G
gideons300
Guest
[ Guys, I have shared this story before once long ago on the Forum, and if you read it then, forgive my repeating it. I pray it not only blesses you, but that it expands your view of what our God can do for us, and longs to do for us. How often we read of the great stories of the Bible, and wonder why we do not see such events today. We talk of miracles, of the Red Sea parting, of water turning to wine, of David defeating the giant with a little stone, and although thankful for such tales, how often we thing it is not for us. We are wrong.
This is how I was saved, gloriously delivered out of the hand of the enemy, and even now, as I type this out, I still marvel that it happened to me and that I saw His glory come down and move in THIS world in a true miracle. How I pray we understand that God does not change and that if we will believe, all things are possible.
I was saved in 1970. I was 20 at the time, and was going to school at LSU. I had come through the flower power 60s, lived in a commune in north Arkansas, experimented with many a drug, and finally got married and had a beautiful baby girl. My hopes of finding peace and fulfillment in drugs had pretty much evaporated into thin air, and my wife and I were searching for answers to life. What was the point of it all? Do we just grow up, make money, buy things and then die? There had to be an answer. I had no fear of hell, for I did not even believe it existed. But that did not mean I had no fear. The thought of no longer existing, of disappearing forever, of life being gone, and all those I knew gone as well? It was simply terrifying to me.
So we decided to try church. I had been sent to Sunday School as a child. Of course mom and dad did not go, but they sent me, and a seed was planted that I did not even know was there. It was the campus Presbyterian church, and we soon settled in to the routine. We got involved, and were asked to teach Sunday School to five year olds. Sure, why not?
Christmas season rolled around, and we had an angel tree placed by a social agency right as you walked in. So we took a name. We drew a little 19 year old girl who lived in the projects and she had a three year old child. No husband. She asked for a coat for her son and a toy. Nothing for her. And our hearts melted. We HAD to help.
Now understand, we were not exactly rolling in it financially. I went to school with a full load and worked nearly full time as well. I bicycled five miles to campus, then four to work fro my father-in-law, where we would then load up my bicycle in our hippie van and head home. MY wife worked full time for her father as a receptionist, with our baby by her in a playpen. We both made minimum wage, which at the time was $1.65 per hour. Money was always tight, but even with us unaware, God was at work. We made a decision. We would hand make all of the presents for Jenny and our families, and all the money we would have spent on those, we would spent on our adopted angel.
The month of December was the best Christmas I can ever recall. We were busy daily in what little spare time we had making presents, and as we could, we bought presents, toys, clothes, etc. so that we could help this single mother have a Christmas to remember. Now we lived out in the country, and rented a house from a Tom, a nearly retired deputy sheriff. Our house was near the back of his property and almost daily, after he got off, he would putter by on his old red tractor, beer in hand, working in his garden.
.
Christmas Eve arrived, and our excitement was overflowing. Not only did we have a table full of hand crafted presents to give out, but we had amassed a huge pile of brightly wrapped presents to deliver that night at 6 p,m., which is when the angel tree recipients were to expect their angels to arrive. Christmas cookies were baking in the oven, we were high (Oh, forgot to mention, when we decided to stop doing drugs, pot was not part of the deal, LOL) and singing Christmas carols, and as the afternoon wore on, we decided to load up our VW bus so we could be ready to make our special delivery. My wife asked me where I had put to tag off the angel tree with the name and address on it. I stared back at here blankly. I thought she had put it up. All of a sudden a bit of panic reared its head. And we began to search.
Now understand, our house was not considered sprawling. It was a four room house, 400 square feet so searching would not be difficult or so we thought. Twenty minutes later, panic was now full blown and the clock was ticking. Tick tick tick. Our last resort? The trash. As I said, we lived in rural Louisiana. Garbage pickup was non-existent. In the far back of the property, Toms family's home place of four generation, was the burn pile. This was no ordinary burn pile. It was a sprawling area nestled up to the back woods measuring over 100 wide and deep. It was simply a black ash junk heap, with generations of garbage, trash, tin cans, broken old discolored shards of broken mason jars and medicine bottles.
