Sarah of the Bible: When God Makes You Laugh
Remember Sarah’s reaction when the three men—God’s messengers—appeared at Abraham’s tent and said that he and Sarah would have a child within a year? She laughed. How was it possible? She was way too old. “Me, give birth? At my age?”
Then she was afraid for having laughed. Even pretended she hadn’t laughed. Lied about it, tried to squirrel out of it. What, me laugh?
What I love about Sarah and so many of the characters of the Bible is she is so real. So like us. God gives us a promise that seems impossible. Wouldn’t the first reaction be to laugh? And then to be afraid.
I think Sarah is an example of what happens when God enters our lives, and we’re open to it. Things are never the same.
First of all, she had to change her name, a sign of her changed identity. She was Sarai. Her husband had been Abram. They become Sarah and Abraham. We are all called something. Then we hear God’s call and our whole identity changes.
We know a bit about her sense of shame. Remember what happened to her earlier. She faced the humiliation, especially humiliating in those times, of not being able to have a child. She offered up her servant Hagar to sleep with her husband and Hagar became pregnant.
That made Sarai—as she was then called—feel even worse. So she banished Hagar into the wilderness. Hagar only returns when God’s messenger intervenes and tells her that she’s just going to have to put up with Sarai for a while. He has His promise for her, too. She’ll bear a son named Ishmael, a name that means “God hears.”
God hears us all.
We know the end of the story. The aged Sarah becomes miraculously pregnant. God’s promise is fulfilled. She and Abraham have a son. The child’s name is Isaac.
Remember what that name means—sometimes this gets a little lost in translation. Isaac in Hebrew means “He laughs” or just “laughter.” This is my favorite part of Sarah’s story. Answered prayers can bring endless delight and laughter. Fulfilled promises are a source of joy.
Even after a journey of shame, humiliation, fear and disbelief. Sarah found that out. By God’s grace, laughter—and Laughter—was born.
Running on Prayer
My son and daughters are all grown now, but as their mother I still worry about them. Especially when Gina, my youngest, told me about the car trouble that she’d been having.
“I turn the key in the ignition, but it just won’t start,” Gina said when I was down in Texas visiting her and her sister for a month.
Community Newsletter
Get More Inspiration Delivered to Your Inbox
It sounded to me like battery trouble, but Gina told me that she didn’t have enough money to get a new one right away.
Her sister had given her a charger to keep in the car. It fixed the problem in the short term, but Gina knew that she couldn’t rely on it forever.
She often worked late, and I hated to think of her stranded somewhere in the dark. I knew that the longer she put off seeing a mechanic, the greater chance there was that she could get stuck somewhere out on the road.
So I prayed: “God, please keep Gina’s car running until she can have it fixed. I really don’t want her to get stuck. Amen.”
The next time Gina got in her car to head to work, it started up without a problem. She didn’t even need the charger.
For the rest of my visit, her car ran perfectly. That prayer really did work!
I returned home to California, comforted that God was watching over my daughter.
Shortly afterward Gina sent me a text message. She had finally taken the car in to a mechanic. When he inspected the battery, he was completely baffled. He had all of the other mechanics at the garage gather around and take a look at it.
After a minute, one of them said, “Miss, we’re trying to figure out how you’ve been starting your car. Your battery is totally shot.”
“I was using a charger for a while,” Gina explained. “But then the car just started working on its own. It seemed like it was fixed.”
“Fixed?” said the mechanic, shaking his head. “No way. You’ve got no juice in this battery. Not even a little. Even with a charger, this thing shouldn’t have worked.”
Gina’s car didn’t have any battery power. It was running on prayer.
Rehearse the Victories
Some years ago evangelist Clyde Dupin was coming to our town, and I was asked to do local publicity for the important event. In the middle of writing lots of articles about the upcoming crusade, I received a phone call from a worldwide ministry in Texas.
The media director wanted to interview me, in person, for a full-time feature writing position. I had been waiting for that opportunity for a long time. The problem was…I didn’t have the extra money for an airline ticket. The ministry had agreed to pay for my transportation and lodging while in town, but I would be responsible for paying my own airfare.
I felt in my heart that it was more than a good opportunity; it was a God opportunity. And, I didn’t want to miss out on it, yet we simply didn’t have the extra money at that time. The cheapest ticket I could find was $290 round trip. I knew I could ask my parents for the money, but I didn’t want to burden them.
