Irish quote from Frank McCourt saying "You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace… It’s lovely to know that the world can’t interfere with the inside of your head."

  1. “You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace… It’s lovely to know that the world can’t interfere with the inside of your head.” —Frank McCourt
  2. “People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.” —Iris Murdoch
  3. “And happiness…what is it? I say it is neither virtue nor pleasure, nor this thing nor that, but simply growth. We are happy when we are growing.” —John Butler YeatsIrish quote proverb saying "Your feet will bring you where your heart is."
  4. “Your feet will bring you where your heart is.” —Irish Proverb
  5. “A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.”—George Moore
  6. “Success consists of getting up just one more time than you fall.” —Irish Proverb
  7. “The best that an individual can do is to concentrate on what he or she can do, in the course of a burning effort to do it better.” —Elizabeth BowenIrish quotes from Colum McCann saying "The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough."
  8. “The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough.” —Colum McCann
  9. “May neighbours respect you, trouble neglect you, the angels protect you, and Heaven accept you.” —Irish Proverb
  10. “A wise man should have money in his head, but not in his heart.” —Jonathan Swift
  11. “Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds, cannot change anything.” —George Bernard Shaw
  12. “May the wind always be at your back.” —Irish Proverb
  13. “When you fall in love, it is spring no matter when. Leaves falling make no difference, they are from another season.” —Edna O’Brien
  14. “There is not past, no future; everything flows in an eternal present.” —James Joyce
  15. “God spreads the heavens above us like great wings, And gives a little round of deeds and days.”—William Butler Yeats

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5 Miraculous Healings in The Bible

Psalm 147:3 tells us that God “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” In the Bible, miraculous healings abound. They speak to us today as wondrous spiritual lessons in the restorative power of faith. Here are just a few powerful anecdotes that show how God can heal our bodies and our hearts.

The Widow’s Son (1 Kings 17:10–24)

God led Elijah to the home of a widow and her son who kindly gave him the last of their food. Shortly after, the widow’s son grew ill and stopped breathing. She was angry and confused. Why would God take her son after she had helped his prophet? Her fear was short lived. Elijah prayed for the son, and the boy began to breathe again. “Now I know that you are a man of God,” the widow said to Elijah, “and that the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.” Even amid doubt, there was healing.

The Leaping Man (Acts 3)

The apostles John and Peter came across a man who was unable to walk. Peter called on the power of Jesus to heal the man and helped him to his feet. Suddenly, the man leapt up and began dancing around, praising God. Those who saw him “were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened.” This miraculous healing touched not only the man himself but the hearts of the people who witnessed it.

A Man Named Lazarus (John 11:1–44)

When Jesus and his disciples learned that Lazarus was dead, they went to where he was buried. Jesus instructed Lazarus’s sisters to remove the stone of his tomb, but no one there believed that Lazarus would be alive. “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” Jesus said. They removed the stone and Lazarus walked out. God’s promise was fulfilled.

Naaman The Soldier (2 Kings 5)

Naaman, a soldier who had leprosy, went to the prophet Elisha for healing. When Elisha sent a messenger instructing Naaman to bathe in the Jordan River seven times, Naaman considered the request ridiculous. Naaman’s servants implored him to listen, stating, “If the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it?” Naaman obeyed the divine message, even though it did not make sense to him. He bathed in the river and was cured.

The Sick Woman (Matthew 9:20-22)

Illustration by Anthony RussoAs Jesus walked by, a woman who had been sick for 12 years reached out to touch the hem of his cloak. Could simply being near Jesus finally bring her healing? Jesus turned to her and said, “Take heart, daughter. Your faith has healed you.”The woman had her long awaited answer.

5 Inspiring Stories of Angelic Flowers

The Language of Flowers

by Roberta Messner from Huntington, West Virginia

Ding dong! I looked up from the couch. Who in the world could that be? My body wracked with debilitating illness, I’d hidden myself away, isolating from everyone and everything. Friends telephoned, texted, emailed, sent cards. I didn’t respond, telling God in my prayers that I had nothing to offer anyone in the sorry shape I was in.

I reluctantly got up and opened the door to a flower delivery. As I put the bouquet on my dining table, I was struck by its uniqueness. It was comprised of solitary blossoms of many varieties that shouldn’t really go together yet somehow did. The mystery bouquet had come in a blue Mason jar, without a card.

Instead of retreating to the couch, I telephoned the florist. He told me some of my friends were behind the delivery, anonymously. “They wanted to get a message to you,” he said, “through the language of flowers.”