Every month, like clockwork, Tom would come puttering by, beer in hand, and with the grader box on the back, he would burn that month's trash and then smooth it all out again in preparation for the next month. We had taken our trash out the day before, so it would be easy to retrieve our bag and find the ticket. So we started to make the long walk to the back. All of a sudden we heard a noise. Toms tractor. And it was coming from the trash dump, not to it. Panic was now full blown and desperation began to grow. Tom passed us and nodded as we headed around the trees. As we came around the bend, we saw the smoke. Our worst fears were confirmed. He had just done his monthly duty.
In front of us lay a sprawling pile of charred paper bags, old food, rusted tin cans and everything else you can imagine. I stopped in my tracks and began to cry. My wife did not. To my shock, she simply kept walking until she was in the middle of the mess, wisps of smoke still rising from the now extinguished fire. I watched her stop and look up, not down. Tears flowed down her face. And I heard her cry out no, wail .
God, if you are real, give me that name!
And then she did the unthinkable. She flung herself face first into that smoldering mess, where it seems our dreams and good intentions were destined to go up in smoke just like the trash. And she reached out her hand and grabbed.
(I am crying right now even recounting the scene. I have told this story over one hundred times over the past forty years, maybe many more, and not once can I get through it without bawling like a baby.)
She lifted up her hand and in it was a black charred piece of paper well mostly black. She looked down, stared and blinked. She stared again, and then she began to scream again, but this time it was different, It was shouts of amazement, tears of joy, for what she held in her shaking hand was the angel tree ticket, burned down . yeah, you guessed it, down to the name and address of that little mother and child we wanted to help.
We ended up being one minute early.
That is how we got saved. And perhaps that is why I have never been satisfied with expecting God to be or to do less than He promised.
May God bless you all richly with the knowledge of Him. We are told He can do exceedingly abundantly beyond all the we ask or even think. That is the God we serve, and He changes not. May we all believe that. I pray we do not "limit the Holy One of Israel" and believe that despite our failures, and our weakness, He still can cause us to walk in total victory.
Blessings,
Gideon
This is how I was saved, gloriously delivered out of the hand of the enemy, and even now, as I type this out, I still marvel that it happened to me and that I saw His glory come down and move in THIS world in a true miracle. How I pray we understand that God does not change and that if we will believe, all things are possible.
I was saved in 1970. I was 20 at the time, and was going to school at LSU. I had come through the flower power 60s, lived in a commune in north Arkansas, experimented with many a drug, and finally got married and had a beautiful baby girl. My hopes of finding peace and fulfillment in drugs had pretty much evaporated into thin air, and my wife and I were searching for answers to life. What was the point of it all? Do we just grow up, make money, buy things and then die? There had to be an answer. I had no fear of hell, for I did not even believe it existed. But that did not mean I had no fear. The thought of no longer existing, of disappearing forever, of life being gone, and all those I knew gone as well? It was simply terrifying to me.
So we decided to try church. I had been sent to Sunday School as a child. Of course mom and dad did not go, but they sent me, and a seed was planted that I did not even know was there. It was the campus Presbyterian church, and we soon settled in to the routine. We got involved, and were asked to teach Sunday School to five year olds. Sure, why not?
Christmas season rolled around, and we had an angel tree placed by a social agency right as you walked in. So we took a name. We drew a little 19 year old girl who lived in the projects and she had a three year old child. No husband. She asked for a coat for her son and a toy. Nothing for her. And our hearts melted. We HAD to help.
Now understand, we were not exactly rolling in it financially. I went to school with a full load and worked nearly full time as well. I bicycled five miles to campus, then four to work fro my father-in-law, where we would then load up my bicycle in our hippie van and head home. MY wife worked full time for her father as a receptionist, with our baby by her in a playpen. We both made minimum wage, which at the time was $1.65 per hour. Money was always tight, but even with us unaware, God was at work. We made a decision. We would hand make all of the presents for Jenny and our families, and all the money we would have spent on those, we would spent on our adopted angel.