I figured that if God wanted me to go, He would provide the needed funds, so I stood in faith that the extra money would come in. I let the media director know I would be there for my interview and would forward my flight details when I had them, and then I prayed that God would make a way.
The following week, as I was getting ready to attend the first meeting of the Clyde Dupin Crusade, a man who worked with that ministry team handed me an envelope.
I thought it was another press release they wanted me to edit and submit to our local media, but it was so much more. I opened the envelope and found three $100 bills inside. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes and started to ask several questions, but he stopped me.
“Just receive it,” he said. “The person who asked me to give this to you said that God had awakened her in the middle of the night and told her to give you $300. She didn’t know why, but God assured her you would know just what to do with that money. So, take it and be blessed.”
I am rarely speechless, but I was that night.
I had trusted God, and he had provided. I bought my airline ticket, flew to Texas, and got the job!
Since that financial miracle in my life, I’ve never had trouble standing and believing for our financial needs. I just rehearse the previous victories, reminding myself of God’s faithfulness, and my worries leave and peace replaces them.
This is a biblical principle.
Remember the story of David and Goliath?
David rehearsed his victories! Before David ever took on Goliath, he had a track record of victory. The Lord had already helped him conquer the lion and the bear while tending his father’s sheep, so when he came up against the giant, David had no doubt of his victory.
Others looked at the giant and said, “He is too big to defeat.” But David looked at him and said, “Are you kidding me? That giant is too big to miss!”
It works the same way in our daily lives. Rehearse your past victories and praise God for the upcoming ones! And, while you wait in anticipation of doing “the victory dance,” stand on the Word of God and never yield to the circumstances. We serve a mighty God! So be encouraged today!
Rehearse those past victories and stand strong as you wait for that next breakthrough, that next answer, that next miracle. Look at that obstacle–no matter how big it seems–and say, like David, “That’s not too big for my God. That’s too big to miss!”
Cover art from One Boy, One Stone, One God illustrated by Steven Petruccio © 2012 CPH. Used with permission. www.cph.org.
Rebekah of the Bible: An Answered Prayer for Success
It might be surprising to think that my latest idea for an elevator prayer comes from an old Bible story.
First, what is an elevator prayer? It’s the prayer I make when I’m about to get to work. I’m taking the elevator up to the ninth floor, to our offices, and I have a quiet moment alone. What do I want? What should happen with my day?
I pray this: “Make something good happen for me today…” Or in another version: “Grant me success today.” Right out of Scripture.
It comes from the story about Isaac in Genesis. His beloved mother Sarah has died, he’s all of 37 years old, and he needs a wife. His father, Abraham, who is really ancient, says that the perfect woman should be found back in their homeland.
A servant is sent to seek her out, find her and bring her back. Whoever she might be.
You have to pity the servant. Talk about a tough job. How is he to find this woman? What criteria should he use to evaluate her?
He makes the trip and stops at the well where the women are drawing fresh spring water. He has 10 camels with him, and they surely need drink as much as he does. That’s when he says his prayer: “O Lord, God of my master Abraham, grant me success today, I pray thee…” (Genesis 24:12).
He goes on to acknowledge that the perfect woman will be the one who not only gets water for herself but shares some with him and the thirsty camels. In other words, his criteria isn’t beauty or wealth or family traits. It’s generosity.
Just then Rebekah appears. Yes, she’s comely and wellborn, but more importantly, when the lowly servant asks for a drink, she rushes to his aid. Not only that, on her own, she sees the camels and pours water in the trough for them.
Grant me success today. His prayer is answered.
Later when she is asked if she will return with this man to marry Isaac—a complete stranger—she somehow knows it is her calling. “I will go,” Rebekah says. She goes. Isaac marries her, and he finds comfort from the loss of his mother. She is the wife he is meant to have.
There is a lot more about Rebekah. (Wait till we meet her sons Jacob and Esau.) Like so many of the characters of the Bible, she’s not perfect. Her motives can be mixed. But when called, she goes. When judged, she shows her generosity.
All of it was an answer to that man’s simple prayer: Lord God, make something good happen for me today. Grant me success. Amen.
“Pray Now!”
Saturday morning the messages came in: “Urgent prayers,” “Pray now!,” “Need your prayers.” Email messages and posts on Facebook alerted me that Logan Eliasen, the 20-year-old son of one of our Guideposts writers, Shawnelle Eliasen, was stuck in an Iowa cave. By then he’d been trapped for a dozen hours.