The group had followed him from cooler to cooler and picked very specific stems after consulting an old book. “I learned some things,” the florist said, then explained. The red carnation meant, “Our hearts ache for you.” The daisy announced loyal love; the jaunty sunflower, adoration; the iris, faith and hope. The yellow tulip wanted to see sunshine in my smile again. The blue hyacinth recalled my constancy. The pink carnation had a few words to say about never forgetting me.

The more I understood what the flowers were saying, the more I started to remember the woman who might have earned them before I hid myself away. My friends knew I was still that woman, with value beyond my health.

Fresh Start

by Cynie K. Murray from Patagonia, Arizona

I turned over the brown bag I’d found outside after our move. “Grass Seed,” it said in big black letters. My husband and I spread the seeds all over the dirt yard in front of our new house. “I have no idea if the seeds will root,” I told him, “but it’s worth a shot.”

Kind of like our decision to move onto the large property in rural Arizona. The main house, a beautiful cottage, was rented out by the landowner to visitors. Our modest home sat nearby, so that I could look after the cottage and upkeep on the whole property. I’d worked in hospitality for years, so when I was offered the job, we jumped at the chance. Still, it was a big change. I prayed that it would turn out to be the right decision.

While we waited for our grass to grow—or not—we settled in and slowly got used to the routine. Our house became a home, even if the front yard left a lot to be desired. A bunch of the cottage guests became regulars, and we got to know them well. I took a lot of pride in my work to make their stays memorable. Perhaps I was better at that than growing grass.

But after a summer monsoon moved through, I woke up to a beautiful morning and looked out the window. There was no grass growing in the sunlight. Instead, our yard was covered in a rainbow of zinnias. Our front yard had turned out even better than I could have imagined, just like our new life.

Special Arrangements for Every Occasion

by Elaine Scott from West Chester, Pennsylvania

I stood in the door of our flower shop, watching the staff work on arrangements and talk with customers. Among the employees was Emily, my 25-year-old daughter. Together, my friend Colleen and I had truly created an amazing space.

I first met Colleen 15 years ago, at an event for the Chester County Down Syndrome Interest Group, right after her daughter, Katie, was born. The group helped other families like ours navigate the life of having a child with Down syndrome. “It’s such a challenge to help our daughters find employment,” I said to Colleen one day. She agreed. When we learned that only 20 percent of adults with special needs have jobs that pay a typical wage, we were determined to make a difference. And not just for Emily and Katie.

In January 2021, we were approached by an organization that owned a flower shop, hoping we could use it to further our goal. It was a dream come true. We created the Kati Mac Education Foundation and reopened the shop as a nonprofit. Ten out of our 14 employees have special needs.

As I watched the bustling flower shop around me, I listened to the spirit-lifting playlist Emily had picked out herself. She greeted customers and answered their questions, while Katie worked with her mom to create a stunning arrangement for a customer’s special occasion. The aroma of roses and freesia, peonies and lilies was heavenly, but it was our employees who made the flower shop a place for angels.

Birds and Blooms

by Linda P. Varela from Kuna, Idaho

My friend Victoria called me early one Saturday morning. I wandered the quiet house while we made small talk. “How are you really doing?” she finally asked.

“I’m okay,” I said. Victoria knew that my canary, Lada, had recently died. She’d managed to live two years after the death of her brother, Enchi. I’d owned birds all my life, but these two were special. Enchi and Lada were completely white, with soft, snowy feathers like angels. They were happy birds with playful personalities, and I could hear them from any room in the house. “I would give anything to know they are near again,” I said.

As Victoria listened to me reminisce, I wandered over toward the balcony, where I kept potted plants. “Remember that clipping you gave me from your cactus?” I said. “I see that it’s sprouted two beautiful flowers, whiter than white.”

“How did you do that?” she asked. “The mother plant has never flowered for me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “It must be a gift from Enchi and Lada.” I had a good friend who was always willing to listen and two white flowers from my angel-birds that now seemed very near.

A Sprig of Relief

by Cynda Gray from Stratford, Connecticut

My eyes were red, my nose stuffy, my throat sore. And I was stuck in a crowded, overheated subway car, standing between two New Yorkers in giant puffy winter coats. This was the last place I wanted to be when I was feeling crummy, but I had a big meeting at work.

Help me, Jesus. I need to relax! I closed my eyes, pretending I was anywhere else. The eucalyptus steam room at a fancy spa, perhaps? I actually inhaled. If only…

The subway lurched to a stop. A few people got out. About a million more got on, including a woman with an enormous plant. She headed my way, then crammed herself into a space by me, the plant slapping me in the face.

Oh, come on! I was about to make a snarky comment when I got a whiff.

Even with only one working nostril, I realized there was no mistaking it. Eucalyptus! The woman smiled and handed me a sprig. I pressed it to my nose. That eucalyptus steam room? Right here.

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