The month of December was the best Christmas I can ever recall. We were busy daily in what little spare time we had making presents, and as we could, we bought presents, toys, clothes, etc. so that we could help this single mother have a Christmas to remember. Now we lived out in the country, and rented a house from a Tom, a nearly retired deputy sheriff. Our house was near the back of his property and almost daily, after he got off, he would putter by on his old red tractor, beer in hand, working in his garden.
.
Christmas Eve arrived, and our excitement was overflowing. Not only did we have a table full of hand crafted presents to give out, but we had amassed a huge pile of brightly wrapped presents to deliver that night at 6 p,m., which is when the angel tree recipients were to expect their angels to arrive. Christmas cookies were baking in the oven, we were high (Oh, forgot to mention, when we decided to stop doing drugs, pot was not part of the deal, LOL) and singing Christmas carols, and as the afternoon wore on, we decided to load up our VW bus so we could be ready to make our special delivery. My wife asked me where I had put to tag off the angel tree with the name and address on it. I stared back at here blankly. I thought she had put it up. All of a sudden a bit of panic reared its head. And we began to search.
Now understand, our house was not considered sprawling. It was a four room house, 400 square feet so searching would not be difficult or so we thought. Twenty minutes later, panic was now full blown and the clock was ticking. Tick tick tick. Our last resort? The trash. As I said, we lived in rural Louisiana. Garbage pickup was non-existent. In the far back of the property, Toms family's home place of four generation, was the burn pile. This was no ordinary burn pile. It was a sprawling area nestled up to the back woods measuring over 100 wide and deep. It was simply a black ash junk heap, with generations of garbage, trash, tin cans, broken old discolored shards of broken mason jars and medicine bottles.
Every month, like clockwork, Tom would come puttering by, beer in hand, and with the grader box on the back, he would burn that month's trash and then smooth it all out again in preparation for the next month. We had taken our trash out the day before, so it would be easy to retrieve our bag and find the ticket. So we started to make the long walk to the back. All of a sudden we heard a noise. Toms tractor. And it was coming from the trash dump, not to it. Panic was now full blown and desperation began to grow. Tom passed us and nodded as we headed around the trees. As we came around the bend, we saw the smoke. Our worst fears were confirmed. He had just done his monthly duty.
In front of us lay a sprawling pile of charred paper bags, old food, rusted tin cans and everything else you can imagine. I stopped in my tracks and began to cry. My wife did not. To my shock, she simply kept walking until she was in the middle of the mess, wisps of smoke still rising from the now extinguished fire. I watched her stop and look up, not down. Tears flowed down her face. And I heard her cry out no, wail .
God, if you are real, give me that name!
And then she did the unthinkable. She flung herself face first into that smoldering mess, where it seems our dreams and good intentions were destined to go up in smoke just like the trash. And she reached out her hand and grabbed.
(I am crying right now even recounting the scene. I have told this story over one hundred times over the past forty years, maybe many more, and not once can I get through it without bawling like a baby.)
She lifted up her hand and in it was a black charred piece of paper well mostly black. She looked down, stared and blinked. She stared again, and then she began to scream again, but this time it was different, It was shouts of amazement, tears of joy, for what she held in her shaking hand was the angel tree ticket, burned down . yeah, you guessed it, down to the name and address of that little mother and child we wanted to help.
We ended up being one minute early.
That is how we got saved. And perhaps that is why I have never been satisfied with expecting God to be or to do less than He promised.
May God bless you all richly with the knowledge of Him. We are told He can do exceedingly abundantly beyond all the we ask or even think. That is the God we serve, and He changes not. May we all believe that. I pray we do not "limit the Holy One of Israel" and believe that despite our failures, and our weakness, He still can cause us to walk in total victory.
Blessings,
Gideon