Ugh, I thought, how awful. Not just because I’m claustrophobic and can’t bear being in the window seat of an airplane, let alone countenance the thought of being motionless in a dark cave; I couldn’t imagine a scarier situation for a parent. To know your kid is in trouble, to have first responders working to keep him alive with food and water, and yet knowing you can’t do much more but pray.
“Prayers for Logan,” I typed. “Keep me posted.” Typing a prayer feels as good as saying one. Something tactile about it, as though God is getting my message from my words as well as my fingers hitting the keys.
All morning I kept checking Facebook and Google, searching for news. The rescue workers were chiseling at the rock to widen the passage. Meanwhile Logan was getting oxygen and an IV drip to keep from getting dehydrated. Does instant knowledge make for better prayers? Is Facebook really a help? Who knows? I’m certain that urgent situations make for more focused praying. When you get that message “Pray now!,” how can you not respond?
He’ll be OK, I started telling myself. I’ve never met Logan but I know from what his folks say that he’s got an active faith and I knew that he’d be using it. My fears started fading. Faith had stepped up to the plate.
Throughout the day, as I checked, I thought about how no one ever expected Facebook or Google to be used for prayer, but here we were all praying online, friends of friends I’d never met. That’s what happens when a praying people get a chance to communicate. Prayer connects us to each other as much as it connects us to God and we do it how we can.
“Remember the 20-year-old kid trapped in a cave,” I said at grace that night. We had friends over for dinner.
Just before bed, I logged on again. “Good news!” I said to my wife. After 20 hours, Logan was rescued and taken to the hospital. From all reports, he sounded like he was OK. (Today his mom emailed me to say, “We kept him quiet and still while he was in the hospital but now he’s talking with a local news station. He wanted to give God the glory.”) In an interview he gave after recovering, Logan said, “I prayed through the whole thing. That’s the only thing that really kept me going.”
“Urgent prayers.” “Pray now!” Those are phrases that can give me a chill. But they’re all about keeping in touch. They mean exactly what they say: “You have a job to do. You’re a first responder too. Get working.” I do.
Pray Like George Müller
Most people pray for clear skies and then pack an umbrella, just in case. Not George Müller.
Müller was a Christian preacher, educator and philanthropist who lived in the 19th century in England. He established and directed a series of homes for orphans and schools for children, eventually caring for more than 10,000 children in his lifetime. Such efforts cost money, of course, but Müller decided early on that he would not draw a salary for himself, would not go into debt and wouldn’t even ask people for money. He decided, instead, to pray.
That’s right. He determined that he would share his needs—and those of his growing, demanding ministry—only with God. When funds were low, he and his staff prayed. When needs were met, they prayed. When people asked about their needs, Müller simply expressed a belief that God would provide. He kept careful accounts, not only to guide his praying but also as an aid to greater faith. His autobiography (The Autobiography of George Müller, Whitaker House 1985) is a record of constant prayer and repeated (often last-minute) answers. The following is typical:
Nothing has come in. At six o’clock this evening, our need was very great in the Orphan Houses and the day schools. I prayed with two of the laborers. We needed some money to come in before eight o’clock tomorrow morning, so that we could buy milk for breakfast. Our hearts were at peace, and we felt assured that our Father would supply our need.
We had scarcely risen from our knees when I received a letter containing a sovereign for the orphans. About five minutes later, a brother promised to give me fifty pounds next week. A quarter of an hour after that, a brother gave me a sovereign, which a sister in the Lord had left for the orphans. How sweet and precious it is to see the willingness of the Lord to answer the prayers of His needy children!
Another time, Müller and the children sat down for a meal, even though there was no food in the house. Nonetheless, they bowed their heads and prayed and, as the prayer ended, someone knocked on the door. It was the baker, with fresh bread. As if that wasn’t enough, the milkman’s cart broke down—in front of the orphanage—so he supplied them with fresh milk.
Müller, his staff and the children lived on daily prayer and cultivated a day-by-day (even hour-by-hour) dependence on God. And their needs were met. In fact, Müller’s ministry grew and, as the needs grew, so did God’s provision.
What would such prayerful dependence on God be like in my life? In yours? Sure, there are times when we cry out to God because of our need, but most of us have created lifestyles and mechanisms for ourselves that foster a sense of independence and insulation from need rather than dependence on God to meet our needs.
But what if you and I prayed like George Müller? What if we “carry everything to God in prayer,” as the hymn says? What if we lived on daily prayer and cultivated a day-by-day (even hour-by-hour) dependence on God? Would we be poorer—or richer? Would our faith falter—or flourish?
There is only one way to find out, of course: by praying like George Müller, exercising our privilege of carrying everything, day by day and moment by moment, to God in prayer.
Praying Through Our Fears
For several weeks our family had been praying for dad’s health. We were waiting for the results of his biopsy, and I was praying for a good outcome. Yet inside, I faced the element of fear. What if the news was not good? What if he was diagnosed with cancer?
Fear can make its way into our lives in different forms. Dr. Norman Vicente Peale wrote, “Fear of what might happen is to live with the perpetual worry that some axe is going to fall resulting in a very unhappy state of mind.”
In Scripture the exhortation “do not be afraid or fear not” appears over and over again. We read countless stories about men and women whom God helped to overcome their fears.
C. S. Lewis defined faith as, “The art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.” It was the changing mood that constantly challenged my prayer as I waited for the results. One moment I was optimistic and the other I worried about what might happen. But I kept praying through my fears.
I accompanied my parents to the doctor’s appointment for the results. While my dad and I waited for the doctor to come into the room I prayed, refusing to let fear get the best of me or my prayer. The doctor came into the office, read the report on the computer and said to my dad, “You don’t have cancer.”
My dad’s face lit up; his body relaxed. I took a deep breath and exhaled, “Thank you Lord.” The words of Psalm 34:4 became personal, “I prayed to the Lord, and He answered me. He freed me from all my fears.”
Praying through my fears deepens my faith and is teaching me how to trust that no matter what happens God is with me. Eleanor Roosevelt said it well, “You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you look fear in the face.”
Lord, help me to keep my eyes on You today and not on my fears.
Have you prayed through your fears? Tell us your story and check out these prayers from the Psalmists below:
Pray Hungry
Today’s guest blogger is Marsha Hubler, author and director of the Montrose Christian Writers Conference.
For over 20 years, I had prayed for Joe, my stubborn, beer drinking, pool shooting father to become a follower of Jesus Christ. My mother had prayed for 30-plus years of marriage for the man she dearly loved who had no time for God and little time for her or me. At times Dad’s belligerence toward the things of God grew so hostile, his salvation seemed an impossible dream. Yet, our Christian family and friends prayed and waited.
Then around 1980, God’s “still, small voice” impressed upon mve to fast and pray every Saturday for my father.
“Fast? Me…fast?” I asked. “For how long?”
“You’ll know when to stop,” the answer came.
I had participated in our church’s occasional corporate fasts, usually skipping a meal or so. However, although I prayed regularly, I never felt a call to fast for anything until then. So I made the commitment to do so, knowing I’d still have to continue providing meals for my husband and five foster kids on those fasting days.
As Dad approached his 70th birthday, I knew the percentage of seniors making a commitment to follow Christ dropped lower and lower as they aged. With Dad on the top of my prayer list, I determined to fast every Friday after supper to Saturday’s evening meal. I took care not to proclaim to the world, I AM FASTING; no one outside of my family knew unless they asked.
I continued to fast and pray every week, except when circumstances I had no control over (sickness, etc.) intervened. After about a year, I suddenly felt a prompting to stop fasting, though I continued to pray for my father to come to faith. Another year or so passed with no change in Dad. In fact, he seemed to move farther away from God than ever before, which broke my heart.
Then in early February 1983, Aunt Ruth handed Dad a magazine article littered with Bible verses and a clear presentation of the Gospel. A few days later Mom drove an hour to hand me a letter from Dad in which he said he had read the article and prayed for Christ’s forgiveness and salvation. He also said he immediately dumped several cases of beer away, vowing never to touch alcohol again. The next Sunday, February 13, my parents came to church, and Dad went forward to profess his faith, which he did until his heavenly journey began on November 30, 1998.
Since then, I’ve never had the same prompting to fast, though I continue to pray through a list filled with the needs of those I love. I don’t know, of course, that my call to fast played a part in my father coming to faith. I know from Scripture that some things happen only by prayer and fasting (Matthew 17:21, KJV). I also know many others faithfully prayed for Dad.
Ultimately, only God knows, but I believe that I prayed and fasted—and even stopped fasting—in response to God’s leading, and my prayer was answered. And that is good enough for me.
Prayer for a Puppy
I was having lunch with my friend Mary when I told her about my fruitless quest for a new puppy. Daisy, my beloved canine companion of 16 years, had died. Now I was finally ready for a new dog. I wanted a small female like Daisy, but none of the kennels and shelters I visited had what I was looking for. “I just can’t find a puppy that’s right,” I announced. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Kati,” Mary said, “you need to turn this over to God.”
As soon as I got home I did as she suggested. “Please, Lord, send a puppy just for me,” I prayed.
A month went by, and I continued my pursuit. Then one day I visited a shelter I had never been to. After looking at rows and rows of puppies, one cage in the last building caught my eye. Inside was a mother with three tiny squirming creatures. I picked one up and it snuggled in my hand. I was in love. The puppy was male and, judging from his mother, would be over 20 pounds full grown—nothing like what I had been looking for—but I knew without a doubt that he was meant to be mine.
“I have to see if he’s old enough to be separated from his mother,” the woman at the front desk explained when I told her I wanted to adopt the puppy. She looked at his records and said, “You’re in luck. He was born August 16th, so he’s just old enough to take.”
That date sounded familiar. Later, when I pulled out my scheduler I knew why. Sure enough, there was a notation on my puppy’s birthday: “Lunch with Mary.”
Pray Dangerously
The Gospel writer Mark relates an incident that happened one day as Jesus and his closest followers were on their way into the city of Jerusalem. He says that Jesus saw “a fig tree in leaf” and went to it to see if it had any young figs to eat. When he saw that there were none, “he said to it, ‘May no one ever eat fruit from you again’” (Mark 11:14, ESV).
The next morning, as he and his disciples made the same trek into the city, “they saw the fig tree withered away to its roots.” Peter remarked on it to Jesus, as though he or anyone should be surprised.
But Jesus said, “Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours” (Mark 11:22-24, ESV).
There is so much going on in that passage, and so much to study and think about. But for our purposes here and now, I want to focus on perhaps the most straightforward and easy-to-understand part of the whole story.
When Peter expressed amazement at the withered fig tree, Jesus could have responded any number of ways. He might have said, “I know, I got a little grumpy yesterday when there were no young figs on the tree. My bad.”
He might have answered Peter, “Let that be a lesson to you: Don’t cross me when I’m hungry.”
He might have said, “I hope one of you will write this down later, so people will know how important it is to be fruitful, in season or out of season.”
But, of course, he said none of those things (and I’m not suggesting you take any of those possibilities seriously).
Instead, Jesus turned the whole fig tree incident into a lesson on prayer. In fact, my paraphrase of his exchange with Peter goes something like this:
“Rabbi! Look at that! The fig tree you cursed is all withered.”
“Of course it is, Peter. Sheesh, have some faith in God! A fig tree is nothing; if you had the faith, and the boldness, you could pray for this mountain right here to be thrown into the sea–30-some miles away–and it would happen! The question is not will a fig tree wither at your word or a mountain move at your command; the question is, will you ask for it in prayer and believe that your Father will do it?”
Of course, Jesus may have had an advantage–being the incarnate Son of God–but he clearly and boldly stated that his followers could do anything he did–and more.
He said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father. Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son” (John 14:12-13, ESV).
Greater than having authority over a fig tree? Apparently so (see Acts 5:1-10).
Greater than healing a paralyzed man? Apparently so (see Acts 3:1-11).
Greater than raising a widow’s son from the dead? Apparently so (see Acts 9:36-41).
Apparently that first generation of Jesus’ followers took his promises seriously. They prayed for boldness (Acts 4:29). They prayed for prisoners to be released (Acts 12:5). They prayed for the sick to be healed (Acts 28:8). They prayed for the dead to be raised (Acts 9:40).
Those were bold prayers. Dangerous, even, as they often got Jesus’ followers into trouble. But they changed the people who prayed them, even as they changed the world. So pray those kinds of prayers. Pray “greater than” prayers. Pray boldly. Pray dangerously.
Adapted from the upcoming book, The Red Letter Prayer Life.
Pennies from Heaven
A coastal wind ruffled my hair as I sat outside our small stucco tract house in Lompoc, California, and I wondered for the millionth time if we should move. The house seemed to squeeze tighter around us as our three active sons, ages thirteen, ten and six, kept growing.
I longed for more room. My husband Patrick and I often looked at larger homes, yearning yet hesitant. The question hounded me again: Should we try to move?
I prayed for guidance. While reading my Bible one day my heart quickened when I came across Psalm 18:19 (NIV), which read, “He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me.” Did I dare believe what I sensed God was telling me? My heart said yes, and I wrote in the margin, “December 2, 1987—God’s promise to me for a spacious home.”
More than three years later I was wondering if I had misunderstood. The year before, we had tried to buy a larger home contingent on selling ours, but our house wouldn’t budge. After discovering a new home for sale, we decided to try again.
In spite of our efforts, the For Sale sign stubbornly remained. No one could understand it, least of all me. After all, God had given me a promise—hadn’t He?
Evening strolls with my friend Arlene provided welcome diversion. During one brisk walk Arlene abruptly stopped and squealed with delight. “Look,” she exclaimed, “a penny!”
I laughed. “Arlene, I’ve never seen anyone get so excited over finding a penny.”
“Oh, but it’s not just a penny,” she explained. “My grandma taught me that every time I find a penny to think about the inscription on it, ‘In God We Trust.’ It’s my special reminder from God to trust Him.”
I smiled as she pocketed the coin and we continued our walk. Surprisingly, not long afterward I began to find pennies myself—on the sidewalk and in parking lots. Lord, are these from You? I thought. Yet the tedious routine of cleaning for open houses and impromptu showings dragged on for months with no offers.
Our real-estate agent was as baffled as we were. We agreed to drop the asking price well below market value. Still nothing happened. Weary in spirit, Patrick and I went for an evening walk. I had told him about Arlene and her pennies, and how since then I had been finding the coppery coins myself.
When Patrick spied a penny a split second before I did, he scooped it up. He teased me when I whined that the penny he had picked up was mine. “Nope, this one’s mine,” he said with a grin. Inwardly I complained, I know it’s silly, Lord, but I really needed that penny tonight.
I don’t understand why this is taking so long. I still felt disgruntled later when I started to transfer a load of laundry into the dryer. The clothes were strictly underwear and socks, so I was amazed when a shiny penny appeared amid the pocketless clothing. It was as if God had wrapped His arms around me and whispered, “I haven’t forgotten you. Just keep trusting Me.”
As our housing problem continued, I reluctantly listened to Patrick’s suggestion that we consider moving to a rural area in northern California. His job with the California Highway Patrol allowed for statewide transfers.
We had already planned to make such a move when Patrick approached retirement, because his seniority would guarantee our choice then. Now I balked at the thought of leaving our friends and church and my school library job. Yet I sensed an unmistakable peace as we chose towns to visit during our June vacation.
Before our trip, Patrick and I took a walk around a nearby field and found a dirt-encrusted nickel. I scraped off the grime with my fingernail and uncovered the familiar “In God We Trust.” I wondered, Is this supposed to give me five times the hope, Lord?
After a day’s drive we traveled through high desert and into the rugged Sierra Nevada Mountains. Deeper in Plumas County we admired the majestic evergreens, cascading streams and pristine lakes. The quaint downtown of Quincy with its historic buildings charmed me. This is the setting I’ve dreamed of all my life, I thought. I turned to Patrick and said, “I feel like I’m coming home.” Is this why nothing would work out before? While we wandered around the town, a penny shined up at me, and I sensed God’s smile and answer.
Do I dare hope for this to happen? I wondered again. Back home, Patrick submitted his transfer request. Although our hearts had been captured by Plumas County, we knew it might be years before the transfer could occur. Yet I couldn’t help but hope and pray for a miracle as I kept finding pennies reminding me of God’s trustworthy care.
October brought the announcement of that very miracle: Patrick had made the transfer list! Our hearts burst with joy and gratitude. On Thanksgiving Day he left to find us a home. With Quincy’s population of only 5000, coupled with the onset of winter, few houses were available.
Patrick bought the last one he saw, a refurbished Victorian-style home. Its warmth embraced me when I arrived in January, and I knew it was the house God had in mind all along. It had large rooms and ten-foot ceilings; the word spacious described it perfectly. And there was more to God’s promise-keeping.
READ MORE: PENNIES ARE A COMFORTING SIGN FROM ABOVE
Our old home sold at its market value. Patrick reported to his new job four years to the day of God’s promise to me—December 2, 1991. And a library position at the nearby elementary school opened up for me the following August, replacing the same dream job I had left.
God’s promise held more blessings than I ever imagined. I rarely find pennies these days. But when I do, I add them to all the others in the clear glass container that sits on my desk. I call them my pennies from heaven. They serve as small reminders of a big God who loves me and who can be trusted every time.